The Bartender

You know that friend you have that is pretty, dresses nice, and is fun but she isn't drop dead gorgeous or the life of the party so you can bare to be friends with her? I am that friend.
I can say with reasonable confidence that I am decent looking. I mean, I shower daily and partake in grooming rituals on a daily basis. I do know that a red shirt and purple shorts do not go together (no, not even for you Ms. "I'm so trendy because I mismatch bright colored lycra clothes from American Apparel"), and I retired my mystical dreamy colored horse shirts a long time ago (it's all about plastering Miley Cyrus gear all over yourself now). I am funny and witty but that is only if you understand my dry, and sometimes dark sense of humor. Although the people who don't get it only fuel my fire to persistently pick on their shortcomings, such as last night - "look at that girl's dress - hey hunny this is a public place, no one wants to see the nightgown grandma knitted for you last Christmas (it was a white, long, cotton dress that was flowy and had a lace collar)."
[Preface: I am in no way, jealous of Maria. I simply ask for acknowledgment. The way guys act towards her is rude and unattractive. This is, by the way, why she never goes home with you.]
But anyway, for the most part I am there for the ride, good for a few chuckles, and perfect as a drinking partner (I still manage to throw up in bathrooms and not all over bar tops.) My friend "Maria" is more the limelight character. She has huge hair, a big ass with a small waist, and cleavage that appears from no where. Seriously the girl goes from a 13 year old pre-teen to breast-enhanced model on the cover of Cosmo with the change of a shirt. I have become used to the staring (at her, not me), the comments on her hair, and the repeated cold shoulder tactic so I can fend her from "just-turned-21-year-old-male-alpha-dog-who-is-going-to-prove-to-his- friends-he-can-get-a-girl-to-go-home-with-him." What I can't seem to grasp is that our favorite bar, the one where half my life savings has gone to, continually produces ass hole bartenders who focus on Maria and neglect to acknowledge my thirst. Gentleman I will let you know something right now: If you want to get with the hot girl, you better be damn sure you take care of her best friend too. First of all, hot girl will never be alone at the bar, conveniently waiting for you to swoop down and take her home with a purse full of sex toys and a naughty nurse outfit under her jacket. Meaning, you have to get past me first. The only way that's happening is if you give me another fucking drink. Last night bartender, Tim, walks up to Maria and says "What's up Maria? Ketel and Cran?" She laughs says yes and then he looks at me, "Uh something for ya?" Oh hey genius, I have an idea, how about the same damn drink I have been ordering for a year??? And by the way I have a name. I know, crazy, but they forced my parents to write something down at gun point.
This is why I like Trevor. Trevor is our bartender normally. He puts my drink in front of me WITHOUT asking. And knows my name. He also likes Harry Potter and asked a male friend of ours one time to come over and play some Harry Potter card game that he was really excited about. Winner, winner chicken dinner.
Final Words: At least role playing as Hermione would allow me to use a wand and shout random magic words.