A few months ago, I was at an awards party for television commercials at an art museum on one of those blocks in New York City. I wasn't being nominated for best office bitch at a boutique production house, but, in exchange for top shelf tequila, I was directing the flow of patrons into the screening room.
For roughly an hour, I performed my duties diligently, because I am the best fucking worker ever, and then I hid by the bar near the fancy paintings.
One of the great things about flaking out on volunteer jobs and getting drunk in tuxedos, is the ease it brings to hitting on underage girls. Another volunteer, a college student named Sara (her real name is Dara, but I change it for her protection), responded well to my advances. They involved, buying her a drink at the open bar, introducing her to my older-male-non-famous-but-mildly-accomplished-filmmaker-friend, and not immediately making fun of her on this blog. In her prom dress and under the museum lights, I thought Sara looked really cute. Also, she was Jewish, and for those who don't know, if your mom is, was, or has plans to become a Jew, we can date the shit out of each other. So I asked Sara to come to dinner with me one evening.
I took her to a very fancy tapas bar underneath a carpet store in the traffic light and street sign district of lower-midtown Manhattan. By the way, tapas is Spanish for Spanish food, and sounds a lot like topless bar, when you say it fast to your date; go ahead, try it.
Sara was really impressed with the carpet store basement brochettes and that I could order alcohol with my own ID. Then the carpet store basement mariachi band played and we were both impressed that I let her speak about political conspiracies for 20 minutes. Then I gave $115 dollars to the waitress.
Because I'm a wuss, I kissed Sara half on her lip and half on the cheek, before she went home.
Though she didn't wear her prom dress and looked significantly more Long Islandese on our date, I was not positive that I wouldn't sleep with her. And so, I took her on a second date. This time, I really impressed her by not making a reservation at a trendy loungaraunt and getting us seated in the brawling section. We dined on tiny hamburgers and milkshakes in shot glasses and Sara said things that didn't entirely not remind me of the way my clients at the 'learning disabled' group home in South Orange, New Jersey spoke. Then, as they do in brawling sections, a brawl broke out. From what I gathered, it had to do with the tiny lobster sandwiches, a woman's breasts, and two idiots in silk shirts. After this, I gave the waitress $125.
I was now sure that I didn't need to see Sara again, but I would have made out with her naked, so I extended her a personalized invitation back to my place which she politely declined.
This is the end of a rather indulgent blog 'piece,' tomorrow I will speak with Stoopers, a monkey that eats anything you give him, literally.