Saturday, January 9, 2010

NYC (otherwise known as Cougar Town)

It was a typical girls' night out with J and M: Cheese, chocolate and wine at The Melting Pot. Then J suggested heading to a nearby sports bar to catch the Florida football game. So we took it down a notch and headed to a spot that is notorious for hosting a crowd of barely-out-of-college yuppies and Jersey Shore meatheads. The upside? Affordable beer on tap and enough widescreen TVs to fill Giants stadium. Upon our arrival, a squat thirtysomething chats us up. I will call him Homeboy. Homeboy has been sitting on the same barstool for roughly six hours and is clearly incoherent. We indulge him while he regales us with tales of his dog (complete with photos!), that he affectionately refers to as "bitch."

Meanwhile, a group of five frat guys come in. Note that three of them are at least 6'5". I can't stop staring, for two reasons. 1. Tall Really Tall Guys generally don't travel in packs. 2. I was growing annoyed with Homeboy and was pretending to watch the game. The RTGs were blocking my view. RTG #1 sees me bobbing and weaving around his torso. We start chatting. I don't remember what we discussed, as he then began to high-five every female that walked past. I think he enjoyed watching the girls jump to slap his hand. Homeboy is now awkwardly standing up, as RTG #1 introduces himself. I think the RTGs think he is our friend. RTG #2 starts chatting to M and I. J is still politely feigning interest in whatever Homeboy is babbling about...

RTG #2: Hey, what's up?
Me: Hey. Are you guys from around here?
RTG #2: No. I'm from Syracuse. A few of my buddies and I came down to visit RTG #2 over New Year's. He just got a job in the city.
Me: Oh, cool! Did you recently get out of college?
RTG #2: Yeah, you?
Me: No. I'm 28.
RTG #2: 48?
Me, a little louder: No, 28.
RTG #2: 38?
Me, practically yelling: NO. 28!
RTG #2: Oh, well that's a normal age.
Me: Er... yeah. Pretty normal.
RTG #2: Well I'm 23, but some of my friends over there are 25.
Me: Cool.
RTG #2: Once you get out of school, age doesn't really matter.
Me: Yeah.

We continue discussing random stuff. I then turn to J and M; we discuss heading home. The game is essentially over, as Florida is winning by about 40 points. We decide to leave, as Homeboy is starting to harass J. I tap RTG #2 on the shoulder.

Me: Hey, we're heading out, good luck with everything!
RTG #2: You, too! Hey, well, at least you're a hot 28-year-old!
Me: Oh, ha, thanks.

I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed, flattered or feel lucky that "at least I look hot for 28." His so-called compliment did come with a slight hint of pity. Outside, I tell M and J what RTG #2 said.

J: Did you tell him to fuck off?


  1. You are really hot... for a 28 year old! I think it runs in the family. ILU, TOM

  2. I got really excited when I saw, "You are really hot..." then I see TOM (aka The Ole Man). It's from my dad. FML. Thanks, Dad.


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