Rock On
05-18-2007, 08:20 PM
This is something I spent the better part of my day putting together for some of my friends who are in committed relationships. I thought I'd go ahead and post it here, some of you people here might enjoy it.
So my guess is that, more and more, these kinds of nights are a rarity for my boys on this list, with all this talk of permission slip requirements to get out and meet the boys once a week. In any event, it's a peek into the life of “Rock On”
***WARNING: THIS IS LONG AND NOT VERY GOOD***
12:00pm: Big corporate lunch across the street from the office. The owners want to thank us for all our hard work over the past year. "Rock On, I know you've given up all remnants of your social life for 12-16 months. Please accept as a sign of our gratitude this delicious salad and salmon. And Evian water." Fuck.
2:00pm: No wine at this lunch? Give me a break. F this, I'm out of here. Walk back to the office. It's one of the first sunny and beautiful days in the city this year. Just picture perfect, and it's a Thursday. You know what that means -- killer, KILLER happy hour scene tonight. Starting around 5pm, every single woman in the tri-state area will flock to every outdoor space that serves liquor and has guys with shirts and loosened ties, just hoping for a chance to snuggle up against one at the bar, show her goodies, and pass out her phone number. If you look like you have any money, even better. If you don't look like a complete troll, better still. If you have all your limbs, you're pretty much money. Particularly if she's in that sweet spot 28-34 year old age group. Walking up to these women makes me realize how it must feel to pilot a rescue helicopter and to land on the beach of a deserted island where a woman has been stranded for weeks without food and water. Lord are they happy to see you.
2:15pm: I don't feel like going upstairs to the office. There’s some huge golf display at Liberty Place. It's a huge netted in driving range essentially. But there's just one tee, a grandstand behind it, a huge lake, and an island green on the other side (about 30 yards away). There's a huge TV showing highlights. It's a pretty awesome display. Gardens surrounding the lake. I mean, the works. The general public can't get in as far as I can tell, just some big shots who must be either unknown golf pros or employees or something. The crowd around this thing is massive. Every dork in a suit or business casual within about 3 miles is standing around gawking, dreaming of being out on a golf course on this beautiful day instead of up in their offices leading their pathetic lives shuffling papers.
Rock On joins the crowd.
We watch some enormous woman over at the tee (must be an employee I'm thinking, because she certainly doesn't know how to swing a golf club, and coming from me that's pretty sad) take some shots. She plunks 5 or 6 of these things into the water and finally lands one on the green beautifully, with a soft touch that you can't imagine a woman her size having. The crowd goes wild.
2:30: Fine, I'll go do some work. But I'm not staying long. I'm going to HAPPY HOUR soon.
The girl I'm dating, but who doesn't really want a commitment, is tied up with some wedding nonsense the next few days. She apologetically mentioned that she was going alone. Whatever. Like I was dying to go to a wedding?
Bottom line: she's made it fairly clear without stating it that she doesn't want a commitment. So, again -- I'm going to HAPPY HOUR soon.
Seriously though. When you are around 30 years old and single and living in a big city, I think happy hour is the biggest event ever. It's bigger than Friday night or Saturday night, but I don't think a lot of people realize this. Happy hour is where the real fun goes down. The women are wanting to meet guys, and it's women who generally enjoy a conversation as opposed to me out on the dance floor amidst booming techno beats doing the sprinkler. Give me a fucking break. I'm still amazed at the guys who do this. It's like this whole other culture to me. Like those people in Africa who put huge plates in their lips.
4:00: God this is boring. Ok, I'm leaving at 4:15. I tell the guy in the office next to me that. He laughs.
Dude, I'm fucking serious.
4:30: Guy in the office next door walks in with a shit-eating grin. "I thought you were leaving." Sigh. I'm really considering punching him in the face.
4:45: Give the internet one last look. BBMB is back up, but I can’t be bothered. There is like zero fantasy football news this time of year. The draft came and went and now I just don't really care. I'm sure I'll be interested again in August, but right now I care more about the desperate young women who will be wandering the bars, hammered any minute now.
5:00: I'm out. Before I leave, I need a partner. I'm not going to happy hour alone. Get a friend/former girlfriend from nearby to come down with me. She's cool, and she has a boyfriend, but I'm pretty sure she still has a thing for me. It's a pretty sweet deal if you think about it - it's like the best of all worlds together. I can sit around with a pretty cute looking chick and, if all else fails, there's an outside chance we hook up. That can't happen if I go with buddies. Plus, she can't get mad when I hit on other girls. She has a boyfriend. Plus, just sitting around with a cute chick makes you that much more appealing to other cute chicks.
5:05: Go downstairs to the Bar (There's a fountain down there, will become important later). It's pretty much money. I realize later what's so money about it, but at this point I'm just enjoying the outdoors, and the place is filling up. Table space is at an absolute premium. I wait for some couple from somewhere in Europe to get up and snag their table about a minute before some round girls were about to grab it. They mutter something about just missing it and look at me as though I should give it up to them.
Whatever.
