Was your Friday awesome? Mine was pretty good.
To preface in bullets:
- I go to the gym after work. It sucks pretty hard. In fact, most of the time I hate it.
- However, recently there’s been a new development to keep me interested. No, it’s not a new StairMaster. It’s a boy! Or dare I say a god? Let’s go with extremely sexy guy. “God” would be a bit presumptuous of me. I have yet to see him throw lightning.
- Now I want to watch Percy Jackson.
Let’s make this perfectly clear: this guy is glorious. He’s like butter. Seriously:
- I want to put him in the microwave for approximately 15 seconds and then pour him over my popcorn.
- I want to spread him out over a piece of multi-grain toast and eat him, along with a hot coffee and a banana for a well-balanced breakfast.
- I want to whip him with a couple eggs and confetti cake batter, bake him to perfection, then let him cool before I frost him with Pillsbury sprinkles vanilla frosting and eat an over-sized slice of him with a bowl of ice cream while watching a marathon of Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition.
So remember my little post about how I don’t look people in the eyes? Well recently I’ve been determined to be more independently out-going. I always rely on friends to get me out and about. But if I want to go out, dammit, I should go out!
So of course I dragged my roommate along for the shenanigans.
First we got toasted at my neighbor’s apartment. Grey Hounds are one of my staple “this is gonna be a good night” drinks. Do you like grapefruit juice? Do you like vodka? Well neither does anybody else but this drink is still freaking awesome. And to change it up every once in a while, add salt to the rim and sound fancy when you say you’re drinking a “Salty Dog” … or a “Salty Jock”… I dunno I was drunk when the bartender made it for me. (Not at my friend’s apartment, this was before.) All I know is that it was very salty.
After pre-funking at my neighb’s place, my roommate and I made our way to WeHo and hit up Fiesta Cantina first, for the 2-for-1 Happy Hour. We scoped the place out, but there are always just waaaaaay too many uggos at Cantina because it’s where all the cheapies go to get schnockered. And I am including myself in this group of people.
On a side note, I frequent Cantina so often that the bartender and I are now friends. He warded off a drink thief who tried to snatch my margs, and sent the poor drunk bastard to the end of the what seemed to be the never-ending line. That dude is probably still waiting for his drinks.
Back to me and my roommate. To get to the point, we were not seeing any men of Buttery quality at this bar, so we downed are poisons and made our way to the infamous Abbey.
I think it is a rule that The Abbey has to have a minimum of 2500 people in it at all times, or else the owner will shut it down. Granted, it’s one of the few places in West Hollywood that never has a cover. But still, it is always sooo packed in there that you can’t move. It’s literally impossible. Research it.
And yet, for some reason The Abbey always has the hottest guys. Me, being determined to shoot way out of my league and find myself a Butter (and in the process probably make an utter sloppy fool out of myself), decided it was The Abbey or bust. Of course when we got there it was packed beyond capacity. We shoved our way through the gates and Ta-Da! Like a magic trick, all these hot guys appeared out of nowhere.
And that’s when I saw him. Amongst the Sea of Gay was my Gym Butter making his way to the back of the club. This was fate. I needed to do this. I needed to follow through on my plans to be independent. I needed to shoot for the stars. I needed to get a much stronger drink.
I veered quickly to the bar and ordered two cups of ice. The bartender was kind enough to piddle out a couple drips of vodka into each drink, so I paid him the $20 and thought about all the things I could have better spent that money on for a minute: 4 margaritas at Fiesta Cantina, 10 bottles of Two Buck Chuck, 2 handles of Popov, drain-o for my backed up shower drain… then I snapped back to reality and remembered I was here to stalk Gym Butter.
We started trolling the bar, hoping to fish him out. But that’s much harder than you’d think when you’re in the Sea of Gay. Strobe lights, deafening music, glitter, fruit flies, flamers… imagine trying to navigate through such a storm all-the-while clutching your ten dollar piddle drink like it’s the life raft you’re gonna need to survive the rest of the night.
After we made one lap through the Sea of Gay, my Gym Butter was still nowhere to be seen. So I drank the rest of my courage and moved on. I found another guy that would have to do. But by this time Sloppy Me wanted to come out and play.
Does life imitate Facebook? Or does Facebook imitate life? I’m not sure, all I know is that instead of talking to this guy, I decided it was more appropriate to poke him repeatedly until he gave me his attention. He finally turned toward me, at which point I hypnotized him with my sexy face. You know, that face where you stick your tongue out and wave it back and forth rapidly, as if you want to French the person’s face so hard you’re gonna give him a lobotomy. Apparently this trick didn’t work. “I’m taken,” said the righteous prick as he and his friends walked away. Well, good. Because I’m saving myself for Mr. Gym Butter.
And then, like a gift from Jesus, there he was. Walking right past me. I could hear the chorus sing. This was my moment.
Even my roommate wanted to stop what was sure to be a catastrophe. Here I was about to make a complete and total doucher out of myself to a beautiful stranger who I saw everyday at the gym! I would have to stop going to the gym! Things we’re gonna get ugly, for sure.
And guess what? I nailed it.
You know how in movies sometimes they show the stupid drunk idiot make a damn fool out of himself the first time he encounters another human, but then the second time he cleans up his act? Probably not, since I don’t even know what I’m talking about. But that’s exactly what happened. I mean, I nailed it.
By “nailed it” I mean I said “Hey I think you go to my gym,” and he said “Oh yeah,” and then we talked for a couple minutes about God knows what because I could only focus hard enough on two things: (a) standing without wobbling and/or peeing, and (b) looking at his delicious Gym Butter face. Seriously, I’d choose his face over a donut any day. (Except Donut Friday, when the office pays for Stans Donuts from Westwood. Try the blueberry old-fashioned and get back to me.)
Then the club closes, and he says goodbye. My roommate and I leave a few minutes later, and make our way back to the bus stop while belting Adele’s new single “Someone Like You.” At this moment I had probably given up hope, but no matter how loud or passionately I sang the song (and I damn well tried) there was still no way I was gonna find someone else like Gym Butter.
But I didn’t have to! Because there he was!
Clearly he heard me singing and came over to see what such a mesmerizing voice could be coming from. Or perhaps he thought someone was beating a kitten to death. Either way it worked like a charm.
Gym Butter and I kissed on our way to the bus stop. But then we had to part ways because his stupid friend was being a total cock block. (Which is fine. The universe had been plenty good to me at this point. I did exact revenge by shouting “I hate your stupid friend with his stupid mom shorts!” just after we parted ways. It was clearly a classy win for me.)
And then I woke up in my bed the next morning fully clothed with my shoes still on!
What a success, I thought. And also, is Percy Jackson on Instant Queue?
Nope.
