Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alcohol, alexis, anastasia, boyfriends, dating, friendship, humor, kissing, relationships, sex, women
I am going to share some things with you from times that I should have called in an early night, but didn’t. This way you can learn from my mistakes and call it a night before these things happen!
1. When you wake up in someone else’s clothes and look over and see a naked hairy man snorting a line of coke off the bedside table – you probably shoulda called it a night.
2. When you wake up on a couch with your best friend’s brother who is three years younger than you, his hand down your shirt and beer bottles and pizza scattered all over the table – you probably shoulda called it a night.
3. If you wake up in the basement of a football player’s house wearing the remains of a fairy costume next to an uncircumcised man and you have to do the walk of shame through their apartment over the other football player you were previously hooking up with only to return to your home where your panties were raided and spread all over the house and blood smeared on the walls from a “wrestling” injury – you probably shoulda called it a night.
4. If you wake up next to your best friend’s ex-boyfriend lying in your bed while your best friend is in the next room – you probably shoulda called it a night.
5. If the van door suddenly jolts open to reveal your friend who is in love with you staring at you in horror because you are naked and your current lover’s parts are still inside you – you probably shoulda called it a night.
6. When you wake up and your current lover is frantically trying to find one of the condoms from your night of fun – only for the condom to reveal itself later stuck in “places” – you probably shoulda called it a night.
7. When you wake up in Coney Island on the subway train, covered in puke and have no idea how to get to Brooklyn – you probably shoulda called it a night.
Yeah when you wind up here and can't figure out how to get to Brooklyn, you must have had a rough night - because this is the last stop in BK
8. If you and your friend end up in a random apartment lying next to practical strangers and they ask you to shower with them the next morning – you and your friend probably shoulda called it a night.
9. When you wake up covered from head to toe in stale beer and you have two stamps from the location where you partied the night before, stamped on your nipples – you shoulda called it a night.
10. When you wake up cuddling with an old friend, a bloody elbow, a fat lip from being punched in the mouth and 18 text messages from a desperate man – you probably shoulda called it a night.
- Alexis Patron
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alcohol, anastasia, dating, friendship, relationships, surprises
Sometimes I’ll catch a look in my friend’s eye when she doesn’t know I’m watching. They light up like she’s watching fireworks, yet they look like they are building with tears. When these moments happen, she’s always smiling and I don’t have to ask what is making her happy anymore.
“I feel like a proud mother watching all my kids have a good time together” is generally the gist of what she says. When all her favorite people are in one room together, with no reason to celebrate other than having an amazing time just being together, that look engulfs her. And I love it, because she looks so beautiful with such happiness on her face. If I could figure out how to make my friends that happy all the time, I would gladly give up everything that’s special to me.
I had one of those nights on Saturday, but it was a bittersweet evening.
My friend just turned twenty five and casually mentioned a few months ago that he’s always wanted a surprise party. So, we set up a surprise party at one of our favorite dive bars. I was convinced he knew, somehow. Why else wouldn’t we ask him what he wanted to do for his birthday? Blasé is a good definition for how we all acted whenever he brought up his birthday and not because we weren’t excited for it, we just didn’t want to blow the surprise.
Ex-lady friend headed to the bar before us to set up banners made of pictures of his favorite things: nacho cheese, cigarettes, alcohol, Aunt Jackie, and prunes all decorated the back of the bar. Happy Bat Mitzvah and princess balloons hung in the air. Someone brought brownies and best of all, we managed to wrangle up wrist bands for 24oz beers priced at a bargain $4.50 all night.
Had the party happened three weeks ago, it would have been one of the best nights of my life.
We brought the birthday boy and a few other friends to the bar once we knew the majority of guests were ready and waiting. He passed through the front of the bar, skirted by a slew of random hipsters and made his way to the back. Everyone was waiting and gathered around a table. When he saw us his smile was bright. His face light up. He looked genuinely happy and completely surprised. The plan had worked.
Side note: there’s nothing I love more than seeing my friends smile. It’s those deep, honest smiles that come from the heart that make you truly grateful for the people in your life who aren’t family by blood but certainly are more than friends.
It was one of those proud-momma moments for me. Seeing him so happy made me happy. I’ve never seen him look more handsome than he did at that moment. He temporarily took my mind off the breakup, unemployment, grad school and everything else that was fogging my mind lately.
