Strangers in the Night

post-friday night roundup, or why going out with friendly drunks is always an experience

first of all, this was not a club, this was a champagne lounge. bottle service for the birthday boy and girl. clink clink. i’ll toast to that.

second of all, definitely got hit on by a boy with a long-distance girlfriend who when asked point-blank if he had a girlfriend said, “but she’s 3000 miles away, so she’s not really.” um. fabulous. he was also wearing some kind of boxing championship belt that was too big for him so he had to keep pulling it up like pull-ups training pants. and said how wearing it was the highlight of his life thus far. i proceeded to amuse and entertain him so he would not do something he would later regret/lie about. anyone whose nickname involves the words “blackout” needs extra attention.

then, mr. blackout drunken possible dogass cheater is overly friendly with some scary looking egyptian dude on his phone. hair slicked back. shirt unbuttoned one button past the non-nausea limit. who is talking on his cellphone. blackout proceeds to loudly interrupt this guy’s convo and say how funny it is he is talking on a phone in the middle of a crowded club.

king tut (nicknaming is the easiest way to go) is not amused. and proceeds to tell him so, not in so many words. blackout puts his hand on tut’s shoulder in camaraderie and proceeds with incoherent jovial explanation. ew. bad choice. tut slaps it off.

cue me and another wisecracking girl to come in and do damage control for blackout. cue tut revealing his true colors. we explain how blackout is a little out of it, please don’t take him seriously. tut then, I KID YOU NOT, puts his arm around blackout’s shoulder and asks him what he is doing with such ugly girls.

cue girl (who is not me) telling this asshole to move on. cue me sort of in disbelief. cue tut’s friend who i am trying to garner an explanation out of as to why tut is such an amuse douche, and this guy literally screams in my face while waving his cigarette “hey! peace and love, peace and love.” eh. i’m over it.

tut, i later observed, only hit on waify blondes. mmm. now that’s a worldly and generous life choice right there.

anyway. things proceeded in this manner more or less. i made friends with a good dancer guy, like a hat and shades inside a dimly lit club (a passion for fashion) from trinidad. some dave chappelle lookalike/chris rock soundalike who kept screaming things at me instead of talking in a normal (for a club) voice and this guy with glasses who became my mentor for the evening and periodically checked in with me to see how things were going.

blackout continued to teeter on the edge of sketchy boy with girlfriend who suddenly becomes single at about 2am. i met an indian dude right when the bar is about to close. who invites me to his birthday party the next week (um. i’m sorry but south asian peeps seem to have birthday parties at clubs EVERY weekend…case in point, i already have another south asian birthday party next weekend).

anyway, my friendly drunken female friend and i then went to IHOP. where we waited and waited and waited with the rest of the clubbing population for a table, fantasizing about the various things we would order. she kept yelling “eggs! i want eggs! mmmmm egggggs!” which i’m not going to lie, is a little weird coming from a girl.

some guy in an orange shirt hit on her. delightful. the host hit on her. scrumptious. we finally sat down and ate. the first two bites were delicious. and yo my friend is kinda of mad out of her mind because she ordered fried steak and eggs (extra eggs too, mind you) at 4:30am. i don’t partake of the meat ever, but this did not strike me as the best idea right then and there. for anybody. ever.

anyway, after about five bites each, we both started looking a little green. we gave up soon after that. and then had to call a cab. then this guy on a wheelchair hit on my friend, offering us a ride home. we politely declined. then this cop called a cab for us and hit on my friend for awhile while i tried to keep my eyes open. the dear, i love her, but she’s got a potty mouth when she’s drunk and she might have, at one point, addressed the cop with “naw bitch, that’s not what i meant.” i hoped the cab would arrive arrive arrive already. finally. salvation. 6am. bed, my babies.

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