5:15: Fire us up teh happy hour. I'm drinking already. Friend shows up. Now she's drinking too. Place is starting to get mobbed. Tons, and I mean tons, of cute women. It's the kind of feeling I could imagine a fisherman has when he walks up to one of those man-made ponds that's artifically stocked with fish for sport fishing. You'd have to be half-fucked not to hook something here. I'm practically salivating.
5:45: I've rifled through a couple margaritas and beers. Friend is drinking mohitos or some other crap that looks awful. She is now talking about our sexual encounters and explaining how she thinks we need some follow up action. Now, she knows the girl I've been dating, so I've got to be careful here. The shark move is probably just to hang tight and not say or do anything that can get back to the dating girl. I'm drunk though. I play the guppy card and instead start spouting off some nonsense about what a great idea it would be for us to hook up tonight.
6:00: Friend's boyfriend comes down to meet us. Buzzkill. Not really, because I didn't want to have to explore the Friend option anyway, and that would just have been too messy, would have somehow seemed wrong, and could potentially have sunk any future I may have with dating girl. Besides, I really like the guy. He's a good dude and cracks me up.
6:15: We're now commiserating with some folks near our table. We've got a crew. Some guy is trying desperately to hook me up with his younger sister, which is totally freaking weird. She's cute, but sort of chubby for my tastes, and this guy is just way too eager for me to bed his sister. I've never seen anything like it. I'm imagining they grew up in the mountains somewhere.
I need to change course here.
6:50: Some time around this point I'm ready to go. I've got a sufficient buzz on, such that my game is sharpening up. I'm feeling good, and charming. God damn it I'm handsome.
6:52: Begin working the crowd. Tell some chick her freckles are adorable. They pretty much are. She's probably a 6-7. She smiles and blushes a little. $$$
6:54: Some other hot chick nearby has a green shirt on. I didn't think about what to say on my way over. I just got there and said something about her green shirt. It was pretty much all I had. I've got to be honest here and say that, at this point, I'm starting to get past the point of buzz and move towards the point of drunk. It's fine, because I'm a pretty damn charming drunk. The catch is that my memory is a little spotty from about this point on, so some of the details are lacking.
Regardless, I walk up and make some witty comment about her green shirt. Like I said, it was all I had at that point. She and friend laugh, and green shirt girl asks if I'd planned that one. Seriously? What kind of guys are you hanging out with if this is their big plotted scud missile strike pickup line? Baby, I rolled over here thinking about how God damned charming I am. This is what popped into my head when I walked up to the table.
So there are a couple reasons this place is so money. First, the proximity to the corporate office is pretty great. It's so money. One reason is I can just take the elevator down and get my drink on almost instantaneously. It's like when you get onto a cruise ship, and the minute you step off the dock they hand you a glass of champagne. No bullshit, just fire it up.
The other great thing is I devised a pretty sweet routine about where I work. Of course these chicks see you in a tie and immediately want to know where you work. Yeah yeah, I'm a lawyer. Ok fine. Me and every other dipshit here, but it works just well enough to keep the conversation going. But when they ask me where I work, I point up to the top of the building and go into a little song and dance about right up there, and something about how I could throw a rock at my office, or at least if I had a better arm I could. It's a good little ice breaker, gives me a chance to do some acting and goofing off, and also a chance to throw in a little self-deprecating dig about my arm. Chicks love a guy who doesn't take himself too seriously, so if you can rip on yourself on occasion, it's good to do.
We chatted for a bit. I'm getting some love, but just not sensing enough. That's fine, time to check back in to home base and commiserate. If I stay in any one place for too long at this point I could go stale.
7:20: Friend comments on me wandering around and hitting on chicks. I'm proud she noticed. Waitress comes by and starts hanging with us. She wants to do shots with us but is afraid of getting in trouble with the bar manager. I told her to suck it up and do the damn shot. So she brings some over. We try to make some kind of a human blockade to sheild her from her coworkers, but she's still nervous. She's this little latina thing with a kid at home, and I guess she really needs this job. We devise a plan whereby we go to the bathroom together, with me holding the shots, and then we do the shots there.
Plan executed. Head back to the table. Big brother comments that I should talk to his sister again.
Effing weirdo.
7:45: What the hell. Who's idea was it to order these shots? I don't remember ordering them. I'm sure it was probably my idea, but I'm still miffed, because this is where the night can easily spiral out of control.
7:55: Send semi-pissed text messages to the dating girl, followed up by text messages to an ex girlfriend I broke up with before starting things up with dating girl. This is NEVER a good idea.
8:??: Hammered. Just hammered. There were more shots at some point and then Friend starts whipping out the cigarettes. I'm not a smoker, but I puff my way through enough of these such that I know my throat will be killing me tomorrow.
Also, I put my card down at the beginning of the night. I figure this won't be that big a deal. It's happy hour. Still, Friend comments that I should probably close out my tab soon. Dude, it's HAPPY HOUR. Are you not understanding? It's a big deal and I don't want to screw it up, and seriously, how much could it possibly cost??
