Thursday
My coworker, Bugsy, and I decided to leave the photo studio early to hit a local clothing store that sells high-end products for discounted prices. It was a very dangerous thing to do, since we had both just spent a ton and now had the taste of high fashion in our mouths. I saw some manolos for $200 — almost bought them — but resisted. We were both really good about it. All in all – it was fun to do that –girly things–with another girl, but shes one of those people who you meet through work, who you like hanging out with, but never know if you’ll cross the barrier into real friendship.
I dropped Bugsy off and met up w/Rosie at a high end furniture design showroom. My friend, S, is the store manager, and organized the entire event–complete with flower arrangements, DJ, food, open bar, etc. Both Rosie and I were glad to see each other and cling on to the other the rest of the night. Not much mingling happened. Rosie is a self-proclaimed anti-social, telling me, “I dont want to meet people. I’m not a good mingler.” Yeah, that’s what happens when you are married to someone for 6 years people. You learn not to rely on other people. Mental note: make a point to meet people even if I’m in a relationship.
The crowd, for the most part, consisted of a)older balding men, b)gay men, c)stiff, married men d)artsy hipsters who could never in a million years afford the furniture but could sure as hell talk your ear off about molded plywood, e)random dudes off the street who stopped by to get some free food. There was this one guy who sat in a $3000 Eames recliner all night long, conducting business on his cell phone. He sat there like fucking Julius Caesar while all his subjects crowded around him. I really could not understand it. Why even bother coming to this event? I guess he was married too and felt no need to mingle.
Rosie tried to find a guy for me to “mingle” with. She did excitedly (and loudly) spot one tall, scrawny guy with scruffy facial hair who strolled in wearing a backpack. Mmmm…not too terribly bad, but I dunno, he could go either way. Either he’s a cool nature boy, or one of those extreme bike-riding critical mass participating type dudes. eh. I lost sight of him towards the end of the night, and could care less.
Overall – it was a bust. The event itself was well-done, the crowd, however=not quite the singles scene. Everyone kept to their own little groups (us included), staring at each other like animals in a zoo. The thing is, even if I felt inclined to make the rounds, there really was nobody interesting enough for me to talk to. Shrug.
Friday
One of my long-time best friends from Texas came into town for business and ended up extending her stay for a very short 1.5 days. That gave us just one night to hit the town and live it up.
First–a description of my friend, Bally, who I’ve known since middle school, and who’s wedding I was a bridesmaid in. She is, to me, one of the people I find most like me. We are both outspoken, not afraid to be loud, direct, honest to a fault, loyal to a fault, and aggressive but in a funny way. What’s great about being with her is that I never have to worry about being myself. I never have to think twice about my actions, or worry that someone thinks I’m being “mean” or “bitchy” or whatever, b/c being with a like-minded person, makes me feel really secure. That being said, I want to mention that Bally is by no means a size 2, but I find her to be one of the most confident and startling people I know. She can also drink like nobody’s business, and is probably the ONLY girl I know who is married who still goes out and has fun.
That being said, when she suggested we go out on Friday, I knew that it was going to be a good time. And I knew that we would get ourselves into trouble…
We begin the night eating sushi. Boring enough. Bally hailed a cab and we went to a place called Butter in the Soma district. Butter is kind of like Britney and K-fed’s dream bar — i.e. its White Trash themed. They serve tv dinners and tater tots, along with crazy drinks like a “Tangtini” (thats a martini with Tang) and “Latch Key Tea” (long island with strawberry crush soda). Old cheesy movies – like Breakin’ 2 – were projected onto one of the walls in the bar. Insidea, a cut up airstream trailer served such delicacies as beenie weenies and fried twinkies. The circular bar was in the center of the club, and housed 1 fairly cute bartender (wearing typical “cool” regalia of newsboy hat), one fairly weird bartender (with trucker hat. Not so cute tho…kind of had a bitter beer face going) and one bartender who could be cute if it weren’t for the dreads (not into white people w/dreds).
The VERY FIRST thing I said to Bally was, “DO NOT LOOK ANYONE IN THE EYES NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO.” Having been out of the singles scene for some time, I thought it was mandatory that I let her in on this very simple rule. What do you think she does? SHE LOOKS SOME WEIRD DUDE IN THE EYES!
