So, the day after my birthday was a little slow. I never sleep well after a night of drinking and my body punishes me by waking me up at 5:30 in the morning to remind me I’m dehydrated and I really need to pee. When I got out of bed that morning I’m pretty sure I heard my liver moan.
All in all the night before had been pretty successful. We had some laughs, did way too many jagerbombs and I made out with a pretty girl. It might not be epic like a Diddy birthday bash but it was going to be one we remembered for a while. I also had the added bonus of scoring a date with Rachel, the now unemployed waitress. Actually, she had another gig at a bar across town so she technically still had a job but I felt really guilty about playing a part in her dismissal. I made a plan to take her out on a special evening to the philharmonic downtown.
Rachel had mentioned at some point the night before about having an interest in design. I thought she might dig the Frank Gehry designed Walt Disney Center that housed the philharmonic and I was jonesing to get out of the west side for a bit. As much as I bitch about having to leave Venice, I do like to mix things up a bit and a foray into downtown is a perfect remedy. I thought we might stop off for drinks somewhere like Liquid Kitty and then jump on the freeway to go downtown. I made a little romantic plan for a romantic evening that I was pretty sure would end up in another make out session. Little did I know how right I was.
Here’s the thing about plans – they’re good in theory but the execution can be fucking impossible, especially if you have to involve someone else. I hadn’t told Rachel what I had in store for us that night. I told her it would be a surprise. It turned out she liked surprises and had one for me as well. I parked in front of her apartment building and climbed a short flight of stairs to building’s main door. I found her name on the intercom and rang her unit and she buzzed in. I walked through the courtyard to her apartment and found she had opened the door for me.
Her place was pretty simple – a small one bedroom with old wooden floors. She was standing with her purse in her hand and was finishing off what looked to be a martini when I walked in. She smiled at me and chugged the last of her drink and then set the glass down on the counter before bounding over and laying an intensely vodka-laden kiss on my lips. The kiss was more of the let’s get it on than the hello variety but I wasn’t complaining. She asked me what we were going to do and I told her it was still a surprise. This earned me another vodka kiss.
I have to admit, she looked pretty great. I’m a complete sucker for a woman in a dress and she was wearing a little black number that made my pulse quicken a step. Her blue eyes were soulfully hypnotic and would have been enough to keep my attention for a long time but the way she looked in that dress was over the top. I was glad I went to the trouble of getting tickets for the concert.
I walked her to my truck and when I opened her door she decided we needed to make out some more. I had to pry myself away and walk around to my side and get in. The moment I closed the door I could smell booze.
“How many of those martinis did you have to drink?”
She laughed an odd little laugh and told me she had a couple drinks because she was slightly nervous about tonight. She then went into a spiel about how great it was that I was a Pisces since she was an Aquarius. This meant that we were astrologically compatible. This also meant she was a little nutty but that was something I could live with. I got the backstory on her recent dating history and how most Cancers are dicks and her ex, a Gemini, was a latent homosexual. Somewhere in her story telling I noticed the faint suggestion of a slur. A word now and then wouldn’t be finished off or would melt into the next. I was mostly paying attention to driving but I couldn’t help but wonder exactly how many martinis constitute a couple.
I have always liked Liquid Kitty. It’s dark and has a cool vibe with stiff drinks and an interesting clientele. Rachel had never been but seeing as how she was obviously a fan of martinis, I thought it would be a good choice before making the trek inland. It isn’t very crowded when we arrived, probably since it was still pretty early and we easily procured a couple of martinis and a table toward the back.
As soon as we sat down she grabbed me and gave me another kiss. She had full, soft lips – the kind you sink into when you kiss. The kind that make you want to do so much more than kiss. She was also a fully committed kisser, with eyes gently shut and the almost undetectable moan accompanying the deeper ones, and she gave very deep kisses, deep vodka laced ones.
We made a little small talk and sipped our drinks. I figured we had time for one or two before we had to leave but she was guzzling hers down fairly quickly. Now the faint suggestion of a slur was a definitive slur. I decided to go ahead and tell her about my plan, hoping that might encourage her to slow down a little bit.
“Are you ready for your surprise?”
She looked at me expectantly over the rim of the martini glass that was being drained into her mouth.
“I got us tickets to the philharmonic tonight. We’re going downtown to the Disney Center.”
She didn’t set her glass down as much as she slammed it and grabbed my face and planted her tongue, now pickled in vodka, into my mouth. Her left arm wrapped around my waist and she slid her hand down the back of my jeans. The soft moaning of her previous kisses was amplified this time and in the midst of her groping attack she knocked my glass over with her right arm.
“Oh my god! I am such a klutz!”
I might have gone with ‘drunk‘ myself but I didn’t take the time to correct her as vodka was threatening to spill over the table and into my lap. I jumped up and ran over to the bar to grab some napkins. The bartender saw the entire disaster and tossed me a towel as I approached.
“I’ll make you another,” was all he said to me.
I returned to the table and wiped up the mess while Rachel was laughing and going on about how clumsy she was. Again, I would have probably said ‘intoxicated’ myself but I wasn’t going to quibble with her. The bartender walked up with another martini and I handed him his towel. He told us to be careful and didn’t look pleased that we were spilling vodka in his bar.
Rachel had finished her drink and was taking a sip of mine when I sat down again.
“Whoa there hotstuff – not sure you need that as much as I do.”
This made her laugh a lot, which apparently made her really horny because she began groping me like mad again.