8:??: Wander over to a handful of girls standing around a table. The crowd is starting to thin. Lock eyes with very cute blonde. Flash the cheesy grill. She smiles back. $$$$
Walk up to her as though we knew each other forever, throw my arounds around her. We give each other a big "hey!" Girl to her right asks how we know each other. Of course we don't, but this is good shtick, and I'm not about to pass up an opportunity for good shtick. I go on and on about how I knew her in high school and always used to hit on her and she would always turn me down. Blondie plays along with it. It worked pretty well. We had our hands all over each other, and I'm pretty much money. Her friends love me. Jesus I'm charming. I start in right away with some crap about how I can't wait till we are married. Tip: girls around the age of 30 LOVE this stuff. They eat it up. It ties into my other favorite move, which is something along the lines of "your mother would love me!" They always agree.
God damn I'm charming.
Blondie's friends ask me to take her to dinner some time. I am all over this. She gives me her number, I text her something on the spot about how I can't wait for our awesome marriage. She gets the text and cracks up and responds with something along the lines of "me too - but how about a date first???" Fair enough. Still, I found out she's 33 years old, which is right at the top end of the sweet spot in women's age ranges. I mean, when we originally locked eyes, I was totally feeling the rescue helicopter pilot thing. The age explains it. $$$$
9:??: Now the place is starting to thin more, and I somehow get into it with girl to blondie's left. Let's call her Swanky. She's that because she looks a lot like Hillary Swank who I absolutely love. Turns out she's 23 and sort of works for Blondie. Ok, cool. She's super cute and is flirting with me in the way that children flirt, sort of picking fights with me etc. We continue with this cutesy bickering, and I'm starting to wonder how to play this.
This is a tough spot really. I've already got Blondie's number, but Swanky is definitely feeling me too here. I think I like swanky more, and, while Blondie is a nice girl, Swanky has a little more edge. A sharp-tongued little lass.
I love it.
10:??: Now I'm hammered. Friend's boyfriend comes by, hands me my bag, leaves me some cash, and informs me they are leaving. That's cool. We part ways, and I'm now flying solo with Blondie and Swanky and their friends. But I'm plastered. I've put back I don't know how many drinks, shots, beers, etc. I don't know what time it is. I don't care. Life is wonderful. I LOVE HAPPY HOUR. The waitress is now hammered as well after putting back several shots with us. I start to worry about how I might get her canned.
Not really, so I order up another round of shots.
10:??: Swanky and I armwrestle. I don't know why, but we did. This was what the bickering led up to. I'm still not sure what to do about her and Blondie. Blondie and I have our arms around each other here and there, and she's all about allowing me to do whatever I want. Nothing all that physical mind you, but she was just sort of like Switzerland, and was pretty much cool with whatever.
So Swanky and I armwrestle. The crowd has now thinned enough that our group is starting to become a spectacle. We've got railbirds in a few spots now. A drunken group of dudes the table over is cheering, as are some folks up at the bar. I talk some trash with her as she struggles, and I finally let her win -- the only obvious shark move here. Crowd goes wild.
11:??: I call Swanky a slut. I don't know why. I have no idea what lead to that. But I did it. She does NOT appreciate it. Now, I don't know if she's really angry about it, or just screwing with me, but, in any event, this ends up with her taking my tie off and walking over to the fountain. I just stand there kind of stunned, mostly because I'm too hammered to react quickly, and partly because I want to see if she'll actually go through with this.
Now everyone is cheering, loudly, including the drunk dudes. The staff are all laughing. It's night time now, so the sun's down, but the place is pretty well lit. She dangles my tie over the fountain. I look at her and shake my head, almost as if to call her bluff.
Tie, meet fountain.
11:??: The busboys fish my tie out of the fountain. It was nice of them. She comes back and goes nutso again about what I called her. If you're this angry, it has to be true, right?
In retrospect, that was not the right answer.
11:??: The waitress comes over to mediate this squabble. She explains to the other girls that she is sure I didn't mean it, she is sure I am a good guy (oh bullshit!), and that she can vouch for me. Apparently during our three conversations and 7 shots she decided I was a good guy. I suppose because I got her drunk.
I'm seriously very fucking charming.
11:??: I push the envelope further. I'm now hammered beyond hammered. I make another slut comment. Swanky grabs my tie and heads towards the fountain. This time, I am NOT going to look foolish. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on Rock On. No way.
I run over and grab her. We are now wrestling at the ledge over the fountain, her trying to throw my tie in, and me refusing. I turn her around so that I've basically got her hovering over the fountain. I'm threatening to toss her completely in. The busboys come over to try and break it up. The drunk dudes are going nuts. I am telling Swanky at this point in no uncertain terms that if the tie goes in, she goes in. She doesn't believe me. I move her closer to the water. Now her hair is in the water. She starts to believe me. She finally lets go of the tie, the bus boys separate us, and she walks back. The crowd goes wild. $$$$$
At some point around now too, the drunk guy group starts making comments to me. I don't remember exactly what, but they're ripping on me, like "way to blow it, guy." Meanwhile, I'm sitting here between two hot chicks, I've got digits from Blondie, I'm an inch away from a wet t-shirt contest with Swanky, and THESE TOOLBOXES ARE COMMENTING ABOUT ME??? DUDES, DON'T HATE ME BECAUSE I'M WAY MORE FUCKING CHARMING THAN YOU ARE. Not only is there not a girl at their table, there is no girl within 6 feet of these dorks. Jesus. And, in fact, at some point, the waitress steps up and explains exactly that to our collective crew (i.e., "those guys are just jealous because he's the one over here talking with all the ladies."). Of course I am. Christ. Would you guys sack up? My guess is that they could have been tourists, because they all had goatees. Nobody has goatees anymore.
