Tales From Last Night Vol.2, Cock Block Edition

NOTE! This was posted a few months after the events happened.  I wrote it and forgot it.  I think that’s how I’m gonna deal with the danger that some people might be reading about themselves here from now on.

I thought I’d have dropped this idea of recapping the previous night’s events, but as I’ve been taking writing about my life more seriously, I’ve realized that some of my best shit is my bizarrely interesting interactions with the ladays.

So, while the last post was more about how life had coincidentally reflected some themes from this blog (BORRRIIING), this one (and maybe future ones) will be about how nuts mildly interesting shit was.  And why not roll it back to include the week?  Because I’ve been on fire.  Wait, is that the right phrase? No…. hot mess, that’s the one.

First thing, I turned my okcupid profile back on.  If you’re curious, my name is “chemistryTHIS” (right ’cause I think chemistry is a dumb concept). I got a date.  The girl won’t tell me what she does for a living “over the internet.” So I find out in person (also see that she has a cute ass, I think.  It was dark at the bar.).  I ask her “Ok, what do you do?”

“I’m the personal assistant of someone famous.”  And here, right now, I’m wondering what my ethical obligations are.  Because she didn’t literally say “someone famous” she said that person’s name.  And I’ve already started to spread it around that I met Someone Famous’s personal assistant, and that she wanted to make sure I knew she was in a really messed up place right now (the girl, not the star), having just moved out of her boyfriend of 2 years’ place and not understanding why he dumped her, etc, etc.  And I kinda just wanted to say “Yeah yeah, listen, can we just have sex and not worry about that crap, because I noticed your ass is bangin?”

[So, I don’t really know how much identifiable info to share because I don’t want to be mean to nice people.  And as she seems to be building a brand/career for herself I should hold back, right?]

Anyway, despite the weird red flags, I was feeling it.  But she had her paranoia on high alert that night: her friends kept text checking up on her, she wouldn’t let me bring/touch her drinks (because ruffies? how do you even spell those?), and she had her “really close guy friend who never made a move on her in the years they’ve known each other but who has volunteered his sperm in case she never meets THE ONE” pick her up outside the bar (meaning I couldn’t walk her home).  Oh, and she just hit one of the old age milestones (30).

She was also really funny, cute, and has won some storytelling competitions, which I find super attractive.  Anyway, chalk that one up to a loss.  I dropped her off on the corner across from the corner her special best guy friend was on.  If you’re smart you can figure out who she personally assists: a female lead sci-fi actor whose most famous role got like 4 sequels.

Interesting side note: I pregame at the Park Slope bar Union Hall because they have some seriously convenient bathroom setups (private rooms! a lot of them!), so I was there about 40 minutes pre-date having a Narragansett.  And accidentally struck up a conversation with a hot mess lady.  Pat me on the back, because when it looked like we were heading toward phone number exchange, I told her I was about to be on a date. She suddenly had somewhere to go, and she left. That was the classy thing to do, right? No? Yes? I don’t even know anymore.  She was an avid golfer anyway, so. Meh.

[Update! In the months since these “events,” I’ve accidentally chatted up and been chatted up by this same chick a few times, same spot at the bar.  And then I saw her get murdered on an episode of Fringe and went all internet ballistic.  She used to be a child star and now, I dunno, is looking for a special connection in Brooklyn?  So many famous people to not name!]

And then, the company holiday party

Where to even begin?  Well, for one thing I’m quitting soon.  For another, the vast majority of the employees there are either alpha and beta married men, or cute single 20-something girls.  My theme song going in was this:

In other words I was out to hook up with a coworker, any coworker, preferably one that works near my office, so we could be maximally uncomfortable on Monday.  Mission accomplished, y’all.  Only in the least satisfying way in the world.  Hands down.  So.

This girl (with no lips, incidentally… a disconcerting fact that is alleviated by her possessing enormous cans) gives me the eye every day at the office, but we don’t know each other.  Fast forward to office party where she ignores me completely.  Hit the button again and we’re at this TERRIBLE bar Brass Monkey on the west side.  The bar itself is actually alright.  But it has managed to attract the worst crowd in Manhattan.  Think midtown, but younger and richer.

She sits next to me and we talk, and then we’re making out (wasted) and she goes, “Hey, wanna go back to my place and get high?”

Yes.

Only it’s also 3 other people coming back to her place.  Three dumb, stupid, pieces of shit cock blocking assholes.  Fast forward and she’s saying “Hey guys, isn’t it getting a little late?”  They very reluctantly take the hint (it was only 5AM, after all) and scram.  I plop onto the bed next to big cans coworker.  And she says,

“Yeah, I need to get some sleep.”

“Oh no kidding, sure thing.”

“Yeah, you have to go now.”

Fuck.  At this moment all I can do is picture the hell of trying to get back to my spot in Brooklyn Siberia shitfaced, tired as fuck, wearing a fucking suit.

“I mean I can just sleep on the couch.  I promise I won’t do anything.”

“Noooo, I don’t even know you.  You have to go.”

I respect that.  Except what a bitch, right?!  Kidding, but I was TIRED.  I dialed all 7s and got a car.  I made it home about an hour later.  The cab ride took extra long because every time I nodded off, the driver stopped, pulled out a notepad, and scribbled some fucking more on his fucking masterpiece.  I finally had to lay it down, don’t write your novel on my sleeping time, buddy, ok?  At least someone got some writing done as a result.

COMMENT, JERKS!