I hate admitting this (because the climax of the night came so early on) but the best part was experiencing my friend’s happiness with him. After that, however, the night became a battle for me. I fought the lush in me who wanted nothing more than to tell the lady friend that I missed her and wanted her to be happy, even if that happiness came at the expense of mine. But I abide by the rule that sober thoughts mean more than drunk ones, so I bit my tongue. I did my best to ignore her, not out of animosity but out of protection for myself and her. It was (and still is) too soon to let her back into my life. I couldn’t bear sharing my happiness with someone who just, unintentionally, inflicted so many deep wounds within me.
So, to avoid one of those drunk-man’s-words-equal-sober-man’s-thoughts moments, I did what I do best: avoided her while acting like I was having the best time of my life.
Yes, I was having a good time. I enjoyed each drink and was happy to see old friends. But that annoying little voice in the back of my head kept reminding me how much better the night could have played out had she been on my arm. That voice that is difficult to silence when it gets louder with each drink. How do you combat something that you know is bad for you in the long run but temporarily makes you feel better about all that is wrong in your life? This is the epic war I fight with myself each and every single day. It’s exhausting.
I absolutely hate that the last few stories I have written have either centered around ex-lady friend or involved her to some extent. There are so many more elements in my life that I am grateful for: family, friends, health, etc. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her off my brain. It makes me feel like a weak individual, burdening everyone with my petty problems. If I could disappear until this blows over, I most certainly would. But hiding wouldn’t work because she always seems to find me. And she has no idea.
-Anastasia Beam
Sometimes I wonder if I ever actually think through decisions. I mean I honestly take space and time for myself to think with my head instead of any other part of my body that frequently dictates actions. The blessing and curse of my life is optimism. When I make the right decision or, honestly, get lucky, I sit back and bask in the glory of being a sincerely optimistic individual. But when I cross that line into the wrong decision, I blame optimism. Because I have always landed on my feet. I have survived breakups, failures, deaths, indecision, exhaustion, unemployment, and seemingly endless fights with loved ones. I have survived all these incidents and genuinely believed all of which resulted in me growing as an individual and friend. What an easy assessment to make once the grieving process has passed. I blame optimism because what if I thought glass half empty instead of half full? Would I be more likely to steer clear of decisions that which are not blatant to me?
The lady friend and I broke up. How quickly I slipped right back into the old drink-your-face-off-and-take-Nyquil-to-help-sleep habits and it’s only been a week.
I respect and love relationships. I’d prefer to be in one. But when your name goes from present to past tense in the voice of someone you care about and love, what is the point of relationships? Once you have crossed that dangerous line of investing yourself and time in another person, it becomes a terrifying game of Russian Roulette. You pull the trigger and sometimes get lucky with a bullet-less chamber. Or you don’t.
The optimistic side of me tells me that the best part about my breakup is that we both want to remain friends. Which means we hope to eventually be friends. The pessimist in me reminds me that I have to see her all the time because of said desire to remain friends combined with our large amount of mutual friends.
There is nothing worse than that. There is nothing sadder than missing someone who is sitting right next to you. And I’m just not sure how I’m going to eradicate this sadness.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: douche baggery | Tags: alcohol, alexis, anastasia, boyfriends, commitment, dating, friendship, green bay packers, kissing, new york city, rangers, relationships
I do not scare easily. Spiders gross me out, but I can handle them if need be. Love heights- flying is like home to me. But throw that “commitment” word around and I bolt faster than a shot fired from a gun. There will be an Alexis-sized hole through the nearest wall.
My horoscope characteristics: a nagging need to feel free (which can lead to trouble), fears responsibility, impatient, a risk taker and gambler at heart, argumentative and has a lack of commitment. Soooo very true.
So when someone tells me they want to enter a committed relationship, I freak out. Especially if I don’t see it coming. Now you know why I haven’t had a boyfriend in the last eight years. There were some events that triggered this fear, but that’s a much longer story best saved for a therapist.
Well, when I went to visit Anastasia, not only did I have a wonderful time with her, but I also was put into a “scary” situation. A man told me he was “head over heels crazy about me.” Fuck that makes me shudder even now.
