Man, that's a lot of plaid.

This weekend, I attempted to drink away my sorrows of getting one year older (and probably two years less mature... one step forward, two steps back) in my fine neighborhood. In hopes of enjoying good beer and northeast-style crime, I sauntered out with a few fantastically clumsy friends. We decided to start at Biergarten Haus, so we could enjoy the decent beer while we were sober enough to taste. With the intent of being there for one or two beers, then moving on, Biergarten proved quite the entertainment with a... wait for it... HIPSTER FIST FIGHT!!!

It was magnificent. I'd never seen such a display of arrogant hipster rage. There were loose fists flailing, scrawny bodies tumbling, and torn plaid abound. The perpetrator (Hipster 1)was wearing a green plaid shirt, some semblence of an ironic mustache he was trying very hard to sprout, and trademark slouched-forward shoulders. He actually introduced himself to my group on our way in by grabbing my very beautiful, very engaged best friend and slurring, "Where are you from?" Friend replies, "err... I'm from San Antonio, TX." H1: "Oh, I'm from Do-you-wanna-make-out, DC." Classy. When said friend was not rude or violent enough in her rejection, he followed us into the bar where, less than 20 minutes later, he got in some sort of conflict with a really large, skirted woman with a foul mouth that makes me sound like Emily Dickenson.

Hipster 2 and Hipster 3 were two similarly build, strapping lads - one in brown plaid and one in a polo shirt (I know, I was questioning his hipster cred, too- maybe that was the root of this conflict). The whole deal lasted quite a while. It started with some pushing and shoving (maybe started by Skirt) that made it's way to the front of the bar before the bouncers got back to break up the bickering. But those drunk little rebels put up quite the fight in getting thrown out. Less than a third of the size of the bouncers, who were smiling the whole time, the guys kicked and flailed and shoved and cursed like someone just said they knew of MGMT first. Finally, the bouncers successfully got H1, H2, and H3 outside, using a pretty hostess to hold the door shut while H2 tried to pry his way in. He failed. The three of them brawled outside for a while, including the very legit rolling around on the H Street sidewalk (I hope they're all up to date on their vaccinations). No cops showed up. In a city where bar fights generally pose a real threat of weapons, serious injury, and crime, no one was taking this display of plaid rage seriously. At one point, H1 began mocking the people inside the bar who were all laughing at them by forming his hands into the universal symbol for vaginas, as if to provoke the bar. He then points to one of our friends and stares as if to say, "you and me, let's go." Friend points back, laughing, and four others join in, all pointing at the dude. Nothing makes an angry person angrier than others not taking them seriously. It was glorious. H3 came tumbling towards him and H1 grabbed onto the collar of his polo, creating a deep v-neck and showing off what, in hipsterville, actually qualified as a muscle or two. It was excellent.

Twenty minutes after things calmed, H1 came back by jumping the back fence and coming in through the back door incognito- shedding his torn plaid for his fancy undershirt. It didn't work- everyone recognized him, he tried to punch someone else and got dragged out again. The cops never showed up and, presumably, were never called. The bouncers, at one point, put them in a cab instead. I was literally crying from laughing so hard- best birtday gift ever.

Other highlights from the trip included a certain congressman's brother hitting on the same engaged friend (seriously, that left hand sparkler means nothing to these Romeos!), and pulling them get-in-good-with-the-friend card with me here:

Brother: "so what do you do in DC?"
Me: "I work for a newspap..."
Brother (cuts me off): "Ohh... so you're a liberal."
Me: "Uh, yea, 'guess I am..."

Also, he used the following line to pick up the betrothed (who was, interestingly, wearing a plaid shirt): "Are you a farmer?"

Good thing the get-in-good-with-the-best-friend meant his covering our entire bar tab, despite my obvious tendency to vote against his ragingly handsome brother, had I the misfortune of living in that god forsaken state.

What a weekend. Looking forward to the normalcy of actual fights on the bus.