11:?? Swanky and I make amends, we all have another round, and turn to see that the place is essentially empty. The chairs are being piled up on tables, and the staff is sweeping up. Ok. time to go I guess. Check please.
11:??: THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS? Are you KIDDING ME??? Something must be wrong. Blondie checks the bill for me, pretty much as amazed as I am. We start going through the list of drinks and at this point I have no idea what we ordered and didn't order. However, I did a quick gut check on some of the items and they seemed about right. Did we really need 20 beers to go along with all the mixed drinks and shots? Christ this place is expensive. It's money, alright, in that you need lots of it to hang out here. Easily my biggest happy hour bar tab ever.
So I'm slightly amazed and somewhat miffed, but at this point I was having such a pleasant evening that I just decide to swallow my pride and pay this whopper of a check. I mean, it's happy hour. If I am going to do anything right, it's this. Happy hour.
12:??: Happy many hours? I walk out with Blondie and Swanky -- AND NOTHING HAPPENS. Jesus. I was sure I was in. I was sure I had marked a couple and that having two of them there gave me two bites at the apple. However, quite frankly, I don't know if I even bothered trying to take one of them home. I think I was that drunk that they may have just said goodbye and I happily just stumbled off into the night. FUCK. WHO ORDERED THOSE FREAKING SHOTS. WHAT A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE IDEA. I wasn't that upset about any of this at the time, but, in retrospect, lord did I drop the ball here. Ugh.
I head down to the subway, and here I experience my greatest shame ever. I took a leak on the subway platform. That's right, I'm that guy who urninated on the platform. I hate that guy. It stinks. I usually associate it with a homeless guy, but now I'm wondering whether it's just some drunk idiot leaving happy hour who makes that mess. I did it in a spot on the platform that I thought was out of the line of sight of others, and I think I accomplished that. Although we all know those times when we are blackout drunk but somehow think we are being so slick, so I wouldn't be surprised if several people saw.
12:??: On the train on my way home. I get off at 2nd street because I realize I never ate dinner (one of the dangers of Happy Hour) and I need food. There's several Restaurants up there. Now, I could have just gotten off at my stop, went home and found food near my house. That would have been smarter. But I'm not here to be smart. I wanted a god damned slice of pizza.
I throw some money at the counter girl and mutter some angry drunk something to her, walk back down to the subway, and eat my slice on the platform. Train finally comes and I somehow get home from there. Everything after this point is blackout territory. Not sure how I got home or if anything else exciting happened. It's possible, since I was feeling pretty sassy.
7:39: I wake up with a monster, MONSTER hangover. Inspect my phone to piece together some of the events of last night. Apparently I also sent some other not-so-flattering texts to the dating girl, so I had to piece together a clean-up text. Shoot that out. God I hope the ex didn't respond to the texts I sent her? No. Phew. I'm pretty sure she hates me and the last thing she wants is some sappy text from me at this point. But no response, so that's good.
8:30: I showered but still feel like hell. I'm going in late today for sure. I'm still fairly new and haven't paid my dues and realize that I'm probably not entitled to come in late at this point in time with this office. Fuck it.
9:30ish: I decide that the only way to beat this hangover is the gym. I head down to the gym in my building, run 2 miles and do some lifting. I did 6 pull-ups. It's been a long time since I could do 6 pull-ups. God damn it I'm a stud.
I shower, and bust out to work. Answer some e-mails on my Treo. Check some voice messages. No major crises. It's Friday and the weather is spring-time beautiful, and folks are generally taking it easy. God bless them for that. I would not cope well with any major emergencies today.
11:30: At my desk with a Dunkin Donuts coffee, a croissant, and a pounding headache. Why did I get a croissant? God I hate these fucking things. Somehow when I'm standing there at the counter I always have the same discussion in my head. "Well, I'd love a chocolate donut, but that's not helthy. A croissant is probably way healthier. One croissant please." You know this thing is probably just as bad as the donut and I hate it.
12:30 Draft this report to send to you all and begin plotting my Friday night. I'm feeling like hell still but I'm open to the possibility of something happening tonight. Still, I've got to stock up some energy (and save up some money) for next Thursday night.
So that's it. That's my thursday night in a nutshell. This kind of thing repeats on some neverending cycle. Some Thursday nights end better than others, but it all sort of goes somewhat along this same plot line. Hangover. Gym. Work. Sober. Drink. Sleep. Repeat. Sometimes I sleep home, sometimes I sleep elsewhere. I often wonder what it will all be like when it's over. Will I still be doing this five years from now? With the beating I'm taking, I can't imagine my body putting up with this for another 2 years.