I knew a lot of people from this bar I used to work at in NYC, one of which I had gone on a date with about two years ago. Billy is a super nice person and I enjoyed his friendship a lot. But dating? Yeah, not so good of a time. He just wasn’t for me. I was in my “nice guys finish last phase,” where I only dated horrible men. So, Billy, he would never have worked out. I ended up avoiding him until I moved.
Since being away from Billy, we were able to establish a pretty sweet friendship. We have a playful football rivalry (Packers v. Giants) so we tend to talk a lot during football season. Finally I decided to go back for a visit (to visit Anastasia) and I ended up mentioning this to Billy. He got excited and told me he’d take me to a Rangers hockey game while I was there. This excited me because I wanted to see the old gang.
In the weeks leading up to my visit, Billy and I had begun talking a lot. Even to the point that I may have developed a slight crush on the guy. It was a I-like-you-only-because-you-live-far-away kind of crush. But who knows. Maybe, since I’m now 25, I am mature enough for a relationship? So I was excited to see him and therefore told him so.
Things turned sour fast. Our flirtation turned into “I’ll do anything to be with you,” in zero-60. It was bad. It didn’t help that I got hammered at the game and ended up making out with him. My bad. In my defense I didn’t know it’d lead to the following text conversation that happened the day after the game.
Billy: There’s something I wanna tell you when I get home tonight
Me: Um OK that makes me nervous
Billy: Haha don’t be. It’s nothing bad. Just something I’ve wanted to say for awhile.
Me: I hate waiting
Billy: I promise it’ll be worth the wait.
Me: Just give me a hint
Billy: It has to do w/how I feel about you but I’m a little nervous to say it
Me: That’s what I thought
Billy: I’m just gonna say it now… I’m head over heels crazy about you
Billy: You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever had the honor of meeting
Billy: Honestly, I want to do whatever it takes to be w/you even if it means packing up and moving out to where you are
Billy: I mean it. I want you in my life no matter what it takes
Billy: I love being near you. I miss you so much and I wish I had you in my arms right now
Ah, ah, ah… cue hyperventilating. Yikes. What the fuck happened. I know I’m a damn fine kisser, but holy shit, I did not see that one coming. I had to squash this shit quick.
The texting continued for the rest of the weekend that I was visiting Anastasia. He said more things like “I want to protect you,” and other creepy shit like that. I had to agree to meet with him on Sunday in order to “discuss” what we were going to do.
Sunday rolls around and I really didn’t want to go, but I felt it necessary. I go to meet him to watch a football game somewhere downtown. When he sees me, he immediately goes in for the kiss. I turn my cheek. He tries again. I turn my cheek again. HE FUCKING TRIES AGAIN. Yes, he really did for a third time. That last time I finally just pulled away. That shit wasn’t happening. Then he goes for the hand holding. There is nothing that scares me more than public displays of affection… but I felt bad. This man was going to cry if I didn’t do something.
We end up walking around for almost an hour trying to find a bar. It was rainy and gross. Did not help the situation. We finally found a bar. We sat down and took off our coats. He was wearing the EXACT same outfit as me. Son of a bitch. I AM THE PACKER FAN, NOT HIM. But to impress me he decided he would wear a Packer shirt. Fuck, I had decided to wear mine as well, in remorse of the fact that the Packers were out of the playoffs. Never thought he’d wear a GB shirt as well, especially since he’s a Giants fan. We looked like morons.
As soon as we sat down he said: I just want you to know that I’m serious, I’d do anything to be with you, even if that meant moving.
My response? - Oh… uh that’s not necessary.
In the next two hours I proceeded to tell him that I didn’t want to date him, didn’t want him to move, that I’m a tad bit crazy, that I sort of married my yoga teacher in Bali… and so much more. Nothing scared him. My goodness, all you have to say to me is the “C” word and I’m scared out of my mind. Shit son. He’s like Earnest on steroids. Where do I find these men? It didn’t end well; I think he thinks we are getting married next month… I didn’t want to crush his soul so I tried to be nice. I’ll have to go for a more drastic tactic next time. Anastasia saved me half way through the “date.” Our code text was “I hate Brett Favre.” Which was appropriate because I was watching the Vikings game. She called and said I had to meet her sooner rather than later so we could go to a dinner party. I made Billy leave the bar shortly after.