Name: Streaky
Description: Streaky was this Asian guy who we noticed upon entering the bar only b/c he was *that guy* By *that guy* I mean he was the one person in the bar spinning around and around and around to the music, with his eyes closed and his streaky hair waving back and forth. He wore all black. Was Asian. Had streaky orange hair. And was totally into Bally. We were sitting at the booth seats, observing the crowd, when all of a sudden, Streaky sat down next to her. I immediately asked if she made eye contact, and Bally confessed that she “couldn’t help it.” Yeah, good going Bally. That’s exactly the kind of mentality that will get you killed. We started to laugh, and Streaky left. Then Bally accidentally made eye contact AGAIN and so then Streaky came back. Second time around, he motioned for his BFF to come over. BFF arrived at the scene, and then yelled (bc its loud) to Streaky, “ARE YOU GONNA HIT THAT SHIT, OR WHAT?” Bally turned to me and said, “I can totally hear what theyre saying…and Im not sure I want to be referred to as ‘shit’.” Streaky remained seated. BFF left. And then I noticed Streaky rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I also noticed that his empty glass of booze is rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I told Bally that its only a matter of time before he dropped that glass. She doubted me. And sure enough “CRASH!” Streaky dropped the fucking glass, causing wet shards to scatter everywhere. He didn’t do anything though…he barely even moved. He just sat and stared into space, still rocking. Aaaannnd then he proceeded to rub his fingers through Bally’s hair. UM?! Bally turned around and said that she didn’t think her husband would appreciate such a gesture. Nonplussed, Streaky lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, suggesting that Bally do the same so he can determine if she’s wearing a ring. Obviously she is. Streaky exited stage left only to make an appearance later in the night as we watched him leering after my roomie, C, and my friend S. The moment they entered, Streaky started chasing them. Like horror movie chasing where the people being followed have no idea that they are being followed by the swamp thing. Bally and I sat on our bar stools and witnessed the whole thing, yelling C’s name in hopes that Streaky would never catch up. Thankfully, they were spared.
++++++++++++++++++++++
We sat at the bar and people watched most of the night. Bally flirted w/the cool bartender (one w/newsboy cap, obviously) and I tried to avoid making eye contact. A sorority girl type stood next to me for a portion of the night, dancing right at the bar w/her wet cardboard personality friends. Getting Drinks 101 states that once you get your drink in a crowded club, you move away from the bar. You dont stand and linger (a), nor do you DANCE (b), next to said bar. yeah, they did both. And on top of that, when the girl started dancing, her purse starting hitting me in the back. I tried to subtley hint that she was pushing me, but nudging her in the back…and then by elbowing her a little in the back…then by accidentally leaning back too far and hitting her w/my head…but of course, nothing worked. So then i took my purse, put it in my lap, and started spinning around on my barstool, hitting her each time with my purse. After about 10 times, she leaned over and said, “everytime you swing in your chair, you hit me with your purse.” I calmy replied, “really? That’s interesting. Because every time you dance, you hit me with YOUR purse.” She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. How dare I question her! After some deep thought, she responded, “Well…like…I don’t see how that’s even possible b/c I don’t even have a purse.” I said, “Oh, well then what is hitting me? Your arm? Or your boyfriend’s arm?” At this point, I lean over and notice she is tucking away her purse. I reached over and pulled it out and then said, “What’s this then? I think it looks like a purse. Yeah, every time you move your arm, your purse hits me.” GOD. How fucking stupid does one really have to be. Why the hell would you lie about that? She left promptly thereafter. Of course it didn’t help that Bally was mouthing the words, “fight fight fight fight” over and over again. She also kept saying, “If theres a fight, I got your back.” Let me tell you, all it would take is for Bally to stand up, and I guarantee thsi girl would be running.
Things were more tame the rest of the evening. We stayed until the crowds cleared out, and until a guy we named “Micheal Bolton” approached.
