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All the good ones are either married, gay, or spit on you

Apr 11, 2009

My month-long crush was exhilarating, but it was short-lived, as most crushes are. When you are ultimately "crushed," the best thing to do is pick yourself up and move on...in other words, put on a hot top and lots of eye shadow, and grab a friend for a night out on the town. And if Charlotte York's theory of how long it takes to get over a guy is correct, half the time we dated (technically about 6 hours) would be 3 hours. Perfect.

My friend of choice was Sabrina, the recent break-up-ee of a super long relationship with a pretty cute guy who ended up having a severe personality defect. Sabrina was willing to overlook it, as we girls usually are when we're dealing with colossal jerks. But he chose to ignore her, as colossal jerks usually do when they're dealing with beautiful, intelligent women who have their act together and could really do much better. Since then the only male attention she had received was from an older, married man and a gay one (I use the term "attention" loosely -- she is in an accelerated nursing program and has minor contact with them). She was due some instant gratification from a night of flirting.

So we gussied ourselves up and got on the Metro toward Chinatown, our sole purpose being to get hit on as much as possible. When we got on the train there weren't many prospects, but once we hit King Street a crowd of college students and a couple of others bounded in. I figured the chubby frat boys would be good to boost our confidence, but before I could make eye contact a chubby way-past-his-prime guy landed himself in front of us.

"Green is really your color," he said to me with a gross smirk on his face. Not remembering putting on anything green (rather, I was wearing a black top, a gray beaded shrug, and blue jeans), I scanned my body, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

"I think he's talking about your shoes," Sabrina whispered, pointing to my black, opalescent stilettos that look kind of greenish in certain light.

"Oh, thanks," I said dryly to Weird Colorblind Guy.

His smirk had turned into a full on smile by then, and he was slightly swinging around on the pole. (For the record, I look so much better doing that.) He used the momentum to swing himself close to us.

"So, where are you girls going?"

"Chinatown, to meet some people," I said quickly.

"Oh yeah? Where in Chinatown?" he pressed, drooling a little.

"Rocket Bar." I had no idea what I was talking about. It was the first thing that popped into my head. I wasn't even sure if that was what it was called, since I always get Rocket Bar and Rocket Grill confused (one is cool and in D.C., the other is lame and in smoky Virginia).

"Oh, that's a great place. Oh yeah. I love that place." He was going on and on and getting closer with every sentence. Luckily we weren't far from our stop. When we got to Chinatown we said bye and sprinted off the train.

"Haha, look!" Sabrina pointed, glancing back as the train pulled away. Weird Colorblind Guy had already found someone else to hit on.

"That's one," I told Sabrina, starting a tally with my thumb.

Although I despise Irish pubs, Fado's was the only place I knew to go. We tried to make our way through the crowd, but four steps in we were stopped by an okay looking short guy.

"I think you ladies are breaking a serious regulation," he said, holding a giant beer mug.

"Oh?" we replied.

"You aren't allowed to make it this far in without a beer in your hand!" he laughed, so proud of his original come on. We promised to get a beer and pushed our way past him.

"That's two!" Sabrina said cheerfully. "Now let's get out of here!"

When we stepped out into the light of the street lamps and digital signs, I remembered Clyde's was nearby. A group of about five cops were loitering in front of a CVS, and let's be real, bored cops are the most fun to flirt with...am I right ladies? We approached them with our prettiest smiles and asked where Clyde's was, 'cause we were a little lost. They all stood up off their motorcycles, smiling back at us, and gave us detailed instructions on how to get there. We were also invited to come back later when there was sure to be some arresting action from the first wave of public drunkenness of the night. We were up to seven, and we'd only been at it for an hour!

Clyde's has two bars, so when you walk in you have to linger for a moment in the foyer and scan the main one for prospects, and then you walk up the stairs expertly in your high heels to check the second bar, just in case. From my limited experience, the upstairs bar is usually not that great (I recently had a guy show my his tattoo -- his birth year on his unattractive rear end...and he couldn't figure out why I walked off). This night was no different. The only person not paired up with someone already was a middle-aged man with longish hair and a bowtie.

"Well hello, ladies," snarled Creepy Bowtie Man.

"EIGHT!" I squeaked as I pulled Sabrina quickly back downstairs.

The downstairs bar had seats, and we were grateful to at least rest our aching feet. Almost immediately two guys sitting nearby struck up conversation with us. Apparently they had already staked us out and knew who got which girl. Barry the Awkward Toucher liked Sabrina, and Guy Whose Name I Don't Remember, aka The Spitter, liked me. Do I need to explain what happened next? Barry kept touching Sabrina on her arm or lower back, and then he would get nervous and not know what to say. The Spitter had neither conversationalism nor saliva deficiencies. Eventually I got so embarrassed for him I stopped wiping my face and just endured the spray.

At exactly 1:30 a.m. we announced we were leaving. Barry and Spitter offered to walk us to the Metro. Sabrina and I were not interested in prolonging the conversation, but since they were following us we didn't have much choice. We were on different lines, and the guys tried to convince us to take the long way home and ride with them, to which we replied, "Why don't you take the long way home?" Then we all just stood on the platfrom looking at each other and smiling weirdly.

The silence was getting really uncomfortable, and finally Spitter broke it with, "Okay, what are we doing?"
"We're getting on the yellow train," I said, grabbing Sabrina's hand and moving toward the esacalator.
"Oh, okay then. Bye!" Spitter spat. Awkward Barry, with no one to touch, was thrown off his game and just shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with his hands.

Once we were out of their earshot, Sabrina, looked at me and laughed. "That's ten!"

"Wow," I marveled. "Ten guys hit on us tonight. How does the instant gratification feel?"

The Metro doors opened and a group of loud guys pushed their way on, eyeing us as we took our seats.

"I think I'm good on the flirting for a long time," she nodded.

I smiled, my skin tight with spit residue. "Yeah, me too."

2 comments:

  1. M E!! That was awesome! I loved it...when are you going to post again, you slacker? :)

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  2. Ok, first Rocket Grill is not lame and VA is no longer smokey. Come back and hang out! : )

    Two, I like the game of counting the compliments, but no one was even half way ok? Hmm.. there has to be one!

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