He walked me to my train, kissed me, and I ran for my life, slightly fearing he may have gotten on my train in a different car. Yikes.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alcohol, ambiguity, anastasia, dating, feelings, friendship, relationships, sex, women
I hate that word. Answers are what I want. Yet, ambiguity is all I seem to get. Many shades of gray; never black or white. Meeting every potentially monumental life decision at a hypothetical fork in the road is frustrating. Downright tiring, even.
So, I seek facts in a vain attempt to piece the puzzle together. This is what I know:
- I want to smoke more than my lungs allow.
- Drinking more than my liver approves of is a nightly routine.
- My feelings have changed, they have gone from lovely, wish-the-best-for-a friend to do I have romantic feelings for said friend?
- I am female.
- Said friend is also female-of the lesbian sort.
The fact that my only desire is to smoke and drink myself into obliteration is a blatant sign that I’m lost right now.
So here I am: confused. I hate the word “confused” as much as I hate the word “ambiguous.”
Yes, I am confused. My relationship with my friend is ambiguous. The sooner I own up to these detestable words the sooner I will sort this out, hypothetically, right?
Here’s the thing: I pride myself on being an open-minded individual. I pride myself on seeking out unique traits and characteristics in friends and adopting them as my own. I would have never discovered martinis and Thai food otherwise. Ask Alexis, I’ve always said I wouldn’t rule out the chance of dating a woman if I thought, genuinely, the relationship would provide a chance for pure happiness. And I don’t understand those who disagree with this mentality.
But it’s so easy to preach accepting words when the prospect isn’t staring you in the face, waiting for you to make a decision one way or the other. I am staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun, afraid to move in any direction for fear of accidentally setting off the trigger. Have you any idea what this feels like? I doubt it, and if so, offer guidance…please.
More facts are in order:
- I’ve never, ever, been attracted to a female the way I am now.
- And even since this “discovery,” I’ve never noticed a woman walking down the street and thought to myself “Nice titties, girl. Come home with me”
- This, I believe, is exclusively an attraction to the person while ignoring gender.
It’s one thing to be attracted to someone’s personality; to their sense of humor; to the way they handle adverse situations or their taste in music. It’s a completely different ballgame, for me at least, to be attracted to someone’s body; their touch; their sexuality.
I am attracted to her personality and sense of humor. We compliment each other well. While I don’t always agree with the way she handles those bigger-than-thou life situations, I enjoy listening to her and talking through them. Our conversations give me a sense of pride in her decisions while providing valuable learning opportunities. And, honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful. I understand that the last few sentences sound like an ill-thought cover letter, but they are honest.
But that word-confusion-rears it’s ugly little head here. If I’m going to be brutally honest (and I might as well; what better platform than here?) I do like her touch. Her hugs and back rubs improve lousy days and ease my troubled mind. But even in my most drunken state, I’ve never thought it would be mind blowing to sleep with her; or on the other hand, how horrid it would be. Identifying solely as a straight female up until this point has protected me. I’m wrapped tight in a blanket of indifference; of ambiguity.
How can I honestly say to myself that I wouldn’t like something if I’ve never tried it? That would limit life experiences and deny the opportunity of growing as a woman; as a human, even. I pity those who, so rigid in thoughts from either upbringing or ignorance, would begrudge opportunity for personal growth. I don’t want that, at all. I don’t want to ruin an opportunity that could open my eyes to a completely new mentality and view of life.
But, at the same time, I don’t want to involve a friend’s feelings when I’m not certain of the outcome. If my feelings; my thoughts; my emotions were the only thing at stake, I would jump, jump, jump. I would, without a moment’s thought of anyone’s opinion. It’s reckless, yes, but at the very least, this would result in part of me opening and closing quickly. Ambiguity would disappear as fast as my next drink or cigarette. At most, maybe, perhaps, possibly, I would discover a new piece of me that lay dormant for years, for whatever reason, and could adjust accordingly in future endeavors.
The last set of facts:
- She likes me.
- She’s interested in a romantic relationship… if I am.
We’ve had endless conversations that circle about our “situation”, resulting in both of us shaking our heads in our hands while saying with bated breath “I don’t know, I don’t know.” So, how can I honestly take that plunge knowing a friendship that’s important to me and feelings are at risk? How can I look myself in the mirror each morning knowing I’m playing with someone’s heart and emotions so carelessly and…ambiguously.
