11:42 a.m. - 2007-07-09
Friday night--gone but not forgotten
I was visiting Sandy in Brooklyn this weekend. Instead of our usual trek to the Zombie Hut, Sandy and I went to a hip club on the trendy side of the meat packing district in Manhattan. I don't remember the name of it, but the trip was not purely for fun. Sandy has a restaurant reviewing/corporate spy gig on occasion--this was one of those occasions.
This might explain why we didn't have as much fun as we expected. We were on the list, so we got to go right in. We were there very early. We snagged a spot at the bar, and proceeded to drink and hang out. Around 12:15, Sandy and I are accosted by two drunk men. They were dressed like aging Ivy frat boys--oxford on one, polo on the other. Polo proceed to try to chat me up.
"Oh, you're married and from out of town? You're a mom? My mom is the best woman.... You're from Virginia? My mother went to the University of Virginia!" See Peggey. See Peggey roll her eyes a lot to Sandy, who was busy ignoring Polo's drunk best friend.
Polo's best friend, in the oxford, was very drunk and kept slobbering--literally--on Sandy. That was as much conversation as he could manage. (gah.) Later, I met up with... let us call him "Beaureguard" in the hall. (Big and slobbered like a hound, plus he kept sniffing us out all night--can you think of a better name than Beaureguard?) He grabbed my hand and proceeded to dance with me. I *have* had worse dance partners. Later, he became one. (See Peggey sigh deeply, and not in that "he's so dreamy" kind of way....)
So there I am, minding my own business, plotting my next attack on the bar, looking for a reasonable man to spin around the dance floor and, suddenly, there's Beaureguard. He grabs me and leads me--*badly* at this point because he's a frat boy who doesn't know how to stop drinking. He then proceeds to pick me up--literally-- and swings me around the crowded dance floor. "Yes, aren't these fabulous spiky-heeled dancing shoes? Pardon me while I pull this one from your spleen." Ugh.
Next time, I call over the tall, dark, handsome, helpful bouncer. Perhaps it is wrong of me to prefer the company of the help, but the help seems to be more attractive and better mannered. And much more capable of conversation!!!
If there are any men worse than forward frat boys from NJ, it's frat boys from NJ who have been out of college for 15 years....
And they didn't even buy us a drink!! Gah. Feh. Pretty is as pretty does, and that bar was full of pretty people. I prefer attractive to pretty these days....
