And This Post is Almost as Long as the Night Itself
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Saturday night was my first night out in a while. I’ve met up with friends for drinks and whatnot since the New Year, but I haven’t set out to have a big night on the town in months. Because it was a three-day weekend, I decided the extra day off gave me license to get a little crazy one night, and if I made that night Saturday, I’d have two recovery days should I need them. After much back and forth on what to do, my friend Alex and I decided we’d just head out on the town and see where the night took us.
Alex and I haven’t really hung out one-on-one before—we have mutual friends and have been together many a time in group settings, but I was slightly wary that we would run out of things to talk about or find that, really, we couldn’t stand each other or something. I worried for no reason. One minute into our night, Journey came on in the bar, and we admitted our deep love for super, super cheesy 80’s music. If that doesn’t cement a friendship, I really don’t know what does.
After the initial drink, the plan was to head to an apartment party a work friend of mine had forwarded an invite to. There were 500 people invited. To a party in a New York apartment. We decided to go to see the apartment alone. It was $10 at the door, with beer and wine and DJs spinning. I decided it would either be ridiculously fun or unbearably painful, and I am happy to report it was the former. It was like being at an upscale fraternity party, without the annoying fraternity boys. It was perhaps the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen—everything from French law students, buttoned up lawyers, and someone from the country of Lichtenstein, to punk guys and girls with nose rings and peroxide-ed mullets. I discussed the movie “Jaws”, which I should note I’ve never seen, in-depth with a boy who would have been cute had he not been wearing the most alarming beige turtleneck ever. I then met one of the hosts of the party, who commenced to absolutely freak out about the number of people there, so Alex and I got him another beer and suggested he talk with the bouncers about capacity (yep, there were bouncers). I met a French Canadian who was a caricature of a French Canadian, had a deep and meaningful conversation about the Parisian arrondissement system with a mysterious Frenchman, and discovered that because of a translational problem, half the people we had met thought that Alex’s name was Julienne. Everyone was very friendly which never happens here. Much fun was had, new people were met, numbers were exchanged. It was the best $10 I’ve ever spent to get into a party, hands down.
Afterwards, we decided we needed another drink. Hey, it was only 2:20 am! The night was young! So we went to another spot and as we were sitting, became the recipient (Alex) and witness (me) to the most elaborate and ridiculous pick-up scenario ever.
Some guy came over next to Alex and asked the bartender for pen and a paper maybe 5 minutes after we sat down. At this point, the two of us were used to striking up conversations with everyone in range, so we started talking to him and asking whose number he was getting. It was really loud in there, so I didn’t hear most of the conversation, but I gather he had been eyeing some girl all night, hadn’t gone to talk to her, and was now heading out and decided he’d just go give her his number. He wanted to know Alex’s opinion on the whole thing. There was an in-depth conversation about it, during which I can only imagine I was embarrassingly sit-dancing on my barstool to The White Stripes playing on the jukebox. The boy left, and Alex and I stared to see who he was giving his number to. He kind of hung out on the side of the bar for a moment, then turned around and walked back over and awkwardly stood behind us for a minute. Then he said, “You know what the irony is? This is actually for you.” And with that he thrust the paper at Alex and took off. We sat there, completely stunned, and then burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.
We tried calling him right there and then to hassle him, but he wisely didn’t answer. We called from my phone to avoid him actually having Alex’s number. And he did call back (seriously!) but I missed the call. But I wonder… was that the plan all along? Or did he just chicken out on giving his number to the other girl and then go for Alex? And why are boys so stupid? Can’t we all just be adults here?
So, fun night out: check. Making a new friend: check (yay!). Gaining any further insight into the dating game as it exists in Manhattan? Um, absence of check. Oh well. Two out of three isn’t so bad. And I’ll take the friend over the rest any day of the week, really!
Alex and I haven’t really hung out one-on-one before—we have mutual friends and have been together many a time in group settings, but I was slightly wary that we would run out of things to talk about or find that, really, we couldn’t stand each other or something. I worried for no reason. One minute into our night, Journey came on in the bar, and we admitted our deep love for super, super cheesy 80’s music. If that doesn’t cement a friendship, I really don’t know what does.
After the initial drink, the plan was to head to an apartment party a work friend of mine had forwarded an invite to. There were 500 people invited. To a party in a New York apartment. We decided to go to see the apartment alone. It was $10 at the door, with beer and wine and DJs spinning. I decided it would either be ridiculously fun or unbearably painful, and I am happy to report it was the former. It was like being at an upscale fraternity party, without the annoying fraternity boys. It was perhaps the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen—everything from French law students, buttoned up lawyers, and someone from the country of Lichtenstein, to punk guys and girls with nose rings and peroxide-ed mullets. I discussed the movie “Jaws”, which I should note I’ve never seen, in-depth with a boy who would have been cute had he not been wearing the most alarming beige turtleneck ever. I then met one of the hosts of the party, who commenced to absolutely freak out about the number of people there, so Alex and I got him another beer and suggested he talk with the bouncers about capacity (yep, there were bouncers). I met a French Canadian who was a caricature of a French Canadian, had a deep and meaningful conversation about the Parisian arrondissement system with a mysterious Frenchman, and discovered that because of a translational problem, half the people we had met thought that Alex’s name was Julienne. Everyone was very friendly which never happens here. Much fun was had, new people were met, numbers were exchanged. It was the best $10 I’ve ever spent to get into a party, hands down.
Afterwards, we decided we needed another drink. Hey, it was only 2:20 am! The night was young! So we went to another spot and as we were sitting, became the recipient (Alex) and witness (me) to the most elaborate and ridiculous pick-up scenario ever.
Some guy came over next to Alex and asked the bartender for pen and a paper maybe 5 minutes after we sat down. At this point, the two of us were used to striking up conversations with everyone in range, so we started talking to him and asking whose number he was getting. It was really loud in there, so I didn’t hear most of the conversation, but I gather he had been eyeing some girl all night, hadn’t gone to talk to her, and was now heading out and decided he’d just go give her his number. He wanted to know Alex’s opinion on the whole thing. There was an in-depth conversation about it, during which I can only imagine I was embarrassingly sit-dancing on my barstool to The White Stripes playing on the jukebox. The boy left, and Alex and I stared to see who he was giving his number to. He kind of hung out on the side of the bar for a moment, then turned around and walked back over and awkwardly stood behind us for a minute. Then he said, “You know what the irony is? This is actually for you.” And with that he thrust the paper at Alex and took off. We sat there, completely stunned, and then burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.
We tried calling him right there and then to hassle him, but he wisely didn’t answer. We called from my phone to avoid him actually having Alex’s number. And he did call back (seriously!) but I missed the call. But I wonder… was that the plan all along? Or did he just chicken out on giving his number to the other girl and then go for Alex? And why are boys so stupid? Can’t we all just be adults here?
So, fun night out: check. Making a new friend: check (yay!). Gaining any further insight into the dating game as it exists in Manhattan? Um, absence of check. Oh well. Two out of three isn’t so bad. And I’ll take the friend over the rest any day of the week, really!
This entry was posted
on Tuesday, February 21, 2006 at 12:37 PM.
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