Yes, that’s me. The last time I played the Spelling Buzz at Rock and Roll Hotel, I circumvented spelling my third round word by telling the dirtiest joke ever. I told it wrong, but everyone was too drunk to realize. That was more than two months ago. Apparently, I’m a legend now.
…or The Bartender just made it a point to remember.
“You told it wrong, but it was adorable. It’s good to see you again.” He’s cute, I noticed as he talked, but then again, compliments rush to my head as fast as vodka does.
My lovely friend W and I sat the game out and stayed at the bar, chatting with him and catching up with each other. We learned he likes cheese grits and fried chicken (WINNER). Also that his day job is three blocks from National Geographic, so he goes to exhibits on some lunch breaks (WINNER). He asked me out to dinner. I was damn near smitten.
We learned, too, that his birthday was Saturday. We schemed a way to do something for him at midnight, but of course, by the time it came, the bar was too packed to steal him away. So my epic five-minute date plan went unused. I’ll save it for a rainy day.
By then, a group of three guys started chatting us up and buying us drinks. The Bartender was pouring us shots and taking them with us. My buddy Biv (holy crap we’re still friends!) was bringing us rounds. We were getting drunk, fast. …And then a Chinese dragon dancer showed up.
Toki Underground and Rock and Roll Hotel joined forces to bring the Chinese New Year to H Street with dirty fortune cookies, the Chinese Dragon dancer and a killer DJ. My fortune had the number “280″ and “in bed”. I can’t remember the middle section, but when I repeated it to one of our suitors, he swore I made it up. It must have been good.
We all found our way to the dance floor, and I lost myself shout-singing Cee Lo’s “Fuck You”. It was beautiful. Meanwhile, the mastermind behind Toki Underground and I started messaging via Twitter. He invited me to the DJ booth to say hi. It is the world’s biggest understatement to say I was excited. I was fucking giddy to meet The Legend himself. And he is just as cool as you think he is.
Turns out while I was meeting the Who’s Who of H Street, W was lip-locking with the WHO? HIM? of the night. He was cute; she was drunk; he was drunker. It was an all around winning situation.
I kissed The Bartender on the cheek while I wished him happy birthday, and he plugged my number in his phone.
“Hi this is The Bartender. Let’s do dinner Monday or Wednesday. Tell me what you like and I’ll find a spot miss grits and cheese.”
So I was wrong. I COULD be happier. I was more excited than a Justin Bieber fan-girl.
“Wednesday sounds good. But only if you promise you’re doing something fun for your birthday when you get off!”
As I stumbled happily to bed, lost in my drunken daydreams of future romance, he texted again.
“I have to admit I’ve been thinking about you naked since you told that fucked up joke.”
Wait… wait what? WHAT? WHAT? — my thoughts.
So I responded, “What?! Getting naked is easy. I thought you were actually interested. Silly me!”
To which he replied, “haha I am actually interested. If that’s what you need to hear than then I’m ok saying it… I’d love to see you naked. But I’d also like to take you out for dinner.”
Somehow, I made the first drunkenly good choice of my life: I decided to let it be and go to sleep.
Before I could wait until morning, I was woken at 4:42am with this text:
“Don’t mean to be an asshole but I’d love to ‘screw’ you right about now and make you a grilled cheese in bed.”
…and to that I sat up in bed and yelled, “WHO DOES THAT?”
Of course, I eventually told him it depends on the kind of cheese.
Another one bites the dust?