Via text messaging, Brandi told me that she was with a friend down at a bar called Happy Endings (I swear that's the actual name) which is in the heart of Hollywood's bar scene. I texted back, "I'm on my way".
Not surprisingly, the bar was packed with 20-somethings; all young, all beautiful, all looking to "get their drink on". I greeted Brandi with a hug and shook the hand of her friend Chase. Brandi and Chase were already 3 sheets to the wind (I hate playing catch up), but extremely nice and welcoming. I bought a round of drinks for all 3 of us and Brandi and I talked about the friends we both had in common.
As the night continued and the drinks continued to flow, Chase was constantly trying to pull Brandi on his lap. She'd playfully pull away and push his hand aside. This exchange had to have happened probably 15 + times during the entire evening. I got the feeling that Chase had been working on her for awhile now.
Meanwhile, this other guy with the absolute worst British accent ever, kept whispering in Brandi's ear. It was so obvious that it was fake. "Why was this guy trying to speak with a British accent?", I thought to myself. And then it hit me, "Holy shit. This is a fucking ploy to pick up girls who love foreign men with accents".
"She has great tits, eh?"
I spun around in my seat and was eye to eye with the impostor.
So@24: How can you tell? She's wearing a tshirt and a hoodie.
Impostor: Oh, I can tell. They are magnificent. ... You aren't banging her are you?
So@24: No. I just met her tonight. She's a friend of a friend.
Impostor: Too bad.
That's it, fucker.
So@24: Wait, before you go. Come on, the gig is up. You clearly aren't British.
Impostor: Yes I am.
So@24: Come on, dude.
Impostor: Alright, alright. Fuck, I was hoping it wasn't obvious. Girls LOVE it though, I'm telling you. I do it all the time, you should try it.
I turned my back to the guy looked around the bar as I swirled the last few, warm gulps around in my pint. Ever since I had walked in, there was this one short, arrogant-looking guy making his rounds. And always, two steps behind him, was his more attractive girlfriend (always happens that way doesn't it?). He barely acknowledged her, but you knew that they were together. What was with this submissive shit? It bugged me.
I went and grabbed a seat next to Chase and Brandi. Chase was now blatantly "honking" Brandi's boobs. Brandi laughed it off and told him over and over to stop "grabbing her tits". I cringed. Girls calling their own boobs "tits" has always weirded me out.
It was time for me to go. I paid my tab and told Brandi and Chase to hit me up the next time they went out.
Outside, a girl in a tight dress and heels shivered next to me as we waited for the crossing signal to change. When it finally changed, we both started to cross. An expensive looking BMW waiting at the light rolled down its window, "Yeeeeah, girl! What are you doing tonight?" She continued to cross without paying any attention to the cat calls.
BMW Douchebags: Hey! Is that your girl?
I shook my head.
BMW Douchebags: Well, fuck! You gonna get up in that? Ow! Ow!
I took a page from this girl's book and ignored them. I felt terrible for the girl, she obviously heard everything these drunk bastards were hollering.
* * *
As I drove home, I reflected about my evening in Hollywood. Maybe I was just in one of those moods where I get hypersensitive about the little things. Where I nitpick the things that I normally wouldn't think twice about.
But goddammit, the guys I was surrounded by tonight were the guys that I'm ultimately competing with, right? This is the pool that girls in this town are choosing from? Is this what quality girls like Lynn, or Violet or any of my other girl friends are going to settle with when finally they throw up their arms in exhaustion and say, "Well, he's not that bad... he only made two fart jokes." Or is this just something that you have to come to accept as a social norm for this age?
I'm far from the type who only has his horse blinders on for pure romance. I'm not the guy who won't settle until I find "the one". I know it's not all butterflies and sonnets. I don't necessarily want butterflies and sonnets. At least, I don't have to have that now.
But it can't be what I witnessed tonight. Maybe I was just getting forced fed it all too much too soon.
My car radio was tuned into the local oldies station. Ray Charles "Georgia on my Mind" faded in. I gave Ray the benefit of the doubt for a few seconds before I turned him off.
It just didn't seem right to be listening to a song like that on a night like this.