My married friends often bust my chops for not posting more about the single life and action on Duval Street. I can sympathize with them to a degree - I mean they log on to see what kind of crazy stuff goes on in Key West, and all I feed them is tales of paddling mangrove tunnels and rising gas prices and book reviews. Granted, not exactly compelling reading, and not much reason to tune in tomorrow to see what happened next. There are several reasons for this, including:
* Both of my parents read this, so I'd rather not tarnish their wholesome view of their son;
* Some past (and potential future) girlfriends read this, so I'd rather not enlighten them with sordid details;
* To be honest there really isn't that much to tell. I love my life, but it's probably boring to anyone that's looking for tales of tourist girl conquests and random Van Der Slooting.
That said...
Friday after work I met with some friends for dinner at Salsa Loca. This is my favorite restaurant in Key West, serving great food at a very reasonable price - which cannot be said about many restaurants on Duval Street. I have a weakness for chips and salsa, and also am unable to leave a single speck of food on my plate. This combination means that I leave there at least 15 pounds heavier, as stuffed as after Thanksgiving dinner. This would all be fine except that this night was only beginning.
One of my friends was moving the next morning, so we were celebrating. Adding several drinks to my already full stomach, by 10 PM or so I was overfilled and about to be overflowing. As we moved from Island Dogs to Irish Kevin's, I came to the sad realization that I was about to throw up. I made my way to the bathroom and waited impossibly long to get a stall (who poops in a bar bathroom??!) so I could have some privacy. Finally the stall door opened and in I went. Ah, relief! I was so happy (as happy as a dude in my condition could be, anyway) only to see that there already was barf all over the toilet. In some bizarre backwards twist of oxymoronic irony, it was too gross for me to barf there. I could only laugh at my sad predicament, wipe the sweat off my head, and walk back out to join my friends while remaining in my private misery. Somehow I survived, even managed to make it until 3 AM until I finally went home.
Saturday night it all started again. This time at least I didn't eat nearly as much, so no probs like the night before. Feeling good, we bounced from The Bull and Whistle to Fat Tuesdays to Sloppy Joe's to Irish Kevin's. While at Kevin's, I was approached by an attractive girl who had a couple of very nice things to say to me. Flattered, I followed her to the back of the bar where we could have a more intimate conversation. Her name was Shea - but no not Shea she clarified, Shay. We discussed her name at length, as it's a name I've always liked. As the night went on and we were periodically interrupted by guys stopping by to say hi, it became apparent that I wasn't the only guy she'd been flirting with. Not surprising really, I mean Irish Kevin's is a bit of a meat market. I said something about the fact that obviously I wasn't the only guy she was interested in, and in her effort to defend her integrity she told me "hey at least I didn't feed you the line that my name was Shay". Oops. I asked what her name really was, and sheepishly grinning she asked me what day it was...
We had a laugh about it, I mean really it was kind of enlightening (and humbling). Men aren't the only ones that bring a fake rap/bio into a bar, and women aren't the only victims of bogus pickup lines. To top it off I didn't buy a single drink all night - I think I like being the hunted, even if it means being lied to.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment