1:55 a.m. Saturday, 20**
I took the last sip of my Gin and tonic. Said girl was standing in the back of the line awaiting the use of the bathroom. At any half happening venue in the city, women always have to wait exactly twenty nine minutes more than men for the exact same purpose of relieving themselves. I’m not really too sure why this is and have often wondered just what exactly women do in there. I can only guess it’s because we as men urinate upright and all the hardships that go along with peeing sitting down causes this major delay in bathroom time.
I waited for her to come out. Exactly thirty three minutes later, I informed her of an “after hours” spot located under a hair salon that twice a week housed designer collared shirt and tie wearing, pseudo junkies looking to pro-long their pathetic weekend warrior like debaucheries. I intended to be one of the said pathetic people and invited her to bear the same label. Without a doubt she came along.
We got there by cab shortly after. In an “after hours” there are no more games; true colors come out with the help of a small group of Columbian guerrilla mercenaries. If Red Bull has wings then Cocaine has a strap-on jet pack. After a segment of the rebel forces fought and died their way into our blood stream she got a lot “friendlier”. Good job men, mission accomplished. Buy a girl a drink and you get a conversation. Buy her a ring and you get a mini van and a mortgage. Buy her Cocaine and at the very least, you get a blow job.
1:45 a.m. Saturday, 20**
“I know, I can't afford to stop
For a moment... that it's too soon… to forget
I know, I can't afford to stop
For a moment… that it's too soon… to forget”
The Lights flickered on and off three times to the chorus of "Ms. Fat Booty”. Last call.
1:01 a.m. Saturday, 20**
There she was, by the bar holding a glass of red wine, blatantly being approached by one guy after the next. She turned down their advances loud enough for everyone in the place to know that she had class but friendly enough to keep the potential suitors and free drinks coming. May the best man win. She loved the attention, it was obvious, at least to me. You have to respect a girl friendly enough to give just about any would be approacher false hope with her “McDonalds-smiles-are-free-with-any-order” attitude but still reject a dude just after that drink is bought for her. Trick.
She was wearing a fitted silver striped midnight blue dress bottomed off with black nylons. The nylons had obvious self-made runs, her eyeliner was over applied and her hoop earrings were way too big. I knew she was going to be trouble, it was obvious by the size of her earrings. The bigger the hoops, the bigger the Ho, it’s a known universal law. But still, I knew, for me, she was tonight’s overnight heartache. I caught her glancing at me a few times. I waited till the third.
The magic number with love and sex is always three. You go on a date with someone for the third time and you better have a condom on you because the two of you, in all likely hood, are exchanging a high amount of bodily fluids. You’ve been dating someone for three months and someone is probably going to drop an “L-bomb”. And of course, by the third time you have sex with a girl, whether she admits it or not, she has began to envision herself in that white dress and you holding her hand in front of her love ones wearing that penguin suit. By the third time, whether you can make her leg quiver or not, she’s hooked on you. I made my approach.
“I came over here to see what the big deal was all about.” She looked confused.
“Left and right, I see one dude after the next coming to talk to you and buying you drinks. What’s your name? Are you famous? Is there a reason for guys to keep buying you free drinks?”
She laughed, introduced herself and told me she had no idea what all the fuss was about and assured me she was just a “regular” girl but not once did she justify accepting the numerous amount of drinks. We conversated for awhile, laughed, exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes but in no way did I or she intend that to be the end of the night. Again, this was obvious by the size of her hoop earrings. I knew any further pursuit would end in nothing but a “Lindsay Lohan-esque” type of night. But for some reason I just couldn’t help myself, the perfect combination of that Bombay Gin and that Tonic water just makes me want to continue chasing “waterfalls”. Truth be told, I often wake up the next morning tip toeing out of some stranger’s unfamiliar apartment asking myself why I continue to do the things I do. Regret has been such a consistent part of the diet of my life that there isn’t enough Starbucks bran muffins to defecate it out of my system. But still, I’ll have to admit, with all the regrets and all the overnight heartaches an awkward morning will always beat a lonely evening.