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Strap in because I have not had a chance to write about girls recently and this shit is kind of hilarious. Also, why is it that the best nights these days don’t end until ~5AM? Not an actual question, just saying everyone I’ve been hanging out with has this whole thing about not leaving until 4 whether there’s a bar involved or not.

I go to a birthday party for a friend from way back in the day in Sunset Park. Here are some important facts: “way back in the day” means we went to a post-graduate thing for six weeks together…two years ago. Perhaps the most important fact is that she’s a lesbian, but only because of the night’s events.

Now let me weave you a tale for the grandkids. I’m talking with people I know from…two years ago…and meeting some really cool people who go to the same graduate program with the birthday girl. Honestly, one of the guys I meet is making the same jokes I am on a one-second delay. But to be fair, I make the same joke he does on a one-second delay at a proportional rate.

The sun has set and the rooftop party is starting to slow down. The birthday girl’s best friend shows up. I notice she’s kind of my type. And honestly, this is one of those things I can’t explain, I don’t really know what my type is; every once in a while I meet a girl and I have some sort of subliminal thought process along the lines of, “Oh, she’s sexy as hell, I’d probably do terrible things to her.” When L______ shows up, I have a more graphic thought than that but she makes a couple of kind of weird jokes that make me debate my initial judgment. The night goes on, everyone mingles, et cetera.

This is undeniably the most important part of the story. I’m fully aware that the previous sentence is the shittiest piece of foreshadowing ever written, but I’m not writing this like literature, I’m writing this like real life. I was fully aware of hearing L drop a “A-[something, maybe an “Alex] and I finally had sex!” That was also when my douchebag-type off-switch flipped:  “Finally” means a new boyfriend and the exciting hand motions she’s making probably mean she’s enjoying continued sex with A[-something], thus she’s most likely not on the market, no longer interested.

More talking happens then we all move downstairs. We all play some games, catch up, laugh, what have you. The hostess, as per party plan, decides it’s time to go to a gay bar. I’m a little terrified because everyone’s talking about the last lesbian bar party where the women had more testosterone than present company (5-ish dudes) combined. These ladies threatened other women in line for the bathroom, and called dibs on the straight women. Like half the party decides to go home. I notice I’m one of two dudes that has decided not to go home.

We take a minivan cab over with six girls and two dudes. It’s incredibly awkward because the birthday girl is in the navigator’s seat, three girls are on captain’s chairs and I’m on the back seat splitting up one of the girls and a pair of cousins (boy/girl). I’m pretty much sitting on a dude and a girl. I start cracking jokes because the cousins are speaking to each other in Spanish (I catch most of it, they’re talking about their family) and everyone else is silent. I honestly don’t know how or why it comes up, but for some reason I reference this Louis C.K. joke where he talks about how pretty vaginas are. The cab goes silent. I find out later, the only lesbian there was the birthday girl and the other dude is gay (I couldn’t tell because he was European and shit–he dances with his cousin like he’s not). But of course the birthday girl wanted a fist pound so I was figured, “Schmeh, the most important person at the party liked it, I win.”

A few jokes later we get into the bar, L and I dance a little bit and there’s some flirting. The place is kind of dead and the birthday girl suggests going to another gay bar in Manhattan. Subliminally, “Yep, fuck it.” This is a two-parter: a. basic improvisational comedy mandates that you agree to everything (“Yes, and…”) and 3. I’m flirting with a girl who has boobs I like. Thus, the whole subliminal thought is more like, “Yep, fuck it. I’ll go because flirting with L will still be fun.” For some reason I my douchebag-type off-switch had flipped into the on position and I’d forgotten she had a boyfriend.

Everyone takes a smoke break (I get it, you’re all cooler than I am.) and we catch a minivan. We catch a red minivan with a babyseat in one of the captain’s chairs. While the birthday girl’s negotiating with driver of said red minivan with dentmarks and a babyseat, important character M______ and I make fun of how this guy is not a cab and how there’s a babyseat in one of the captain’s chairs. Two of the cute girls who were probably most offended by things I said about vaginas decide to leave. Huge loss because they seemed really nice and like we had similar interests (books, making fun of me). Honestly, they seemed great but if they didn’t like the jokes, then I’m glad the left. (Love you, miss you.)

Obviously, we decide to get in. I’m mostly focused on letting all the girls get in first but L is the only other person besides me. I get in before her so she have to sit in the babyseat. The cab driver offers no explanation “remove the chair like this” explanation so I do the, “Oh, what do I do, there’s a babychair here” dance. The “cab driver” tells me to  “Just put the arm up.” So I start putting up the babychair arm up because I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about–there’s a babychair where I should be sitting.

We start driving and I start feeling up L. Apparently, it’s on. She is my type. I want in and I’m calling dibs. At one point there’s so much groping and pinching that our “cab driver” turns around to remind us that we’re in his family car. The family car. So we tone it down, but there’s still a lot of rubbing, groping and pinching, despite our “family driver’s” warnings. She even steals my bracelet. Honestly, I might not have taken that thing off at any time during my last relationship. L literally has it on the whole night after that. More incredibly inappropriate things ensue, to the point that I hear the Spanish kids calling us out–in English, no less. Obviously if everyone in the “cab” knows it’s on, it’s Donkey Kong, right?

We get out of the cab and I have another subliminal insight: “Location change, things have changed.” We get on line and the doorman tells the gay dude, “No, you can’t come in, you’re not gay.” M and I lock eyes and she says, “You’re so not getting in.” “Holy shit, I just spent 40 minutes flirting with a girl, what the fuck am I going to do?” “I guess I could hang out with you out here…”

For some reason the doorman lets me in. I guess flirting with girls is the new gay. L’s been babysitting birthday girl since we got out of the cab. (Bad subliminal insight #2: I’m no longer in physical contact with L.) We go in, we dance. I don’t really know how I pulled off such tomfoolery, but at the end of the night the female cousin compliments me on the moves that I break out between my 1-and-2-and-1-and-2 dance I base off a salsa class I once took. I don’t look around much because this bar is way more packed than the last one and I think I might be one of two dudes. So I’m the straight guy at a very gay bar who just got done flirting with a girl. The babysitting, 1-and-2-and-1-and-2 dance and trying to avoid fights with(this isn’t racialist, right?) most-likely imaginary bull-dykes that I don’t want to make eye contact with happens for easily an hour and a half. Everyone’s tired and my long-sleeved rugby shirt feels like chain mail. Heavy rugby fabric, long sleeves: good summer decision.

Some dude walks up while everyone’s on a smokebreak to ask for a smoke. M and I do not smoke, we just smoke bitches at beer pong: he ignores us because he’s macking on L. He calls L and the birthday girl “gorgeous ladies” while M and I make fun of literally every sentence he makes. He’s not more than five feet away and every sentence is a terrible fail: one of the girls is a lesbian and I called dibs on the other in a “cab” earlier. Ass. He leaves and M’s like “Step up, claim what’s yours.” L makes a phone call. I ask the birthday girl, “She has a boyfriend, doesn’t she.” “Yep.”

I reclaim my bracelet and the birthday girl goes, “Wait, when did this happen?” to which I reply,”You don’t want to know.” Silly navigator’s seat. I walk off, huge grin on my face for at least 30 minutes seemingly for no reason at all.

It turns out that 40 minutes of flirting>1.5 hours of lesbian bar dancing. Oh, the things I’ll do for women.

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One Comment

  1. Brilliant story!


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