I'm sure at some point I'll have to settle down, for now though, I'm just pushing through to the next happy hour.
Easily the best thing the city has to offer.
So my guess is that, more and more, these kinds of nights are a rarity for my boys on this list, with all this talk of permission slip requirements to get out and meet the boys once a week. In any event, it's a peek into the life of “Rock On”
***WARNING: THIS IS LONG AND NOT VERY GOOD***
12:00pm: Big corporate lunch across the street from the office. The owners want to thank us for all our hard work over the past year. "Rock On, I know you've given up all remnants of your social life for 12-16 months. Please accept as a sign of our gratitude this delicious salad and salmon. And Evian water." Fuck.
2:00pm: No wine at this lunch? Give me a break. F this, I'm out of here. Walk back to the office. It's one of the first sunny and beautiful days in the city this year. Just picture perfect, and it's a Thursday. You know what that means -- killer, KILLER happy hour scene tonight. Starting around 5pm, every single woman in the tri-state area will flock to every outdoor space that serves liquor and has guys with shirts and loosened ties, just hoping for a chance to snuggle up against one at the bar, show her goodies, and pass out her phone number. If you look like you have any money, even better. If you don't look like a complete troll, better still. If you have all your limbs, you're pretty much money. Particularly if she's in that sweet spot 28-34 year old age group. Walking up to these women makes me realize how it must feel to pilot a rescue helicopter and to land on the beach of a deserted island where a woman has been stranded for weeks without food and water. Lord are they happy to see you.
2:15pm: I don't feel like going upstairs to the office. There’s some huge golf display at Liberty Place. It's a huge netted in driving range essentially. But there's just one tee, a grandstand behind it, a huge lake, and an island green on the other side (about 30 yards away). There's a huge TV showing highlights. It's a pretty awesome display. Gardens surrounding the lake. I mean, the works. The general public can't get in as far as I can tell, just some big shots who must be either unknown golf pros or employees or something. The crowd around this thing is massive. Every dork in a suit or business casual within about 3 miles is standing around gawking, dreaming of being out on a golf course on this beautiful day instead of up in their offices leading their pathetic lives shuffling papers.
Rock On joins the crowd.
We watch some enormous woman over at the tee (must be an employee I'm thinking, because she certainly doesn't know how to swing a golf club, and coming from me that's pretty sad) take some shots. She plunks 5 or 6 of these things into the water and finally lands one on the green beautifully, with a soft touch that you can't imagine a woman her size having. The crowd goes wild.
2:30: Fine, I'll go do some work. But I'm not staying long. I'm going to HAPPY HOUR soon.
The girl I'm dating, but who doesn't really want a commitment, is tied up with some wedding nonsense the next few days. She apologetically mentioned that she was going alone. Whatever. Like I was dying to go to a wedding?
Bottom line: she's made it fairly clear without stating it that she doesn't want a commitment. So, again -- I'm going to HAPPY HOUR soon.
Seriously though. When you are around 30 years old and single and living in a big city, I think happy hour is the biggest event ever. It's bigger than Friday night or Saturday night, but I don't think a lot of people realize this. Happy hour is where the real fun goes down. The women are wanting to meet guys, and it's women who generally enjoy a conversation as opposed to me out on the dance floor amidst booming techno beats doing the sprinkler. Give me a fucking break. I'm still amazed at the guys who do this. It's like this whole other culture to me. Like those people in Africa who put huge plates in their lips.
4:00: God this is boring. Ok, I'm leaving at 4:15. I tell the guy in the office next to me that. He laughs.
Dude, I'm fucking serious.
4:30: Guy in the office next door walks in with a shit-eating grin. "I thought you were leaving." Sigh. I'm really considering punching him in the face.
4:45: Give the internet one last look. BBMB is back up, but I can’t be bothered. There is like zero fantasy football news this time of year. The draft came and went and now I just don't really care. I'm sure I'll be interested again in August, but right now I care more about the desperate young women who will be wandering the bars, hammered any minute now.
5:00: I'm out. Before I leave, I need a partner. I'm not going to happy hour alone. Get a friend/former girlfriend from nearby to come down with me. She's cool, and she has a boyfriend, but I'm pretty sure she still has a thing for me. It's a pretty sweet deal if you think about it - it's like the best of all worlds together. I can sit around with a pretty cute looking chick and, if all else fails, there's an outside chance we hook up. That can't happen if I go with buddies. Plus, she can't get mad when I hit on other girls. She has a boyfriend. Plus, just sitting around with a cute chick makes you that much more appealing to other cute chicks.
5:05: Go downstairs to the Bar (There's a fountain down there, will become important later). It's pretty much money. I realize later what's so money about it, but at this point I'm just enjoying the outdoors, and the place is filling up. Table space is at an absolute premium. I wait for some couple from somewhere in Europe to get up and snag their table about a minute before some round girls were about to grab it. They mutter something about just missing it and look at me as though I should give it up to them.
Whatever.
5:15: Fire us up teh happy hour. I'm drinking already. Friend shows up. Now she's drinking too. Place is starting to get mobbed. Tons, and I mean tons, of cute women. It's the kind of feeling I could imagine a fisherman has when he walks up to one of those man-made ponds that's artifically stocked with fish for sport fishing. You'd have to be half-fucked not to hook something here. I'm practically salivating.
