Anyways, we WALKED to the bar and I suddenly exclaimed "Isn't this city amazing? You get to interact with strangers every day!" -- referencing a gaggle of gays heading our way. We passed them silently. Wex and Llaura looked at me, confused. They made me explain "interact." "It's like... just being NEAR people, just walking... you know... eye contact." If I gave someone eye contact while driving in LA, it was because they A) Just cut me off and I wanted to really add that punch to my sarcastic "thumbs up," or B) Looked like Adam Levine. I did notice a lot of people were looking at me. Not like people don't stare at me all the time!!! (They don't.) I think it had something to do with my oversized leopard faux fur jacket. I'm actually shocked that I wasn't involved in an attempted "Sex 4 Money" transaction. I started thinking about what would be on my "Menu" of "Services" (read: sex stuff). I think it would be something like "Good Conversation - $25," "Co-Nap - $40," "Spooning - $60." Prices subject to change. I remember LLaura saying to me "You might have to "tone it down" for D.C." Guess what? D.C. SHOULD TONE IT UP FOR ME! Is that a saying? It is now.
We get to Blackjack, and apparently I didn't even leave LA. They were projecting "Boyz n the Hood" on their exposed brick wall as we sat under bistro lights with a soft glow from vintage carnival signs with strategically burnt out bulbs. Move over shuffleboard. Hit the road ping pong! It's now all about BOCCE. The bar has a back room bocce court. Because the first thing you want to do is give a drunk guy, who's inevitably a ticking time bomb of suppressed emotions, a 5 pound ball.
No but for realsies, it's a devil monkey wearing a top hat. It doesn't get much cooler. Unless he smokes American Spirit.
My night was made when we scooped up the table right by the staircase entrance. PRIME people watching. But when G-Lizzie or Wex pointed out someone they thought was cute, trying to find him was a lost cause. "No, he's the guy in the button down," is basically the LA equivalent of "The guy with the beard, glasses, and plaid shirt. No, to the left. The one who plays mandolin in that band." All I know is D.C. is still a bastion of button downs, khakis and "Republican Hair." (You know, straight, shinny, parted to the side with a small swoop. The hair that still looks good shaken from underneath a lacrosse helmet. These people. Ahh, yes you've got it now.) It gave me the opportunity to put a dollar in this guy's shirt. He was attempting to "Magic Mike" the banister that was basically in my face, so I appreciated the effort.
White people...
I just had a good old fashioned time drinking with my friends. I'm talking legally buying booze and enjoying each other's company, not stealing sips of vodka out of a water bottle in the bathroom at some high school dance. Ahhh, youth. Who am I kidding with this mature sensibility? We got just as drunk. In this state of drunk I made my first mistake of the night. I started talking to some guy. He wasn't my type, but in the moment he became the only one I focused on. Why? Because he was just next to me and I wanted to talk to someone. This morphed into a 2-on-1 convo with his friend from Russia(?) who was just as conversationally mediocre. But wait... No. They couldn't be. Are they? Yes. They were hitting on me. But I just wanted to have a non-sexually charged conversation! I panicked and in fight or flight mode exclaimed I had to go to the bathroom (about 5 feet away). I didn't even have to go to the bathroom! Oh don't we pay for the things we do wrong... Yes, Ernest Hemingway. Mos def.
I returned to the table after the coast was clear and asked Llaura's boyfriend, Nmark a very important question. Imagine me drunk (don't have to, got that image loud and clear! Boom! Self high-five! Congrats) -- "OK, but like... can I go up to a guy and just want to TALK to him. Like I don't want to hook up with him, I just want to converse! And maybe we can start a wonderful friendship." Nmark stared at me. "Why do you think people come to a bar?" "To make friends?", I asked with a hopeful tone. "No."
You already know I love free stuff. Here's another character morsel -- I love friendship. Love it can't get enough! If I were to ever appear on a competition-based reality show (unlikely, unless it's "The Amazing Race," which I would do with my dad -- he'd be the brains, I'd be the comical reaction shots) the first thing I would say to the camera would be: "I didn't come here to win, I came here to make friends." One day I'll have a TV network devoted to friendship-based reality shows. "10 sexy guys, 10 sexy girls, with only one thing in mind... LONG-LASTING FRIENDSHIPS!" If you hook up, you get kicked off. Last couple standing wins cash... and then divides it up with the rest of the friend competitors. So Nmark's answer broke my heart (the portion dealing with platonic relationships). I pretty much spent the rest of the night reading the "Boyz n the Hood" subtitles and having fun with some "HE'S in this?" moments.
I may have threatened my hours-old friendship with Nmark after committing my second mistake of the eve. I offered to buy a round of drinks, and Nmark and I both ordered vodka sodas. I came back to the table and NMark was in the bathroom. I grabbed my lime wedge for the squeeze and it SHOT out of my hands. I blame the drink condensation and my hyperhidrosis. (Awareness is the first step to a cure.) Think fast, B-Baum! It was like I had no control over my limbs. My arm shot out and grabbed his wedge, giving it a little squeeze into my drink. But what do I do with the lime carcass?? He's going to notice it's gone. OK, nasal breathing, clear mind, got it! I threw it back in his drink... just as he walked up to the table. I then attempted to explain the situation, but just ended my defense with "YOU KNOW WHAT, I BOUGHT YOU A DRINK." Alcohol solves ev-er-ee-thing.
Around 2 AM I left G-Lizzie and Wex to make some bad decisions, and took a cab home. When I got to my apartment door, I felt like I was 16-18 again -- taking off my shoes ensuring silent steps back to my room; slowly turning the key to avoid the thunderous lock clunk. After I scooted across the living room, I got to my bedroom and saw that my roommate/mother left me a giant glass of water by my bedside.
Best welcome back night ever. Thanks to everyone involved. Except for the girl who used the last of the toilet paper right before me. Because they only had hand dryers.
Me. 2 AM.
Feel free to use this in an anti-drugs/alcohol campaign. I can't wait to be known as the new "Neck-hole" woman.
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