“Rachel, come on. Settle it down some. At least give me a roofie and tell me I’m pretty before trying to cop my manhood.”
This was apparently hysterical as Rachel began to convulse with laughter and in the process knocked over my newly repoured drink. Surprise! She’s wasted.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Oh my god! I did it again!”
Yes, she had done it again much to my chagrin and the glaring disapproval of the bartender who was already making his way back to us again. I righted the glass and grabbed Rachel by the hand and stood up. It was time to leave. I threw another two dollars down on our table and as we passed the bartender I said, “Thanks, we’ll be leaving now.”
I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter. As we were walking to the car, Rachel started up with some light date rape again, shoving her hand down my pants. Look, I’m not the prudish sort but I would like to be able to walk unmolested. It’s difficult to walk when a woman has her hands down your pants. It became clear to me there was no way I was going to be able to take her downtown and sit through a concert. I put her in the truck, walked around to the driver side and got in.
“You know what Rachel – I think we should do the philharmonic another night.”
“It’s just a long trip downtown and I think we should do something local.”
“Oh, I was really looking forward to hearing some music.”
“Well, we can still go her some music. How about Harvelle’s?”
She lit up with the suggestion and slurred me her approval. Harvelle’s is a cool little blues joint in Santa Monica. It’s another dimly lit place that serves stiff drinks, which really was a bad idea in hindsight but I needed a drink at this point.
When you enter Harvelle’s you walk through a narrow aisle between the tables against the wall and the bar. The place is long and not very wide, with a stage crammed in the back. You can catch some really talented acts from time to time on a good night. I knew the minute we walked in, this was a good night.
I stopped at the bar and ordered a vodka soda and a water for Rachel. I had gently suggested we drink some water on the way over and she had agreed mostly due to the fact that she wasn’t listening because she was trying to slide her hand past my seatbelt and into the front of my pants. She wasn’t a very good passenger.
I handed Rachel her drink and she threw her arms around me to either give me the biggest hug of my life or put me in a sleeper hold. It was really hard to tell at the time. Regardless, she did it with such vigor that she flung her glass out of her hand and sent it smashing into the wall. I have seen some people do some clumsy things when drunk but throwing a glass into a wall while trying to hug someone was a first for me and everyone else around.
Since we had just walked in and Rachel hadn’t said much, we were still in the bar’s good graces and they laughed at the pretty but clumsy girl and gave her another water, which she set on the bar safely this time. Suddenly Rachel decided we needed to dance. She took off toward the back of the bar where the stage and a makeshift dance floor were. She had me by the hand, dragging me along, and was moving with purpose. Unfortunately, in her purposeful walk, her foot became entangled with a woman’s purse that was sitting on the floor. Somehow she had slid her foot through one of the straps. Instead of doing the normal thing and reaching down and loosening her foot, she decided to kick herself free. She kicked her foot a couple of times, sending the purse flying about three feet before it spilled out all over the floor. Again, a normal person would have stopped and apologized while helping to round up the contents of the purse. Rachel was not normal. She continued storming towards the dance floor, oblivious to the mess she had just made. As she dragged me past the woman who was now screaming and cursing while picking up her stuff I mumbled a feeble ‘sorry.’
We made the rest of the very short walk without further incident but it was extremely awkward as the woman whose purse we had just kicked across the room was ten feet away. Rachel didn’t care or perhaps never noticed. As soon as we got to the floor she put both hands on my ass and began grinding into me. It was drunk girl dirty dancing. I wasn’t really dancing. I was moving around a lot but mostly to fend off her hands that seemed to want to tear off my pants. I’m only slightly exaggerating. The entire three minutes and twenty-six seconds we were on the floor were dedicated to not getting felt up in front of a room of strangers, one of whom wanted to punch my date. Finally, the lead singer of the band, an old black man in a suit and tie, told us we needed to get a room. The only way to keep from getting strip searched right there was to start making out with Rachel, which distracted her from disrobing me in public. I then told her I wanted to leave.
It was the same ritual back to the truck this time, more groping and date raping. Again, having an attractive woman run her hands all over me is generally a good thing but this just wasn’t working for me. I pointed the truck in the direction of her apartment but a few blocks away she realized what I was doing and began pleading with me not to take her home. Our entire date so far was little over an hour but it seems longer when you’re constantly being molested. I guess this was how altar boys felt.
I decided to take her back to my place and give her some coffee and see if she might sober up some. She was pretty enthusiastic about coming back to my ‘stabbin cabin’ as she called it but as soon as she sat down on my couch she passed out. I’m talking within seconds of ass touching sofa she was asleep. I threw a blanket over her and let her sleep it off.
In the morning, she woke up mortified. She was still in her black dress and her face was smeared with mascara. She didn’t remember coming back to my place and apologized profusely. I told her it was fine and she made me promise I would take her out again.
We didn’t really talk on the ride back to her place. I dropped her off at the curb and again she made me promise I would call her later. She walked back upstairs, presumably to continue sleeping off the night before and I went out for coffee.
I never did call her. Is that a dick move on my part? It’s hard to say really. Generally I’m the drunk one so I wasn’t sure how to handle her. I did hear through the grapevine that she started dating a guy in my neighborhood and moved in with him shortly after our night out. I hope that guy likes to drink.
I feel like there should be a moral to the story, some little piece of redeeming information that you can take with you and makes your life a touch better as a result. Not that every story needs a moral but in this case I would say: you can lead a drunk girl to water but you can’t keep her from throwing the fucking glass against the wall.