Name: Michael Bolton
Description: Well, he didn’t get the name Michael Bolton for nothing…Micheal first approached C, asked her, “is this seat taken?” then sat down before she had a chance to respond. Meanwhile, C is looked at us with terrified eyes and Bally and I could not stop laughing. Michael tried to start a convo w/C by asking, “Hey, so what do you call this place? Is this a club or a dance club?” C replied, “um…its a bar?” Eventually, Michael got up and left. Bally and I assumed that it was bc he realized we were laughing at him. I felt a little bad about that, but then shook it off. At least he wouldn’t be back. Next thing I know, Bally is looking at me with huge eyes. She was looking over my shoulder as if she saw something or someone. Then she turned away, hunched over, laughing. I started to get nervous. This could NOT be a good sign. “WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?” I asked. “WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING? OH GOD HE’S BEHIND ME ISNT HE? MICHAEL BOLTON IS BEHIND ME?” Inbetween gulps of laughter, Bally slowly nodded. “IS HE STANDING BEHIND ME?” Before Bally could respond, i felt a tap tap on my shoulder. I slowly turned and there he was. Michael Bolton. Not content with one of teh girls in our group (bc clearly we were all together), he decided to move onto me. The first thing he asked me was, “Hey, so what do you call this place? Is this a club or a dance club?” Yes, I’m being serious. Mike kept asking me if i wanted a drink. Honestly, thats the last thing I wanted. I had actually been drinking since 4pm that day and was already fairly tipsy. On top of that, I didn’t want to have any convos with this guy. I lied and said that we had to get going, that Bally was going to the airport early in the morning, etc. Like a trooper, Bally guzzled down her drink, slammed it on the table, and we were out of there. When I got up to leave, Michael grabbed my arm and said, “I just want to tell you that you have a very beautiful face.” Um. Dude. Isn’t that a line guys use to compliment fat chicks?!?! Great. I thanked him. Hesitantly.
…however…we were followed by 2 guys who were sitting next to C, witnessing the whole thing…
Name(s): Bert and Ernie
Description: 2 fairly nice guys. I was giving them shit, bc, well, thats what I do. Bert wanted to get us to go to a dance club. Bally, being from out of town, kept accepting his offer. I finally stepped in and asked Bert, “where do you want to go again?” He rattled off the name of a club. “Oh, cool. So now we know where NOT to go,” I responded. His friend, Ernie, butted in and told me that was not cool. I laughed and said I was teasing. They did seem like nice boys…just so random. We chitchatted for a while in the street. I couldnt figure out if they were hitting on me or C or Bally, or what. Bert kept wrapping his sweater around Ernie and saying something like, “come home with me.” They were just goofing around, but clearly Bert was more drunk than Ernie. During all this confusion, Ernie told me about his cousin from Houston who was in the NBA. Um…i guess thats impressive? But only if I got to meet his cousin…Ernie and I chatted a bit longer, and then, out of nowhere, HE asked ME if HE could give ME his number. wow, thats quite the changeup. I quite like being the one in charge. Just as our cab arrived, he gave me his business card, and told me that he would “be thrilled” if I called him. The sad thing is, I know this guy is probably super nice, but I really cannot remember much more than that. Like i have no recollection of how he looked. And I really had no clue that he was hitting on me…Sad, huh?
…still not finished, Bally convinced us to go to a neighborhood lounge for last call. We made it just in time to throw back some key lime martinis and watch some dude sleeping in the corner of the lounge, shirt raised up, exposing his beer belly, completley passed out until some other guy poked him in the exposed belly of all things (WHY?). C also got hit on by another dude, whos face I also don’t remember (lets face it, by this point in the night, after 9 hrs of drinking, the only image I could conjure up in my head was of me stuffing my fat face with buffalo wings). Again, this dude seemed more like he was chatting and less like he was hitting on anyone. He owned a few bldgs on 24th street and kept saying, “Welcome to the Neighborhood.” Thats cool. Maybe we’ll get a hookup sometime. As in free food or drinks hookup.
…and then we stumbled home, Bally with her slippery boots, begging us to slow down. Me with my blurred visions of chicken wings. And C with her sober (and probably annoyed) and tired self. While waiting for Bally to get ready for bed, I logged onto my email and drunk-emailed X2 that I loved him. It was a pretty stupid email. I think I said “love” like 9 times. something like, “I love love love love love love love you you fucking fuckface.”
It was something like that.
ps–Bally is convinced she saw David Blaine at Butter.
