A Trainer and Bette Midler

Friday night I went to the Capitols-Bruins game at the Verizon Center with my friends Paul, Andy, and Andy's buddy Mike. I "planned" the night, and I use the term in the loosest possible sense. After the game we went to Rocket Bar (big surprise) and then Marvin's on 14th and U Streets where I made out with one girl and "took" another one home. Sorry for all the quotation marks, later you'll see why they are necessary.

Part of the fun of living in a city is that there is always something going on, and lately I've been feeling like I don't take enough advantage of that. Hockey games are always a good time so last week I sent out a few text messages to see if anyone was interested. Paul and Andy said they were in and asked if I had tickets. Tickets? To the Capitols? They blow, I bet people will be giving them away on every street corner. They should fucking pay us to go! Of course none of this is true. The Caps are great this year, and the Bruins are good as well. The Caps have sold out the past 67 home games, they are as hard to get, if not harder, than Redskins tickets.

As you can see I am a broad strokes kind of planner, I don't bother with the details, that's what secretaries are for. So, we showed up at the Verizon center at 6:30 to scalp tickets. I walked up to the first guy I saw and said "I need four". He asked how much I wanted to pay and, still under the impression that the Caps sucked, said "Forty?". He didn't even dignify my offer with a counter, he just walked off. Andy said "I don't think we're going to get anything inside for forty a ticket, why don't you try sixty or eighty." Fuck that, I thought. I walked up to another shiester and said "Hey, you got four together in the Club Level?". The guy, who was drinking a 22oz beer in a brown paper bag and smelled like he hadn't showered in this century said "Man, ain't no one got four together in Club, they sold out motherfucker, ain't you know that?" OK, time to adjust my expectations.

Just as I was thinking we were going to be watching the game from Clyde's shiester #3 overheard Andy and I discussing our options and said "I got four clubs together". I was skeptical but said "OK, how much?" He said "Six hundred". What started out as a easy going night of hockey and beer was turning in a complicated, expensive production. Jesus, I just want to watch the game, I don't want an ownership stake in the team. Four years ago I could have bought the licensing rights to the team for just a little more than we were about to pay for four 200-level seats. I said "Eighty a piece" and he almost pimp-slapped me. I said $90, he countered at $135. I said $90 again, he went to $125. "No, ninety". He was indignant and said $125. I couldn't believe I was standing on 7th Street negotiating with a guy that had gold teeth. I said "OK, dude, a hundred, that's it". He said "One. Twelve. Fifty!". we started to walk away and he said "OK, a hundred" then muttered under his breath "But ya'll is cheap as fuck." I guess we are. I mean, his teeth probably cost more than my car. I wondered if the black two door Bentley parked across the street at Rosa Mexicano was his.

The game was fun. We had good seats low on the second deck right near the bar. I'm testing a new theory that beer makes me sleepy and prone to passing out early, so I snuck in a flask of Captain Morgan's rum that I mixed in a giant cup of Coke. If you're wondering how to get a flask in to a stadium I subscribe to the "hide in plain sight" school of thought that Chuck taught me. What you do is hold your ticket in one hand and the flask in the other (works best with small flasks). When they frisk you keep sticking the ticket in their face. They will be so distracted and annoyed that they won't see the flask. It works every time. My other favorite hiding spot is in my boot, which coincidentally is also a great place to hide other items.

After the game we headed over to Rocket Bar where we met some of Andy's coworkers. The bar was packed but there wasn't much talent there so after a couple of hours we all cabbed over to Marvin's on U Street.

I talked to a few of Andy's friends at the bar, and one was cute enough, but a little on the boring side. Mike, who was completely hammered at this point and barely on his feet said "It's my turn to buy a round, let's make it a shot". Mike ordered shots of chilled rail vodka...who does that? Just as we took the shot these two blond girls walked over to the bar and stood behind us. Andy said "NN, buy those two girls a drink, they're hot." It's true, they were hot but in that stripper sort of way. I said hello then noticed that one of the girls had a bar going through the bridge of her nose, a ring like a bull through her two nostrils, and some piece of equipment in her lower lip. If you're wondering if it's acceptable to ask a girl with all that shit in her face if her clit is pierced as well, I can now say with some degree of certainty that it is not.

After the two strippers walked off in a huff I threw Mike's shot of rubbing alcohol down and ordered a rum and coke. A short brunette who was standing next to me turned and said "I find you so attractive", which is a pretty unusual opener. I checked her out and said "Hi, I'm NN" and reached out to shake her hand. With that she jumped up and stuck her tongue down my throat.

Trainer: The Trainer was about 5'2", petite, with long black hair and blue eyes. Her body was fantastic, a solid 8.

Turns out she was a trainer from San Diego that was in town visiting her brother. While we were on the dance floor mugging down (shame on me, I know) I said "You're visiting your brother? Where is he?" and she said "Right over there" and pointed to a guy in the corner who looked like a Miami cocaine dealer. He was tall, barrel chested with bleached white hair and a nose that looked like it had been busted a hundred times. He had on a white suit and a shirt almost totally unbuttoned. I said "great" then looked at him a little closer and said "Actually, I think I know him. Where did he go to college?" Trainer said the school and I said "Yeah, I knew he looked familiar, that's where I went." We had been dancing and making out for a while so I said "Uh, so is that going to make it awkward, you coming home with me and all?". Trainer thought about it for a second and said "I can't go home with you, he'd kill me".

Fair enough, I guess.

Not long after Trainer and her gooned-up brother left. I regrouped and found some of Andy's friends standing in a corner. I started chatting with this tall blond girl with a great body but who looked like Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons. No embellishment could shine a flattering light on this girl, she was simply not attractive. She had this crazy kinky blond Jew-fro, buck teeth, wild eyes. She looked like a tall (well over 6'), thin Bette Midler. I asked Bette where she lived and she told me the address, which was literally two blocks from my house. It was getting about 2:45 by then so I said "want to share a cab home?", which of course is late-night-bar-code for "want to come back to my house and wake up my neighbors". Bette said sure and we gathered up our coats.

Just as we were heading out this other kid who worked with her asked if we were leaving. She said yes, and he asked if he could split a cab with us. I gave him the look of death and thought "Dude, I already used that line, you can't fucking piggy back on it", but trying to seem laid back simply said "Yeah, sure".

In the cab I was determined to salvage the night. When we got closer to my house I said "Hey, Bette, want to come over for a beer? Doofus, you're welcome to come too" badly wanting to call him "Doofus" for real, but saying his real name instead. Bette said yeah, sure. Then, Fuck-Nut, not taking any of the obvious hints said "Yeah, that would be great, it's still early". Are you kidding me! If he had been sitting next to me I would given him an elbow to the solar plexus.

The cab stopped on the corner near Bette's house. Fuck-Nut and I split the fare then as we got out he said "Where is your place, NN?" I couldn't believe how fucking dense this dick head was being. I'll play the war of attrition game, but Bette Midler over there wasn't worth the sleep loss. Scram, loser. I pointed down the street and said "I live one block over" pointing down the street, then turned to Bette and said "You still want a drink or are you calling it a night?". Bette said "I don't know. My bed is sounding so good right now. I really don't want to make out, I think I'm going to call it a night."

At least she was honest and didn't waste my time.

I said good night and started walking home. To my amazement Fuck-Nut followed me the whole block. When we got to my house I was like "Hey, guy, I think I'm going to call it a night as well" and started up my steps. He said "Yeah, OK, it's getting late, maybe another time." I said "Right!" in my most sarcastic tone and dead-bolted the door behind me.

Strange fucking night. Dry spells suck.