There are many weekends I pinky promise myself to be a responsible adult and enjoy a quiet night in celebrating no pants Friday with a bottle of champagne, in the luxury of my own bed. Apparently mind and matter have an epic battle when I hear that chime from a new text while lying in bed, and my instinct is to get whitegirlwasted, not sure if it’s positive or negative reinforcement for my poor choices. I feel like I should respond to the “what are you doing tonight?” text with a magic 8 ball, since most shakes are directed towards getting fucked up.
Matter winning over mind, I prepare for my night out and determine do I want to get laid tonight or should I wear a granny sweater. Clearly, rocking my Golden Girls special edition granny sweater I head to the bar in hopes that no male will find me attractive and I will get to sleep alone forever. Evaluating the sobriety or lack thereof in the group, immediately realizing I’m the only one who can pronounce their own name and begin double-fisting dollar drinks for the next hour. As I start to loosen up and the bar gains some more bodies, I lose my granny sweater and survey the crowd for the following morning’s mistake. Now I know what it’s like to go hunting and come home empty handed…there was literally no one in my kill zone as I sent out mating calls and even showed some skin to get attention. Disappointed by the livestock packed in this bar, I take the hand of my scissor sister and make a run for the door as we head to the next bar.
Feeling like a can of sardines as we wait in the most claustrophobic entry to a bar, it was honestly like a Lil’ Jon song from the window to the wall and I only had to slide left once in the Cupid shuffle. In a moment’s notice we were squished together as security bombarded the room and created a path from the elevator to the door. Thinking to myself is Lady Gaga in town this week? Anticipating the huge reveal of my woman crush, I was sadly disappointed when Rocky’s oversized stunt double came out swinging with a broken hand and black eye while shouting Andrea. Catching my breath for a second, we were attacked once again by the next wave of drunk weekend warriors as they pile out of the elevator and continue their battle on the street. Being pushed in by the door person we proceed to the closest bartender.
Sipping on our drinks and scoping out the meat market we both laid our eyes on a pretty boy; tight fitting button down, cute smile, and blue eyes as deep as the ocean. Evaluating the situation by his body language and interest, he was into my friend more than me so I took the backseat. Trying not to make any direct eye contact with any tables, I felt like I was some sort of special viewing party in the middle of the bar. Not that I don’t love attention, I just didn’t want to be the center of it. We take a seat in a nearby booth with one of the guys and me being the asshole I am, I express my first impression and ask if he is a magician and has any quarters. Only a tad bit offended but still interested in playing life-size Jenga with us, we recruit his brother to play since my sidekick’s love interest vanished. Been training since my elementary school years for this day to kick some ass and take some names in life size Jenga. The competitive natural was high and my determination not lose to guys was undeniable. Dominating the game after a solid 20 minutes, you can hand over our trophy for the Champions of the World. Later on, I find out the magician’s brother was a match on tinder, guess I won’t be getting a message back.
Declining the rematch we head downstairs to find a prior roster MVP who was DJing for Latin night (not mine). Joining him on stage, I had the opportunity live out my life time fantasy of being a classy stripper like in showgirls the movie, on center stage doing a sexy rendition of the Cha-Cha. After picking up all the panties I dropped, I tangoed my way over to the other side of the bar to see how many more hearts I could melt with my sultry moves. Unfortunately, my dance moves went unnoticed since I was swarmed by a #girlsquad of dancing misfits. I swear to you not even a toddler has more bounce and moves than these ladies. Blatantly showing my disgust, I haul ass to the next bar before it strikes 2:00AM and I turn into lonely, single, mid-20s woman who eats her feelings…okay well just that last part.
Skipping the line into the next bar, we race up the stairs to the second level where I’m greeted with 2 beers, couple hugs, and some ass grabbing. Making my way to the dance floor I spot my friend, thinking I’ll be cute and surprise him from behind. I wrap my tiny T-Rex arms behind him for a big ol’ bear hug. He latched onto my arm and didn’t let go which isn’t something I’d expect, I spin around to find out it’s a total stranger. Now I’m stuck in an awkward situation and a guy is asking for my number and I can’t think of my sister’s off the top of my head. Giving into his demands, I’m finally released and found my partner in crime dancing by VIP. While dancing a fight breaks out and not a cool dance-off where the crowd makes a circle but the one where the bouncer puts you in a choke hold and drags you out. Clearing some room on the dance floor, two guys slide in our area and into our hearts. Must have been the poor lighting, our slight buzz, and the fact my boobs were out that we starting making out and then exchanged numbers.
The night was coming to an end and last call was shouted at least 20 minutes ago. Holding hands with my partner in crime through the dark city streets to my car. As I drop her off at her car, she realizes her keys are in our friend’s house and he isn’t answering our calls. Our friend doesn’t live in the best area but we did a little recon and found a way in through his patio window, where I almost split my pants tumbling in. As all of this is happening I’m getting texts from a number wanting to meet up and I assumed it was the guy from the bar. Having another mind and matter battle, I choose the irresponsible choice by meeting up with the phone number.
Arriving at the college apartments, I start to think I really need to card guys before I give out my number, let alone stick my tongue down their throat. Sent my text that I was there and received an immediate response they were on their way down. Get to the door and it’s not who I thought it was…it was the kid I bear hugged. There was no way I could bail out now; I was into deep so I walk back to his room as I start thinking about my escape plan. Evaluating the room and looking for the nearest exit signs, I have a causal 10 minute conversation and say I need to get home it’s late and I work in a couple of hours. He didn’t really comprehend the words that were coming at of my mouth, so I begin walking towards the door and he is trying to pull me back. This guy is maybe 5’4″ of a slender built and his tiny ass is trying to hold me back. I have at least 100lbs of muscle more than him which is found mostly in my thunder thighs. Thank you 22 years of soccer and not being able to wear jeans that fit right. My thunder thighs came in clutch as I pulled my way to the door and kept walking without looking back.
Moral of the story is to never give out your number unless you’re truly interested or at least remember your sibling’s number and nothing good happens after you leave the bar. Huge shout out to my thighs for saving my life, I’ll never complain or miss a leg day ever again.