It's Friday night and you've got that feeling. Maybe it's the December air. Maybe it's the fact that your shit week is finally over. Who the hell knows.
You're gonna wile out.
Last Friday, this is exactly how I felt. The plan was to go to places I normally would never be caught dead. Everyone has to sacrifice a little snobby Brooklyn dignity once in a while. The plan was to hit up Westway and then Le Bain. I packed my purse with an unrealistic $40 and hit the streets with my girls.
Westway seemed like it had a lot of potential. I feel like a light up dance floor was made for girls ready to get silly. And it was. Talk about photo ops. When they opened up the room next door, you can bet we got on the stage. Too bad the DJs were full of crap. After taking about 3 tequila shots too many (3), I found myself waving my middle fingers at the disc jockeys and screaming profanity. I'm surprised I wasn't kicked out. At that point, my friends knew it was time to go.
That's where things get a little fuzzy.
Next thing I know, I'm on the roof of the Standard, sipping a much too expensive whiskey coke and making friends with some Europeans. It's all a blur, but I know one was named Lars and definitely not into girls. That drink and several substances later, I'm on a fog covered dance floor and wondering why this party sucks. Could be because I was completely incoherent. But isn't that how Friday night is supposed to be? Suddenly I'm introduced to "John" (name redacted), a foxy clean cut man. I laugh with him and then tell him how awful I think the party is. Our mutual (and my new) friend informs me that he is the one throwing the party. Whoops. I rush to apologize but he's gone. Next time we meet, I'm in full on slur mode, apologizing profusely while he looks at me with a confused expression.
One dance partner and two free drinks later, I'm gone. Like, gone gone. I wake up (naked) in my friend's bed, wondering what the hell happens. And then she tells me.
I suffered my first, very public rejection in my life. I suppose everyone has to come back to earth at some point. It would seem that at the end of the night I approached this John character, one last time. I have no freaking idea what I said to him, but he told me to kindly "get away from me". Wow. Harsh. Hearing that stung a little. But at least I learned something. How do you deal with public rejection? Get black out freaking drunk.
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