So this weekend I had a dream that all in the same day, I walked my dogs with Nicole Kidman, ate lunch with Jennifer Lopez and went to the dry cleaners with Jenna Jameson. La Kidman loved Sammy and Thora, I told J. Lo that she’s much nicer now that Marc Anthony straightened her out and Jenna J and I talked porn and strippers. Um…I think there’s a problem when your guilty pleasures of celebrity gossip and porn stars infect your slumber. I might need to suspend my subscriptions to US Weekly and Excalibur Films…
Anyway, the Queen of Quantity and I went out Saturday night to the 18th Street Lounge. Between the things that happened to us, and the conversations that ensued (between us and with others) it was an enlightening evening of Human Nature of the sexes. Long before venturing out Saturday night, I’ve had my own opinions of what people will do when it comes to dating and the potential for love. Men have this code: “Bros before Ho’s.” Women, well, we don’t seem to have that code. I’ve watched seemingly confident women who profess they have no trouble finding boys to date, step over and stab their friends in the back for a man they barely know. Watching these women trade friendship to become pathetic and needy is always interesting. For me, these women are the ones I bid “Good Fucking Riddance” to. And people always get what they deserve. This never pans out the way the woman expects, but does she ever wonder why she chose to jettison the friend for the man? Probably not. At least not the selfish whores. And I laugh at selfish, pathetic whores, so all this works out fine for me.
So, back to present time. Seated on the 18th Street Lounge patio, the place starts to get crowded. A man circles and approaches. Here we go. “Hi Ladies, can I ask you a question?” We nod. He says, “Do you find it hard to meet people here?” Um. Okay. Now I’m disgusted. Every time I am approached at a bar, I try to be nice, as I imagine my poor brothers and male friends at bars approaching women across the country. I wouldn’t want a woman to be a nasty bitch to my brothers or my friends, so I’m not a nasty bitch when I’m hit on. But, we are pleasant as continues into his best technique lifted direct from “The Game.” His friend approaches, says something to him, then we are all introduced. It was just too staged. Men. Please. The best line you can use in a bar is, “Hi, my name is ____.” The rest of it just sounds too contrived.
Anyway, Neil Strauss Junior and his friend start speaking in Spanish (WTF??) and that allows me to turn my bitch on and turn my head completely away from them, back to the Queen of Quantity. They get the hint and leave. Um. What the hell was that? You’re going to come over, and try your best, and you don’t get shot down, and then your little friend comes over and you turn on the Espanol? They asked if we spoke Spanish, and while I have a working knowledge of it, they were just making it too hard.
The Queen of Quantity and I go back to talking. A man backs into the Queen of Quantity, unaware that she’s sitting there, and I say, “Hey, you’re about to sit in my friend’s lap.” He turns around and says, “Sorry. I got pushed. Hi, my name is Chris.” (Much better than the last dude that came over here, Chris.) Chris ends up being a very nice, very genuine boy. But I say boy because he and his 25 friends arrived at the 18th Street Lounge via the Party Bus for some girl’s birthday party. (Birthday girl by the way was wearing all the blue eyeshadow that the world has produced since 1981, the year of her birth.)
As this guys friends see he is chatting away two girls, they start coming over one by one. First we meet “Mr. High Five Goldchains.” Then we meet “Mr. I got sunburned but only on my nose so I look like Rudolph.” Chris was nice. Those next two, downright scary – not for any reason other than their damn aura was screaming “I just got in here with my fake ID” even though they all said they were 25 or 26. (Lie lie big fat lie.) I said something that Mr. High Five Goldchains thought was funny, and he attempted to high five me. People. Please. High fives are meant for THE HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL FIELD ONLY. I then proceeded to bitch slap him for 25 minutes about how he would never pick up a decent girl with that high fiving routine.
So while we’re all talking, one of the girls from the party bus gang comes over and grabs Mr. High Five Gold Chains and says through her gritted teeth, “Um….what are you doing over here???” I said to him, “Your girlfriend wants you to return to their group.” He said he didn’t have a girlfriend, blah blah. That makes that exchange even funnier, for a woman will ALWAYS piss all over her guy friends like a damn dog, just so he can’t get with anyone else. Again I ask, why? When I was her age, I went out with my brother’s best friend all the time (because we found ourselves both single and living in the same town) and he would pick the girl and I would hunt her down. I always got him the girl he wanted. Why don’t women do this for their guy friends? I’m always more than happy to see a guy friend make progress with a woman, and if I can help, even better. Life, you see, isn’t controlled by us, even though we think it is. We can help it along, but why get in the path of two people who might be interested in each other? So to the little 24 year old girl wearing the giant turquoise stone around her neck and insane jealousy on her sleeve??? Get a clue.
Queen of Quantity and I proceed to discuss, during a moment alone, that a man’s height will directly affect his aggressiveness factor. The tall guys are the ones who just stand around acting cool, waiting to be approached. The short guys are SO FREAKING AGGRESSIVE. I have seen this play out time and time again. What is that all about – is it like a “I have nothing to lose” theory? I remember two years ago my friend Sara and I went out with a guy friend of ours and he brought along this little pint size man, probably around 5 feet tall. Maybe 5’1. Anyway, every time Sara got more than a couple inches away from him on the dance floor, he would aggressively grab her back, as if to say, “You’re mine, don’t go anywhere.” Very odd.
Exit 18th Street Lounge, stage left.
We made our way to Biddy Mulligan’s in the circle. Surprisingly, the QofQ (I had to shorten that shit, it was way out of hand) saw someone she knew quite well. He, in all his hotness, with all his friends, in all their hotness, came over to our table. The night was looking up, finally, if not for the adult company who didn’t arrive via “party bus.” One of the men started bargaining with me for my Prada bag. I kept saying no and he kept upping the ante. People are weird. Then they all left because one of the guys wanted to check out another bar, and I went to the restroom. When I came back. the QofQ had a visitor. Um. Sorry I left you alone.
She’s talking to this guy and her eyes are glazing over. He turns to me and starts saying something about how he hates that everyone asks the “What do you do for work” question. Now, I don’t mind this question, and I don’t see the reason that so many people hate it, but to each his own. I guess it can be offensive for people in professions who then get attacked for advice. The QofQ said when she’s not interested in a man she says she’s a nanny and that sends them running. Then the conversation took the turn so I asked him what he did for work. And he snapped back with “What do you do???” I said, “I’m a nanny.” When he finally answered, this is what he said:
“I work for a middle eastern think tank.” He went on to explain it, but I had had just about enough at that point. Then HIS friend came over (Christ, is there a patent on this fucking routine?) and the QofQ’s man friends came back, rescuing us from further inane conversation.
What did we learn?
1) Women need to figure out how to stick together and stop selling out their girlfriends for some dick. (Literally, figuratively.)
2) “Hi my name is” is the only acceptable line.
3) Don’t cockblock your friends, male or female.
4) Don’t high five anyone. Ever.
5) Short men are sometimes (eek…most times I’ve seen) over aggressive.