The night started innocently enough. I was heading to a “name that tune” night at a local bar to meet an old high school acquaintance–who is probably still with her boyfriend–and I’m with a reformed drug addict who is camping in a tent in my backyard (a long story that would be of a book then a confessional).
I arrive to a table full of excited "name that tuners," and this absolutely gorgeous girl from high school greets me with a seductive smile.
At first I was hesitant. I didn’t even know this recovering drug addict, really. I suppose we bonded when he showed me the crack pipe he bought so he wouldn’t spend the money on drugs. Then again, you really can’t base a bond with someone solely on this.
And then there was this girl.
She was probably dating the same guy as a few weeks before when we ran into each other, but where was this so called "boyfriend," anyway?
The night began with a Corona, then another, then about five more. The air was thick with excitement and competition between the tables of people fighting for points. I enjoyed the energy and activities that were taking place: building the best roller-skate out of bodies, dancing to such great hits as "I like big butts," and dressing up like the opposite sex.
"Who in their right mind would pose as the opposite sex for a few extra points at ‘name that tune?’" I thought. Then my buddy, the recovering drug addict, came strolling out of the washroom with a forty-year-old woman’s girdle and smudged, bright red lip stick. He proceeded to shake his thang, first at me, then at the rest of the bar, before making his way to center stage.
I could not help but notice the hot girl from high school beckoning me with her big eyes and coy smile to join her, my buddy and the rest of our table in a dance. I downed Corona number, umm, and joined them.
I’m not sure who I was grinding with first, her or my recovering buddy, but I do recall being given yet another Corona. As the night progressed and our table barely lost the evening’s competition, I had a moment of clarity. I decided to go home before anything silly happened. Unfortunately, I was thinking this while making out with the girl from high school while my lip- stick-wearing buddy looked for me.
Incidentally, I was in the parking lot, far from the prying eyes of our table and the bar.
We all found each other and she convinced me, fairly easily, that it would be best to all go home together, back to my place. Let’s just say that my buddy was not the only one wearing lipstick at the end of the night and, well, the next day was slightly awkward after hearing about her boyfriend’s trip to somewhere far away and how he was rushing home to see her that night.
Crazy times, when converted drug addicts and boyfriend-wielding friends from high school become your night all too innocently…