Last night I went to a recommended “erotic” series on-acts show to watch for content and format. Neither were anything to write home about. There was one woman who danced around partially clothed wearing an apron pretending to bake a cake to an outlandish song about… baking a cake. As she was miming her heat displeasure as she opened and closed the imaginary oven door, she took items of clothing off until she whip creamed her tits and pussy revealing her creamed body to us as the grand finale. THIS was not one of the worst ones. The overweight strip teaser, the mock erotic radio shows voiced by the hostess of the evening and some older guy talking about sexual positions between them and even adding “sister wives” to join in the fun. There was an “embellished” blond woman slightly past her prime, praying to the lord each time she mentioned her young hot stud and his promise to “go all night’…thank you, thank you, thank you lord, thank you”. The highlight were these 2 woman impersonating lower class, cholas from the barrio rapping about some baby daddy loser! They were Fabulous!! I had that rap in my head and for a moment didn’t feels so jipped out of my $20. And I brought someone to boot! I felt dirty and a bit pissed off to say the least. Why would my friend think that this was a show I should be watching? Got me out of the house, though..?
Our second stop was to Jeffery’s in the West Village to say goodbye to some folks that worked there before I head back to LA next week. It was packed so rather than waiting… my friend wanted a “proper Manhattan” and we were off to Employees Only on Hudson. My lady parts were not engaging in “happy, let’s get drunk” vibes. His 4 drinks to my 2 and we were dancing in the crowded bar, engaging with some locals and I was hearing all about how we’d not work out in a dating sense. Now this was all well and good, though I kept reminding him about the girlfriend he was living with and that I wasn’t interested in dating him, which he also got as he was scoping out the room for my viable options. A drunk wing-man…. I need not!
Without being rude, I was hoping to go back to Jefferey’s alone to sit and relax, catch up with the bartended, manager and waiter I had befriended, so I thought, on my last 2 visits. I was walked there by my drunk friend and we sat down for one more drink before I cut him off and sent him to his Girlfriend’s bar. He was a bit slurry and red-faced 5 Manhattans in without food to coat.
Once he stumbled out I had a chance to sit and catch the vibes that I wasn’t as welcomed as the last time I was there when the waiter and I took up space and tipped me over the mountain with one last drink at a neighboring pub. The bartender took great care of my needs of delicacy and banter… a making of a lovely friendship-connection. when the night of Halloween came to an end, the waiter had supplied me with the one too many, stomach turning libations and even a poorly planted kiss in which I remember him saying “that’s not a real kiss” falling on drunk ears, whipping my head around and almost tumbling off the stool as I attempted to feign sober. I knew as that last drink was placed on the bar… I should NOT partake. Do NOT drink this! Tell the bartender sorry, I’ve had too much and I will gladly pay to not drink it… but nooooo drank it I did. When the Jefferey’s tender joined us, he had become quite affectionate (from the cold standoffish ways of the night’s beginning), which MAY have irked the waiter after the failed kiss attempt, who knows?? I know we quickly all stood up from our chairs and the waiter was in a taxi without as much as a goodbye, leaving the tender and I parting ways with a taxi flag and the question “so now where you going?” coming from him. “I’m walking home”. “I’m not walking all the way to the East Village” as the taxi door was opened. “OK, I am”, I replied. “Guess we part ways here, then?” “Guess so”, as I smiled, waved and headed across 7th Ave. I did manage to make it home somehow after my long swirvy, way too many stops to regroup before the straight line was attempted again. I managed up the 2 flights of stairs with no landing, into the door, boots off, coat dropped, sweater thrown down and head in the toilet with the heated seat. I may even have washed my face with the bidet water.
That hang over took 2 days to heal and a week for the cold caught as well. Not one of my best nights.
I texted the waiter an apology, which he replied I wasn’t that drunk… all was good, nice of me to stop in… and I thought we were good. But as I could tell from my less tahn warm reception last night… Something changed! I had gone from this woman who was intriguing to them with extra care and treatment given to barely a hello from the waiter and the bartender forgot my name, was a bit of a dick and all my drinks were charged.
Now I know I should not take it personally but I do! For some reason in my brain, I had crossed over from just some chick, some customer into a sort of friend zone then cast backward to a less than ever meeting, wait in the back of the line place and that pisses me off!
My dreams awoke me with an angry dialog, made up in my head, of course about how like me out of pity and that I was old, wearing lady sweaters and an electric blue coat, feeling sorry for me and kicking me out. Not a great start to my day, let me tell ya! Not the taste I want left in my mouth after such a wonderful experience the last time! Kinda reminds me of the Malaparte crush, crushed! Don’t like the feeling! AND I didn’t even want to date these guys! Just felt like they had a poor opinion of me, which I’m sure is just me as they probably have NO opinion of me and that may be just as bad! Whatever!! Blech!!