I suck. And so does my blog.

I’ve engaged in a few Twitter wars, most often after I badmouth Sarah Palin. And I usually win because people who breathlessly defend Palin tend to be stupid.

Therefore, I’m sad to report that I was embarrassingly creamed in my latest Twitter war. The casus belli were my Sunday morning tweets complaining about being denied entry to the Red Palace on the previous evening.

The incident was definitely fruit of the poisonous tree: No question that I committed the first wrong. One of the Red Palace’s managers saw me approach the bar holding a red solo cup, the international sign for “there is alcohol inside of this.” Yes, I was brazenly flouting DC’s antiquated prohibition on the carrying of open containers, an objectively silly law especially when enforced against non-belligerent slightly intoxicated adult citizens. In my mind, any potential problem would be a matter between me and the police.

Therefore, I was taken aback when a Red Palace manager assumed police powers over the public sidewalks and denied me entry on the account of witnessing my offense near his bar’s curtilage. But regardless of how dumb I think open container laws are, I did indeed break the law, he saw me break the law, and denying my entry was definitely within the ambit of his authority. Most won’t believe that I didn’t raise my voice or argue, but that’s the truth. My friends put up a fuss for a while, but all eight of us eventually gave up and went on our way. I was sufficiently embarrassed for calling negative attention to myself and inconveniencing everyone.

I should have let it go, but I didn’t. In the throes of my Little Miss Whiskey’s-induced Saturday morning hangover, I bitched from bed about the incident on Twitter because:

1. I wanted the bar management to know that I wasn’t attempting to enter the bar with the solo cup, that I wasn’t in line with the cup, and that I wasn’t even hanging out in front of the bar with the cup. Simply put, as my group approached our destination, I quietly excused myself to discard my roadie cup in the nearest appropriate location. I have run this hustle long enough to know not to try to bring a cup into a bar. I thought I was far enough away from the ID checking process that it wouldn’t matter, but it did. And no slack was cut, although I thought there was room for some leniency.
2. The bar manager made his decision prior to inquiring as to the contents of my cup (a definite formality when confronted with the international sign for “there is alcohol inside of this,”) but after a friend tried to induce me to go along with a lie about the cup being filled with water, I chose to be honest and admit that I was indeed holding alcohol. I felt my forthrightness warranted a little consideration, but I received no such love.
3. Despite our efforts not to be argumentative, the manager was rude to me and my friends, furiously waved his finger at a lady in our party, and lost the business of 8 customers. In my unsolicited and worthless opinion, his conduct wasn’t a smart business move.
4. Finally, while standing outside as my friends pled my case, I saw several extra-intoxicated patrons admitted without quarrel. That was just annoying.

Much ado about nothing? Certainly. Typical whiny DC-prickdom on my part? Sho’nuff. Did I get a response from the bar’s management? Indeed. They reiterated their position and made fun of me. You would have thought I asked the bouncer to hold my liquor drink while I fumbled around for my ID. Drunk burp/stagger/spill/shout, right? But, I probably would have made fun of me also. I was wrong in the first place. Oh well.

But finally to the good part. Somehow several strangers caught wind of my catty tweets, and laid into me. It all began with the low-hanging fruit: Responding to my inartful tweet comparing my suitability as a customer with that of a drunk underaged student, @jasonmader seized upon my admittedly arrogant mention of my career and asked “Were you wearing your lawyer costume?” Touché. I conceded the point, and replied that I was a “peaceful guy” who would have been a good customer. Obviously I’m not all that peaceful, but my point was that I wasn’t looking for trouble.

Then came the onslaught. My sporadic, visually unappealing, and pedantic blog was discovered, thoroughly reviewed, and widely ridiculed. My tardy narcissistic effort to catch up with 2005 became all the evidence a few strangers needed to reduce me to the self-entitled open container violator that we all dread, that prick DC lawyer who is so into himself that he thinks he has a right to pour his red solo cup all over a bouncer’s face with impunity, and then demand an apology.

My stupid little blog certainly provides much trite ammunition. Check out my silly ode to Stevie Wonder. And this story is lame. What makes me think anyone gives a damn about my pedestrian thoughts on tax cuts, especially when everyone else is pretty much saying the same thing all the time? The sappy tribute to my brother? Sheesh. And the dated bio is definitely whack and is desperate for elimination or at least a re-write. Loser! What really proves that my blog sucks is that this post, the one you’re probably not reading any more, is already the longest I’ve written, and there is still more to say. Snore.

Much to my surprise, however, my detractors didn’t seize on the obvious, but dug rather deep and methodically trashed my self-aggrandizing corny bucket list of #almost30 resolutions, innocently concocted to create the appearance that my 30th birthday would be accompanied by great reflection, change and self-improvement (Get back to pleasure reading? Yeah, alright). Examples of the deconstruction and chewing up of my lofty resolutions include:

• @dfntly “Dissolve bigotry” in South Carolina (14) AND play tennis and swim (27)?? What is this guy, Superman?

Dude, the only time I can dissolve bigotry in South Carolina is while I’m playing tennis underwater. There is no way I’m interrupting my space golf game.

• @chadamerica I keep looking at dude’s bucket list. I’m not sure how he plans to reconcile number 30 with number 18.

My, what a careful reader we have on our hands! Number 18: waking up earlier v. Number 30: curtail sleep deprivation. Yeah, I guess those are somewhat inconsistent. Good looking out!

• @chadamerica yeah, he sounds like a real shit head. It’s lucky he had that cup because that dude would have been a nightmare of a customer.

Hoping to be emboldened by the bar turning a blind eye to my brazen open container violation, I was totally planning on trashing the place. The public is ever so lucky that I clung to that cup.

And this one is completely awesome:

• @dfntly his great-grandparents owned a strip club in charleston!! Awesome!

Wow! Let that one stand for itself. Alright now, Rev. John and Maggie!

Along with links to solid Arrested Development references and sleazy lawyer videos, it seems a few other strangers may have joined in the fun. Unfortunately, their accounts are locked, but I would love for them to share with me their witty disses.

In any event, I learned a long overdue lesson: never again carry a solo cup in public, unless the bar is providing the cup. I’m way too old for a stupid open container ticket. Otherwise, I already knew that both myself and my blog suck, as anyone who doesn’t take him/her self too seriously knows or should know. So, as a peace offering I’d love to buy a shot for those brave private defenders of open container statutes, who wasted part of their Sunday afternoon jocking the nuts of yours truly and his blog.

We can throw a few back at the Red Palace, unless I’m barred for life. I’m guessing I am, but I plan to make a test run in a couple of weeks… sans cup.