5:45: I've rifled through a couple margaritas and beers. Friend is drinking mohitos or some other crap that looks awful. She is now talking about our sexual encounters and explaining how she thinks we need some follow up action. Now, she knows the girl I've been dating, so I've got to be careful here. The shark move is probably just to hang tight and not say or do anything that can get back to the dating girl. I'm drunk though. I play the guppy card and instead start spouting off some nonsense about what a great idea it would be for us to hook up tonight.
6:00: Friend's boyfriend comes down to meet us. Buzzkill. Not really, because I didn't want to have to explore the Friend option anyway, and that would just have been too messy, would have somehow seemed wrong, and could potentially have sunk any future I may have with dating girl. Besides, I really like the guy. He's a good dude and cracks me up.
6:15: We're now commiserating with some folks near our table. We've got a crew. Some guy is trying desperately to hook me up with his younger sister, which is totally freaking weird. She's cute, but sort of chubby for my tastes, and this guy is just way too eager for me to bed his sister. I've never seen anything like it. I'm imagining they grew up in the mountains somewhere.
I need to change course here.
6:50: Some time around this point I'm ready to go. I've got a sufficient buzz on, such that my game is sharpening up. I'm feeling good, and charming. God damn it I'm handsome.
6:52: Begin working the crowd. Tell some chick her freckles are adorable. They pretty much are. She's probably a 6-7. She smiles and blushes a little. $$$
6:54: Some other hot chick nearby has a green shirt on. I didn't think about what to say on my way over. I just got there and said something about her green shirt. It was pretty much all I had. I've got to be honest here and say that, at this point, I'm starting to get past the point of buzz and move towards the point of drunk. It's fine, because I'm a pretty damn charming drunk. The catch is that my memory is a little spotty from about this point on, so some of the details are lacking.
Regardless, I walk up and make some witty comment about her green shirt. Like I said, it was all I had at that point. She and friend laugh, and green shirt girl asks if I'd planned that one. Seriously? What kind of guys are you hanging out with if this is their big plotted scud missile strike pickup line? Baby, I rolled over here thinking about how God damned charming I am. This is what popped into my head when I walked up to the table.
So there are a couple reasons this place is so money. First, the proximity to the corporate office is pretty great. It's so money. One reason is I can just take the elevator down and get my drink on almost instantaneously. It's like when you get onto a cruise ship, and the minute you step off the dock they hand you a glass of champagne. No bullshit, just fire it up.
The other great thing is I devised a pretty sweet routine about where I work. Of course these chicks see you in a tie and immediately want to know where you work. Yeah yeah, I'm a lawyer. Ok fine. Me and every other dipshit here, but it works just well enough to keep the conversation going. But when they ask me where I work, I point up to the top of the building and go into a little song and dance about right up there, and something about how I could throw a rock at my office, or at least if I had a better arm I could. It's a good little ice breaker, gives me a chance to do some acting and goofing off, and also a chance to throw in a little self-deprecating dig about my arm. Chicks love a guy who doesn't take himself too seriously, so if you can rip on yourself on occasion, it's good to do.
We chatted for a bit. I'm getting some love, but just not sensing enough. That's fine, time to check back in to home base and commiserate. If I stay in any one place for too long at this point I could go stale.
7:20: Friend comments on me wandering around and hitting on chicks. I'm proud she noticed. Waitress comes by and starts hanging with us. She wants to do shots with us but is afraid of getting in trouble with the bar manager. I told her to suck it up and do the damn shot. So she brings some over. We try to make some kind of a human blockade to sheild her from her coworkers, but she's still nervous. She's this little latina thing with a kid at home, and I guess she really needs this job. We devise a plan whereby we go to the bathroom together, with me holding the shots, and then we do the shots there.
Plan executed. Head back to the table. Big brother comments that I should talk to his sister again.
Effing weirdo.
7:45: What the hell. Who's idea was it to order these shots? I don't remember ordering them. I'm sure it was probably my idea, but I'm still miffed, because this is where the night can easily spiral out of control.
7:55: Send semi-pissed text messages to the dating girl, followed up by text messages to an ex girlfriend I broke up with before starting things up with dating girl. This is NEVER a good idea.
8:??: Hammered. Just hammered. There were more shots at some point and then Friend starts whipping out the cigarettes. I'm not a smoker, but I puff my way through enough of these such that I know my throat will be killing me tomorrow.
Also, I put my card down at the beginning of the night. I figure this won't be that big a deal. It's happy hour. Still, Friend comments that I should probably close out my tab soon. Dude, it's HAPPY HOUR. Are you not understanding? It's a big deal and I don't want to screw it up, and seriously, how much could it possibly cost??
