Saturday, December 13, 2008

Socialite Day

Shannon desperately needed to get to work researching for her final term paper of the semester, a thirty page monster for Myth, Symbol, Media...due Monday.

She awoke Friday feeling less that thrilled about the prospects for her day--write in her apartment, write at Starbucks, write in her office, you get the idea.

But before she retired herself to boredom and depression, she decided to do the rounds online. You know the drill: Gmail, CU mail, facebook, Myspace, maybe squeeze in a little YouTube. She halted her progress when she read a new wall posting from Amanda on facebook. In great detail, Amanda laid out the ingredients for what could very well be THE PERFECT DAY:

Haircuts and shopping at the Flatirons Mall
the world's most amazing happy hour at the Mediterranean restaurant
lazy time
the gym
and out on the town!

Shannon could not resist. "Aw, what the hell," thought Dickerson, "Everyone deserves to live like a socialite one day a week...err, year."

And so socialite day commenced. Shannon got a trim and new boots, a scarf, an umbrella, a stainless steel water bottle, and a Victoria's Secret top. She scarfed down $2 tappas and sipped a $4 sangria. She watched We Own the Night lazily on Amanda's couch. She attemped jumping rope at the gym and realized that it is actually possible for a person to be bad at that. And then, the day really got heated up as it turned to night.

Everything started off pretty calm. The plan was 3 drinks, no more. Beginning at Connor O'Neils and ending up at Around Midnight. At first, it all seemed like things were going to go as was expected. Two drinks at the pub, and then their third at the club. Unfortunately, the ladies realized that they were trading off buying rounds, and therefore, an odd number would not due.

Four then? Four it would be.

For starters.

So the ladies ordered their fourth--but this time, make it shots! "We're hear to have it good time, it's socialite day after all." And here things really took the turn. Shannon decided that she had her eyes on the tender of bar who served them their shots. And so, the way to keep him around was obviously to order more.

Much more.

So, around drink # 9 (those are all the ones we can account for...who knows what the actual total may be), things were getting pretty silly. The ladies literally pounded one after another without break or hesitation, constantly making eyes at said bartender, and flirtatiously asking for him to make new and fun drinks. Upon finding out his name, Jason, Amanda-face thought it appropriate to school him on some Jason fun-fact trivia, saying that his name was the calendar months: July, August, September, October, November. (Shannon was not of sound enough mind to understand this reference until sometime today. )

Short guy at the bar, a.k.a. Frodo (you can't blame me for that; it was all Amanda) chatted our ears off, but was quite fun. The bartender laughed at Shannon's pathetic drunken attempts to flirt with him, and, though he was attentive and polite, didn't seem particularly interested. Never asked for the number. Never initiated any interaction.

[[[Not too terribly weird; I realize I'm not irresistible, people. But, well, I'll save the shocker that doesn't quite gel with the other accounts for later...]]]

Anyway, when the lights came up and the place closed down, Shannon and Amanda found themselves outside with another bartender, David. While Shannon watched in one parts amusement, one parts horror, Amanda insisted that David give Jason's phone number to them, because, "This is my friend, and she likes him, and she's really great, and, I mean, look at her. So can you give us Jason's number." Oddly enough, the stranger didn't oblidge to give his co-worker's digits to the drunk girls making asses of themselves outside of a bar at 2:30 in the morning in the freezing cold. Go figure. He did repeat several times, however, "Ladies, promise me one thing, that you're not going to drive tonight." And even their threats to do just that if we left without Jason's number were made in vain.

Not wanting the greatest day on record to end, the ladies headed to, where else, the gentlemen's club. The bartender actually recommended it to them, as it was the only place open at that time in the night, was located a mere block away, and (most importantly) didn't serve alcohol. What happens behind those doors stays there, but I will tell you Shannon stole a significant amount of their individually wrapped life-saver supply. Mwah, hahaha.

So, the rest is a bore. Home. Bed. Whatev. But here's the really exceptional part. (switching to first person)When the alarm went off and I readied myself for choir practice I started to panic a bit, not at the amount of money I had likely dropped on booze in a pathetic attempt to flirt with a service worker, but rather at the absolute horror of possibly not tipping an appropriate amount due to my intoxicated state as I had zero recollection of closing out my tab. All cards were accounted for though. Hopefully my partner in crime would have details.

Amanda and I hit up Panera for lunch later today and as we recounted the events of last night she stopped me dead in my tracks. "You know, I only paid for one round last night. My bill was fourteen dollars. And those were the first ones, that the other bartender served us." At first, I was a little terrified at these implications. Did that mean that ALL of the other drinks had ended up on my tab?

"You didn't have a tab there last night."

And then what seemed to be the impossible was shaping itself into reality. That bartender--the seemingly uninterested one--had not charged Amanda or myself for upwards of $100 in alcohol. Two things. 1. Awesome. 2. What gives?

In any event, that's my best attempt at an entertaining account of socialite day. I highly recommend that everybody take at least one. It's

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