Mating Call?

I'm running on fumes from the night before but I wanted to share an odd experience before it slipped my mind. Went to Courtyard 280 last night to meet a friend to shoot some pool. We played until about 1am and decided to grab a table to talk and get a look around the place. I saw it lurking at the bar, sitting next to her friend. I looked away as you would do when you witness a bad accident, scared that the next look might embed an image that would haunt me for years to come. By doing something so natural as looking away, I created a window of opportunity for it to move and lurk somewhere behind me. As we were sitting there talking I felt something hit my foot. I thought at the moment it could be a stray cue ball from a table not far from where we were sitting. When I looked down I saw not a cue ball, but a lighter. This wasn't my lighter so where did it come from? As I turned around to look for the owner I made eye contact with the wild beast. When confronted with such a situation its best to look away, move slowly away, or just play dead. Since it would look odd, me lying on the floor of the bar, I decided to look away. I then heard it shriek "HEY." This must be a joke, right was the thought that crossed my mind. I turned and dared look again and she did the finger motion, come here. What the hell did I do? How did it focus on me? I then looked to my buddy who's eyes were equally dilated and in horror. I said "she must be talking to you." He replied "bullshit." So like the nice guy I was I tried to look last him in the crowd for maybe someone she wanted all along but with no such luck. After a few odd exchanges I gave in and decided to return her lighter. She told me to sit down which I quickly winged an excuse that my buddy and I were having a serious conversation, that I'd love to, but just can't. I walked back to my table in one piece, afraid to look back. I felt safe again at the table until I felt something strike my leg. This time I was in no doubt where the object had come from and why. I looked down by reflex to see what it was this time and discovered it was the metal top of a salt shaker, nice. This time I braved the beast and walked over and asked why she had thrown something again. She then went on a drunken ramble about how she thought I was hot, that she liked my "style", wanted to see my tattoos (thanks ole' wise decisions), and again, wanted me to sit. I said no thank you again and made my way quickly to my table. After twenty minutes or so my friend said, "dude, she's about to throw a fry." Now normally you would never hear such a statement, in a bar, in your 30th year of your life, and not outside the scope of a TV show that might air on Nickelodeon. I turn to see her with her arm extended back like she's about to lob the longest hail mary pass in history and I know she's got receiver written all over me. I quickly put my hand up and tell her stop, like you would do if a puppy were about to pee in the floor. This time the game has grown weary on me and my fear has resided. I approach her yet again, tell her to stop throwing shit, and ask what her deal is. I lie, I tell her I have a girlfriend. I hate to lie but sometimes in rare moments its necessary. History will be the judge of that and I've lived long enough to tell this story. She doesn't buy it or doesn't want to hear it. I point out guys hanging around, lurking for their closing time beauty queen and say "how about that one or this one." She reads my response well because she then issues a "get the fuck out of here, go, go on back to where you came from." Mission accomplished. The beast didn't get up and start thrashing away like a bull in the china shop. It actually only hissed a few times and crawled away. So case in point...when you're at the bar and you see a woman (or thing) with pants on where her butt looks like she might be wearing a diaper, tight shirt revealing her gut and awesome enough to be too short so that it hangs over the belt and hangs out of the shirt about three inches for all to see, lurching through the crowd with a drink in hand, holding it like a security blanket from her evil existence she calls life...just look away. Don't, I repeat, don't look into it's eyes and run like hell if you hear the dreaded mating call "Hey!" bellow from it's raspy mouth. Run anywhere, regardless of what or who's around you. You can gather yourself later when you get away, just run, run like hell!