8:??: Wander over to a handful of girls standing around a table. The crowd is starting to thin. Lock eyes with very cute blonde. Flash the cheesy grill. She smiles back. $$$$
Walk up to her as though we knew each other forever, throw my arounds around her. We give each other a big "hey!" Girl to her right asks how we know each other. Of course we don't, but this is good shtick, and I'm not about to pass up an opportunity for good shtick. I go on and on about how I knew her in high school and always used to hit on her and she would always turn me down. Blondie plays along with it. It worked pretty well. We had our hands all over each other, and I'm pretty much money. Her friends love me. Jesus I'm charming. I start in right away with some crap about how I can't wait till we are married. Tip: girls around the age of 30 LOVE this stuff. They eat it up. It ties into my other favorite move, which is something along the lines of "your mother would love me!" They always agree.
God damn I'm charming.
Blondie's friends ask me to take her to dinner some time. I am all over this. She gives me her number, I text her something on the spot about how I can't wait for our awesome marriage. She gets the text and cracks up and responds with something along the lines of "me too - but how about a date first???" Fair enough. Still, I found out she's 33 years old, which is right at the top end of the sweet spot in women's age ranges. I mean, when we originally locked eyes, I was totally feeling the rescue helicopter pilot thing. The age explains it. $$$$
9:??: Now the place is starting to thin more, and I somehow get into it with girl to blondie's left. Let's call her Swanky. She's that because she looks a lot like Hillary Swank who I absolutely love. Turns out she's 23 and sort of works for Blondie. Ok, cool. She's super cute and is flirting with me in the way that children flirt, sort of picking fights with me etc. We continue with this cutesy bickering, and I'm starting to wonder how to play this.
This is a tough spot really. I've already got Blondie's number, but Swanky is definitely feeling me too here. I think I like swanky more, and, while Blondie is a nice girl, Swanky has a little more edge. A sharp-tongued little lass.
I love it.
10:??: Now I'm hammered. Friend's boyfriend comes by, hands me my bag, leaves me some cash, and informs me they are leaving. That's cool. We part ways, and I'm now flying solo with Blondie and Swanky and their friends. But I'm plastered. I've put back I don't know how many drinks, shots, beers, etc. I don't know what time it is. I don't care. Life is wonderful. I LOVE HAPPY HOUR. The waitress is now hammered as well after putting back several shots with us. I start to worry about how I might get her canned.
Not really, so I order up another round of shots.
10:??: Swanky and I armwrestle. I don't know why, but we did. This was what the bickering led up to. I'm still not sure what to do about her and Blondie. Blondie and I have our arms around each other here and there, and she's all about allowing me to do whatever I want. Nothing all that physical mind you, but she was just sort of like Switzerland, and was pretty much cool with whatever.
So Swanky and I armwrestle. The crowd has now thinned enough that our group is starting to become a spectacle. We've got railbirds in a few spots now. A drunken group of dudes the table over is cheering, as are some folks up at the bar. I talk some trash with her as she struggles, and I finally let her win -- the only obvious shark move here. Crowd goes wild.
11:??: I call Swanky a slut. I don't know why. I have no idea what lead to that. But I did it. She does NOT appreciate it. Now, I don't know if she's really angry about it, or just screwing with me, but, in any event, this ends up with her taking my tie off and walking over to the fountain. I just stand there kind of stunned, mostly because I'm too hammered to react quickly, and partly because I want to see if she'll actually go through with this.
Now everyone is cheering, loudly, including the drunk dudes. The staff are all laughing. It's night time now, so the sun's down, but the place is pretty well lit. She dangles my tie over the fountain. I look at her and shake my head, almost as if to call her bluff.
Tie, meet fountain.
11:??: The busboys fish my tie out of the fountain. It was nice of them. She comes back and goes nutso again about what I called her. If you're this angry, it has to be true, right?
In retrospect, that was not the right answer.
11:??: The waitress comes over to mediate this squabble. She explains to the other girls that she is sure I didn't mean it, she is sure I am a good guy (oh bullshit!), and that she can vouch for me. Apparently during our three conversations and 7 shots she decided I was a good guy. I suppose because I got her drunk.
I'm seriously very fucking charming.
11:??: I push the envelope further. I'm now hammered beyond hammered. I make another slut comment. Swanky grabs my tie and heads towards the fountain. This time, I am NOT going to look foolish. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on Rock On. No way.
I run over and grab her. We are now wrestling at the ledge over the fountain, her trying to throw my tie in, and me refusing. I turn her around so that I've basically got her hovering over the fountain. I'm threatening to toss her completely in. The busboys come over to try and break it up. The drunk dudes are going nuts. I am telling Swanky at this point in no uncertain terms that if the tie goes in, she goes in. She doesn't believe me. I move her closer to the water. Now her hair is in the water. She starts to believe me. She finally lets go of the tie, the bus boys separate us, and she walks back. The crowd goes wild. $$$$$
At some point around now too, the drunk guy group starts making comments to me. I don't remember exactly what, but they're ripping on me, like "way to blow it, guy." Meanwhile, I'm sitting here between two hot chicks, I've got digits from Blondie, I'm an inch away from a wet t-shirt contest with Swanky, and THESE TOOLBOXES ARE COMMENTING ABOUT ME??? DUDES, DON'T HATE ME BECAUSE I'M WAY MORE FUCKING CHARMING THAN YOU ARE. Not only is there not a girl at their table, there is no girl within 6 feet of these dorks. Jesus. And, in fact, at some point, the waitress steps up and explains exactly that to our collective crew (i.e., "those guys are just jealous because he's the one over here talking with all the ladies."). Of course I am. Christ. Would you guys sack up? My guess is that they could have been tourists, because they all had goatees. Nobody has goatees anymore.
