Another year, another fleet week–and I’m sorry to report that I have nothing to really report.
C and I rallied last night and went out. God we were so tired, yet somehow, we managed to find our second wind.
There were three places we thought could be potential fleet week hotspots due to their proximity to the ship: North Beach (obvious choice bc there are seedy bars, clubs, and strip joints), embarcadero (bc its right there on the water), and Marina (bc its close to the water, and bc there are a ton of bars).
We hit up embarcadero first at this kind of trendy hotel bar. Kind of an older boring crowd, but we did catch sight of some sailors–so we stayed to have a drink. That alone was worth the night–all the sailors walking back and forth along the embarcadero–god, so HOT. The atmosphere, however, was too subdued, so we downed our drinks and walked to the next few bars. We peered inside the bars and determined it was a bust. Cutting our losses, we hailed a cab towards the marina. We did, however, pass by 2 sailors looking at a map. Had they asked for directions, we woulda been obligated to help. They ignored us as we passed, and then they turned to stare. Yeah, thats right. B/c we are BACK!
Marina=also lacked the mother ship of sailors we were hoping for. C and I walked around to the local hotspots, got stared down by frat boys, and then went to grab a bag of donut holes. I have not been out to a bar in the Marina since scb and I were going out, and being there still reminds me of so many memories–so many nights. Sigh. Its impossible to not feel something; to not be reminded of us in some way, shape or form. Anyway, the moment passed, and we moved on to another bar.
We saw some more navy boys, but in insignificant numbers. Eventualy we decided to settle down in one bar as it was getting late. And so we went to a typical marina bar with the typical marina crowd and bought some beers. C turned to me and said, “God, it totally feels like we are in college.” I responded, “well we ARE *21* after all.” We both agreed that we had to do this more often bc there is something to be said about that restless meat market energy that is the Marina.
Towards the end of the night, we had still to meet any sailors. Saw quite a few, and were satisfied visually, but whatever. We make our own fun, and I was glad that we decided to go out.
We did end up meeting 2 guys from Wharton. They were both pretty drunk, but pretty funny nonetheless. We talked for a while–me being typical sassy DX, them being typically confused/amused. Whatever we had fun with them. AFter the bar closed, they asked where we were going to go. I said that we were going wherever they wanted to buy us food. I dont know which came first–them suggesting going back to their house or me suggesting that they cook us breakfast.
And that is how we ended up in a cab w/2 guys–practical strangers–heading back to a S. Beach safeway in hopes that it would be open so that they could make us French toast and eggs & ham. In the cab ride, one of the guys asked the cabbie (an old and pickled man with large ears, newsboy cap, tweed jacket, and a lit swisher sweet hanging out of his mouth) if he knew how to make French toast. “Of course I know how to make French toast [implied ‘moron’]” “Well, how do you know if its done?” “Uhhh…because its browned…”
The Safeway turned out to be closed. Upon seeing this, the cabbie exclaimed, “Why didn’t you guys go to the IHOP back near the clubs? If you really wanted to get them food, you would have just walked there. But you didnt. You guys wanted to get them back to your place so you promised them breakfast. And now these girls are going to go home hungry.” We laughed. I loved this cabbie.
We did go inside his apartment. Typical bachelor bad. He made us cheese shells instead (not as satisfying, but not terrible) while his friend fell asleep. Nothing happened except that we hung out. The one guy who was still awake tried flirting w/C, but she wouldnt have it. So he moved onto me, which was like, are you kidding me? Anyway, I dont know what he expected but we were there just to be there–just riding out the night, seeing where it took us. He asked if he could hang out with us again, and instead of giving him our number, C took his.
Maybe we’ll call, maybe we won’t. Whatever. We didnt get to party with the sailors as we had originally hope, but we made our own fun.
So many boys, so little time.