I’m not sure I can do that. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to figure it out. No matter how much I write and talk about this, I’ll walk this road alone. And I’m terrified to take a step in the wrong direction. Ambiguity: I really do hate that word.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: alcohol, alexis, anastasia, beer, brooklyn, dress, friendship, martini, new york city, tequila, wine, women
Oh how people change. I moved away from Anastasia for a year and she did a 180 on me. Not that it is a bad thing; it’s just entertaining to reminisce about the old days.
I remember the day that she told me that gin martinis were vile and she had no idea how I could drink two of them. Text from last weekend: “I had two martinis and I could drive a car NASCAR style right now.” My, how people change. And only in a year.
I met this girl (Anastasia) who believed that beer was life’s nectar and a pair of clean jeans was acceptable for all occasions, Brooklyn was Timbuktu and going to Manhattan on a Sunday was like giving birth. Soooo painful. Video games were the only acceptable Saturday activity, exploring the wonderfulness of NYC on a weekend was out of the question.
Asking Anastasia to come into the city on a weekend was like asking for her first born. And trust me, she won’t even let me be in her wedding party, so I guarantee she won’t let me meet her first born. Even worse than asking her to come into Manhattan on a weekend was asking her to come visit me in Brooklyn. Queens to Brooklyn was like Germany to Bangladesh. Who would travel that far to visit someplace that wasn’t as cool as Germany and why? Brooklyn to Anastasia was like another world. Brooklyn didn’t exist. Queens was better than Brooklyn, hands down.
One time I went “all the way” from Brooklyn, middle of nowhere to Anastasia, to the Upper East Side-five minutes from her apartment. I asked her to meet me for happy hour. Her response? “Yeah there is no way in hell you are getting me to go to Manhattan on a Saturday.” Wow.
When we did go out, Friday’s only, Anastasia’s drink of choice? Beer. Beer. Beer. Try suggesting a tequila shot and you might get punched. I, of course, was going through my “dark” period, where tequila and gin martinis were necessary for survival, so we had a hard time seeing eye to eye on drinks.
I am not complaining, I loved down to earth Anastasia: the girl who didn’t know what a dress was (even in the brutal heat of a New York summer), thought that a skirt was the Universe’s punishment for women, museums were a waste of a Saturday and drinking wine and hard liquor was for pansies who couldn’t handle beer. I sure do enjoy drinking beer, sitting on the couch in jeans and a hoodie, but I also enjoy a fancy night out sipping wine. So imagine my surprise when I recently started hearing stories about gin martinis, tequila, dresses and Brooklyn. WHAT? Who is this woman?
Anastasia now: wine and gin has replaced beer, an occasional tequila shot isn’t out of the question and Brooklyn not only exists but is even inhabitable occasionally!
A status update about a month ago mentioned Anastasia buying a dress and I almost fell out of my chair. A dress?! One of those things that show legs and boobs? Anastasia? She has legs? Just plain crazy. Anastasia has sported five dresses this year, I’m in shock. Wonderment, if you will. I cannot wait to go sip martinis at a fancy bar with my “new” friend!
Anastasia has ventured to Brooklyn a few times, goes to museums, hangs out in the city no matter what day it is, doesn’t say: “Alexis, you know what day it is,” when I call her on a Saturday. To be blunt: she’s a martini whore now. Love it! I’m sure I have done just as much changing as Anastasia, seeing how we met each other during “dark” phases in our lives, but now that the sky has cleared, we are getting to know new sides of one another. She met me when I was face down in tequila 24/7 and I met her when Brooklyn, to her, was an abomination.
Times, they be a-changin’.
-Alexis Patron
I don’t know what hurt more, my pounding head or Kaci’s voice booming into my ears at 8:30am Sunday morning. I slowly rolled over on the almost flat air mattress to find Brandy sleeping naked next to me. Shit. What. A. Night. I definitely needed more sleep, but it was time for the post-drinking, breakfast, recap. Just to make sure we didn’t do anything too stupid. Or in my case… to determine how fast I had to flee town.
(To remember the craziness of the bachelorette party, read Vegas Story.)