11:?? Swanky and I make amends, we all have another round, and turn to see that the place is essentially empty. The chairs are being piled up on tables, and the staff is sweeping up. Ok. time to go I guess. Check please.
11:??: THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS? Are you KIDDING ME??? Something must be wrong. Blondie checks the bill for me, pretty much as amazed as I am. We start going through the list of drinks and at this point I have no idea what we ordered and didn't order. However, I did a quick gut check on some of the items and they seemed about right. Did we really need 20 beers to go along with all the mixed drinks and shots? Christ this place is expensive. It's money, alright, in that you need lots of it to hang out here. Easily my biggest happy hour bar tab ever.
So I'm slightly amazed and somewhat miffed, but at this point I was having such a pleasant evening that I just decide to swallow my pride and pay this whopper of a check. I mean, it's happy hour. If I am going to do anything right, it's this. Happy hour.
12:??: Happy many hours? I walk out with Blondie and Swanky -- AND NOTHING HAPPENS. Jesus. I was sure I was in. I was sure I had marked a couple and that having two of them there gave me two bites at the apple. However, quite frankly, I don't know if I even bothered trying to take one of them home. I think I was that drunk that they may have just said goodbye and I happily just stumbled off into the night. FUCK. WHO ORDERED THOSE FREAKING SHOTS. WHAT A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE IDEA. I wasn't that upset about any of this at the time, but, in retrospect, lord did I drop the ball here. Ugh.
I head down to the subway, and here I experience my greatest shame ever. I took a leak on the subway platform. That's right, I'm that guy who urninated on the platform. I hate that guy. It stinks. I usually associate it with a homeless guy, but now I'm wondering whether it's just some drunk idiot leaving happy hour who makes that mess. I did it in a spot on the platform that I thought was out of the line of sight of others, and I think I accomplished that. Although we all know those times when we are blackout drunk but somehow think we are being so slick, so I wouldn't be surprised if several people saw.
12:??: On the train on my way home. I get off at 2nd street because I realize I never ate dinner (one of the dangers of Happy Hour) and I need food. There's several Restaurants up there. Now, I could have just gotten off at my stop, went home and found food near my house. That would have been smarter. But I'm not here to be smart. I wanted a god damned slice of pizza.
I throw some money at the counter girl and mutter some angry drunk something to her, walk back down to the subway, and eat my slice on the platform. Train finally comes and I somehow get home from there. Everything after this point is blackout territory. Not sure how I got home or if anything else exciting happened. It's possible, since I was feeling pretty sassy.
7:39: I wake up with a monster, MONSTER hangover. Inspect my phone to piece together some of the events of last night. Apparently I also sent some other not-so-flattering texts to the dating girl, so I had to piece together a clean-up text. Shoot that out. God I hope the ex didn't respond to the texts I sent her? No. Phew. I'm pretty sure she hates me and the last thing she wants is some sappy text from me at this point. But no response, so that's good.
8:30: I showered but still feel like hell. I'm going in late today for sure. I'm still fairly new and haven't paid my dues and realize that I'm probably not entitled to come in late at this point in time with this office. Fuck it.
9:30ish: I decide that the only way to beat this hangover is the gym. I head down to the gym in my building, run 2 miles and do some lifting. I did 6 pull-ups. It's been a long time since I could do 6 pull-ups. God damn it I'm a stud.
I shower, and bust out to work. Answer some e-mails on my Treo. Check some voice messages. No major crises. It's Friday and the weather is spring-time beautiful, and folks are generally taking it easy. God bless them for that. I would not cope well with any major emergencies today.
11:30: At my desk with a Dunkin Donuts coffee, a croissant, and a pounding headache. Why did I get a croissant? God I hate these fucking things. Somehow when I'm standing there at the counter I always have the same discussion in my head. "Well, I'd love a chocolate donut, but that's not helthy. A croissant is probably way healthier. One croissant please." You know this thing is probably just as bad as the donut and I hate it.
12:30 Draft this report to send to you all and begin plotting my Friday night. I'm feeling like hell still but I'm open to the possibility of something happening tonight. Still, I've got to stock up some energy (and save up some money) for next Thursday night.
So that's it. That's my thursday night in a nutshell. This kind of thing repeats on some neverending cycle. Some Thursday nights end better than others, but it all sort of goes somewhat along this same plot line. Hangover. Gym. Work. Sober. Drink. Sleep. Repeat. Sometimes I sleep home, sometimes I sleep elsewhere. I often wonder what it will all be like when it's over. Will I still be doing this five years from now? With the beating I'm taking, I can't imagine my body putting up with this for another 2 years.
I'm sure at some point I'll have to settle down, for now though, I'm just pushing through to the next happy hour.
Easily the best thing the city has to offer.