99 Bottles of Martinis on the wall?

I had my first martini yesterday.
I'm quite the debutante when it comes to alcoholic beverages, but nonetheless I've always wanted to try this notorious cocktail. I was intrigued at the idea of it, mostly instigated by quintessential images of classy cocktail parties made by Microsoft Word clip art & Print Shop Deluxe. See below.

I mean look at that guy. He's quite the popular one, snagging the woman with the pink hair and the broad with the booty. Why? Because he's classy martini-drinking bachelor. So there I was, in my tightly belted sweet-heart cut dress and heels, leaning against the counter, tapping my fingers nonchalantly. The bartender approached me, "What would you like?" She asked.

"Um. I'd like a martini, please."
" Just a plain vodka martini?"
"Um. Yes."
"Dirty?"
"Well...sure."
"What kind of vodka?"
"... good . . . vodka?"

She must have thought I was hilarious in my noobesence. The old bearded man behind me thought so, as he sang along drunkenly to the act performing onstage. He had suggested earlier that I order a Guiness...because that's a real drink. Anyway, little did I know that what I had just ordered, albeit classic, tasted like feet and pig snouts. I mean, I love olives, but they belong in salads and pasta, not in my cute little martini glass. I also googled what the heck a dirty martini was, and apparently they add olive brine to the mixture. OLIVE BRINE?! That sounds like something Grandma Margeret would clean tar stains with. Damn. So there I stood, painfully sipping my overpriced drink, wishing that I had accidentally spilled a little more on the ground.

But hey. . .at least I looked classy.