It all began Thursday when I arrived in Montana to meet all my best friends/former college roommates in their hometown. A town that I had been to so many times that I am now an honorary town member. I know everyone… and I’ve kissed… everyone… no, only about 13 men from this town, including twins and brothers. So classy. Apparently my new greeting is to stick my tongue down your throat. Actually it’s not a new greeting; I’ve been doing that for years. It might be time to lock it up.
One of my best friends, Jill, was getting married and this was the big wedding weekend. All the girls I went to Vegas with and myself were the bridesmaids. Or as Jill referred to us as: her dysfunctional bridesmaids.
On this beautiful Thursday in June, I drove to meet Katie and Kaci in Missoula and then we were driving to their town. Of course I had to go get a bikini wax from my favorite waxer in MT so when I show up to meet the girls at the restaurant, everyone pointed at my crotch and thus began the nicknames… they settled on snapper delight. Which was my nickname for the entire weekend. Kaci was bringing her new boyfriend, so my first meeting with B was a little embarrassing, but whatever, wouldn’t be the worst thing I did all weekend.
After picking up the dresses and arriving in town, we all got ready and met at Kaci’s house for a Girls Night Out or GNO!! The girls, Kaci’s mom and Kaci’s boyfriend all hung out and decided it’d be appropriate to play kings cup, which included a few gnarly rounds of Never Have I Ever. And yes, with her mom. Man, as if her mom doesn’t think I’m slutty in the first place, now she has to find out everything?
Kaci’s boyfriend, B, got a little rowdy and ended up offending everyone, which was awkward, but he calmed down for the rest of the weekend. Surprisingly it wasn’t awkward sharing personal secrets with Kaci’s mom. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve done that she knows about. A few years earlier I had sex in her house and she found the condom. Yeah…
We hit the bars kind of late Thursday night and then everyone went their separate ways. Brandy and I stayed at Kaci’s house.
The next morning Brandy and I were awoken with Kaci and B jumping on top of us. B laid on top of me. A very intimate greeting from a man I just met the day before and wasn’t quite sure how I felt about him. He grew on me though, plus he and Kaci make a cute couple. After the morning steam roller wake up, Jill came and got Brandy and then Kaci, B and I went shopping and for morning bloody marys.
That was only Thursday…
It was a lovely afternoon, Friday, so after bloody marys I met up with Katie and Brandy for beers in the sun. Hopefully Jill wouldn’t be upset that her bridesmaids were drinking before the rehearsal! We hit the bar for a couple of shots before heading to the church… probably not the smartest idea as we got yelled at by the priest. He said that we better not smell like alcohol the next day for the wedding… oops!
Rehearsal went well. Then was the rehearsal bbq and of course more drinking. We had to call it a night early, however, because Jill wanted us at the salon at 9am to begin getting ready. Yikes. Yes, Friday I behaved, didn’t take my clothes off, kiss anyone I shouldn’t, or offend anyone’s mother. That is more than I can say for Saturday…
To be continued…
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: anastasia, friendship, humor, new york city
What was her name again? Ally, Ashley, Amber? Oh, Alexis. Hm, interesting.
I couldn’t have been more apathetic towards meeting my coworker’s cousin. I wasn’t completely sold on my coworker as it was, so when she suggested meeting her cousin one day at work, it gave me the same horrific feelings I experienced when I was six and mommy set up play dates with girls I would eventually hate in high school.
The problem wasn’t that Alexis sounded like someone I wouldn’t get along with. If anything, it was that we were way too similar. We graduated the same year with the same degree, moved to New York within weeks of each other and shared a great appreciation for alcohol and promiscuity. Her cousin put so much pressure on us meeting and becoming best friends for life, before I even agreed to go. And Christ, we both have large breasts even, a fact her cousin didn’t outright tell me; I discovered this one on my own. Strike one: too similar to myself
To this day, I don’t recall what I was thinking when I agreed to go on this awkward adult play date. More importantly, I have no fucking clue where my mind was when I agreed to a night in which the Red Sox battled the Indians in post-season glory. Our date was practically doomed before it even started.
New York was still as foreign to me as a bra to a thirteen year old boy, so of course my roommate and I got lost on our way and showed up late. I didn’t acknowledge our tardiness, and played if off like I simply had better shit to do.
