Saturday night in Miami, A was throwing a hissy fit to go to Southbeach. I had never been, so we made the trek. A was beyond wasted, but alas, K and I were pretty sober, having spent the last few hours chitchatting with a friend of K's that we hadn't seen in eons, while A chugged booze.
Sign numero uno we should have gone home: When the cab rolls up, A hops in the front with the cab driver and proceeds to hit on him. Gave him her real name, number, the works. We should have known then...
Sign numero dos: A insists we go to the same club she loved from spring break from five or six years ago. Despite our protests that we are too old for college bars and that spring break does not, in fact, occur during the month of January, we humored her at this point. So we entered the Clevelander. Holy shit. May be the sketchiest place I have ever set foot in.
Sign numero tres: Upon entering, A walks right up to a group of three guys and proclaims to them that we were all newly single. Desperate much? Not to mention... nobody was newly single. She'd had her breakup that summer. K's divorce was final before that, and I was pushing on a year of being single and had already dated several guys during that time. K was mortified. I was irritated to even be in that shit hole, let alone having someone's desperate behavior projected onto me.
Sign numero quatro (aren't you all impressed by my spanish skillz?): The first words out of the three guys A had approached was : We're all happily married. And they all held up their rings as proof. A didn't take the hint, despite them trying to ditch her and K and I trying to get her to talk to ANYONE else in the bar.
Cinco : A sets her heart's desire on The Married, one of the trio. She tells him she wants to make out with him. He tells her "I don't want to make out with you." Right to her face. I'm mortified for her at this point. K abandons all hope at this point and goes to make friends with Drug Dealer. I'm still attempting to play wingman. So I'm talking with Another Married. Another Married tells me that The Married was recently told his wife wanted a divorce via text message. And he also commented about A, saying "Just how desperate is she." It's pretty hard to be a wingman to that. I just said, well, so I moved into a townhome with some girls and the night I move in, I walk smack into her ex boyfriend, who is the current boyfriend of one of my roommates. Small world, and she's taking it terribly.
Six (I can count to five... wahoo): The Married wanders off to talk on the phone, probably with his wife. A follows him and completes a face raping that Daniel from the bar on Thursday would have been proud of.
Seven: Assuming that A was DTF, the Married suddenly decides to leave with A and go back to his hotel room. Another Married was begging for me to take A home or at least come try to chaperone her. A took Another Marrieds whispers to me as a sign of flirting and suggested I go be a homewrecker like her. Um no, thanks A, that's all you. We had literally only been in South Beach for thirty minutes at this point. K and I decided to stay. But, being the awesome friend I am, I had Another Married text me the Married's real name and number so that we could locate A the next day.
Eight: A leaves with all the married me and goes back to their hotel. Not to be seen until 1pm the next day when she wanders home. Apparently, the Married had not asked for her name or number, but after A found out that I had his name and number in my phone, she TOOK MY PHONE AND STOLE THEM and commenced texting. I texted Another Married back to apologize and say that she had taken it, that I did not give them to her. He replied that they had figured that out that that they had been laughing about it all morning. Life lesson you should have learned here A: if he wanted your number, he would have asked for it.
Nine: K, meanwhile, has abandoned A to talk to Drug Dealer, who is this ultra redneck from Ohio. IN CARGO SHORTS. Oh Em Gee. And he annoyed the shit out of me. Having just had to witness the Married fiasco, I didn't have the stomach to wingman for K. And I was completely sober by now, so I prance up to the bar to order myself a drink and get away from Drug Dealer.
Ten: I happen to sit down at the bar next to Henry the Banker. He's roughly my dad's age. He is with two other creepers. Henry though, offers to buy me a drink. I ask for my signature vodka and pineapple juice. He asks me for my brand of vodka. I name it, and Henry makes a snide remark about me picking an expensive brand. Look buddy, I was going to by my own drink, but you offered and then asked my preference. If you don't want to buy me a drink, don't.
Eleven: Henry proceeds to tell me he is a banker from Kansas City and he is out there for work. And one of the creepers he was with is their client. Who just had sex in a strip club. Yes, he said that. Henry asked this guy to say one nice thing about Henry. The creep said "ummm he's a banker." You cannot make this up. But Henry, who is not one who frequents a gym, nor does he have much hair remaining, thought he actually had a chance with me. He starts trying to tell me he can get me a job at a major competitor's firm out of Kansas City, and how he has done that for other women in the past. Real Creep, this one.
Twelve, the bar is closing down. Henry's friends head back to their hotel, which is where the Jersey Shore stayed. Apparently they were really proud to be staying in that herpes haven. Drug Dealer's friends have likewise headed home, so it is me, K, Drug Dealer, and Henry. Drug Dealer suggests we go back to his room and smoke weed. I was like um, no. So we finally agreed to go with Henry back to his hotel for a drink.
Thirteen: We start walking in that direction. Henry is trying to ditch Drug Dealer and K, and Drug Dealer is trying to do the same. K and I, however, each are under the false impression that the other wants to actually spend time with her respective male. Henry and Drug Dealer are being openly hostile to each other and trading insults, which were actually hilarious, but would take too long to type. At some point, it becomes clear, though, that there is no bar in this hotel. Henry was trying to lure us into his hotel room.
Fourteen: Hell no. K and I huddle and determine we don't want to spend another minute with either of these fools. So we decide to just hop in a cab home. Henry and Drug Dealer, though, were eternal optimists. And they were huddling up and discussing how to "Close the deal" and patting each other's butts. It was the most pathetic display since A's behavior earlier that night.
So, we say goodbye to the boys at about 5am. As we get into the cab, people are starting to stretch for the marathon happening that day. They waved at us. Sigh. We're not five minutes down the road when I get a text from Henry: Come up to my room. We're getting a pizza. Herpes free, I promise.
That was his pickup line. I declined. And for the rest of his stay, he tried to get us to come back out with him. Didn't happen. As much as I love pizza, if you have to tell me that it is herpes free, I am not interest.
hahhaa.
-W
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