My coworker picked some crappy Wisconsin-themed bar for our night on the town. I am a Northeast snob with no desire to go west of Maryland, so I was obviously overwhelmed with joy and excitement when informed I’d be going on this twenty-year-old-heterosexual-blind date in a Wisconsin-themed bar. I anticipated cheesehead patterned wallpaper and shrines of Brett Favre, but decided the $2 Bud lights was a good enough reason to make an appearance.
My first impression of Alexis? Not the greatest. Her cousin verbally blew her so much that I half expected the second coming of Jesus Christ. As I rounded the bar, my coworker sat sipping a bud with a strange young lady and her two ginormous breasts. The low-cut sweater displayed them proudly; a blind man couldn’t miss them. Was she trying to pick me up? My coworker, a shallow attention seeking gossip, would have given me a heads up on same-sex interest, so I assumed I wouldn’t have to deal with any advances.
I wasted over a half hour of baseball to get to the bar and needed to make up for lost time. I found their table, plowed into my chair, threw my purse down almost knocking over beer, and put my finger in the air before anyone could say anything: I needed baseball updates asap and wasn’t about to let any introductions get in the way of that. The Sox were losing to the lousy Indians, and with each passing inning my mood depressed.
“Anasatasia,” my coworker said, “This is my cousin, Alexis”
Alexis extended an awkward and intimated hand for a shake.
“Hi,” I responded, probably ignoring her hand, “Do you like baseball? This is my roommate”
Alexis really wasn’t fond of baseball and informed me she preferred football. I. Hate. Football. Strike three. The night was going to be a shit show.
After two bud lights, my coworker decided the Wisconsin bar just wouldn’t do. She needed to see her flavor of the week and spent a half hour telling us about her young “artist” boyfriend. She viewed him as an artist, but we viewed him as a starving creeper who smelled bad. Six of one, I suppose…
At that time in our lives, Alexis and I shared a love of a sedentary lifestyle. Neither of us can figure out why we decided to let her cousin take the reigns and lead us into the bowels of Brooklyn that Saturday night. We both secretly wanted to stay at the Wisconsin bar, but lacked the balls to voice the opinion to our mutual friend who pushed thirty. And so the wild goose chase began.
Rather than call her mysterious artiste boyfriend, my coworker thought “two stops off the L in Brooklyn” was enough direction to lead us to the bar her man was at. False. We spent the better part of an hour in a maze of dark industrialized back alleyways that housed a litter of cats per homeless person.
Great. Lost in Brooklyn with near strangers after being set up on a blind date that would never lead to sex and missing Boston Red Sox baseball while sober, and Alexis wonders why I had ‘tude that night? Bitch, please.
Had we been in any other area that didn’t feel like rape way, I would have split well before we found the bar. But I was pretty confident a shanking, mugging, or raping was probable if I left the group. I stuck it out.
The bar had an impressive selection on draught and hard cider, but had absolutely nothing else going for it. It smelled like mildew. The bowling area, which was booked for hours, engulfed most of the bar space. The dark bathroom looked and smelled like it was covered in piss. Toilet paper wasn’t even an option, as I’m pretty sure a roll hadn’t seen the bar in years. I could have put up with the bar’s negative qualities if it had a single TV with the game, but of course not. I relied on sparse texts from friends which were uninformative. “OMG R U WATCHING?” isn’t quite the response I hoped for when asking the score.
Once the artiste boy was in the picture, the coworker exited stage left. She ignored Alexis and I, and left us to a booth of spilled beer and awkward conversation in the back of the bar. My roommate was off dirty texting a boy, so she was useless for any small talk.
We sat awkwardly avoiding eye contact. I desperately planned an exit strategy, but knew it was useless. Brooklyn was a completely foreign land to me. I never would have found my way home alone.
At this point, I made some smart ass comment about how the bar sucked. I expected Alexis to disagree and defend her cousin’s wise decision. To my surprise. she actually agreed, and we decided to spend the rest of the night milking my ex-fling for all the rum and coke his American Express could afford.
Bellies full of alcohol, we realized we shared a mutual love of using men for alcohol and became fast friends. Alexis even put up with my drunk ass petting horsies in Times Square for an hour before the night ended. At the beginning of the night, I was sure I would never see Alexis ever again. But the next day we fed our hangovers at the Olive Garden and I haven’t been able to shake her since.
-Anastasia Beam
