I didn't see any movies this weekend, as I was staring at the cuteness that is my new nephew for hours on end. I would alternate that with oogling the slim, tanned bodies of male pro beach volleyball players on my brother-in-law's crazy-wide-screen TV. Beautiful young men, wherever I looked. What's a girl to do?
Before I got all auntified, I went out with some girlfriends for dinner and dancing and had a gay olde time. The curious part of the evening was that for convenience's sake only, we had chosen a local bar I used to frequent during my prime going-out nights. The bar had always had good mojo for me, when it came to getting my flirt on. Most famously, it was the spot where I kissed a total (and totally cute) stranger while under the influence of cranberry and vodka--not to mention under an assumed name.
I returned to the bar thinking too much time had passed for it to still get my groove on, but I was wrong. A few steps within the door, an inebriated young man tried to snog me after telling me his sixth sense had predicted he'd meet me that very night. I dodged him handily, although I appreciated his M. Night storytelling chops. Later, another young fellow approached me on the dance floor. As we boogied on down, I noticed he spoke with an accent.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Guess," he taunted.
He shook his head slowly in dismay.
Once again, the slow dismay shake. Then he spoke.
"You Americans are so ignorant. So ignorant about geography," he sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's not your fault. It's the system."
I really couldn't argue with him. Americans are kind of belly-button-centric, as a rule. When he finally told me he was from West Africa, I pressed him to name the country. I just wanted to show him I knew enough geography to know there are countries in Africa. See?! I know a little. Hmpf.
As the evening ended, a young Pakistani lad tried to pry my number out of me. Even though I told him he wasn't age appropriate, he went off on a cheerful rant about how we could teach each other things. Once he had exausted me with tales of his love for accounting and hard core music, I started talking to a college football dude. He was all over my jock, too, until a local drug dealer walked by mentioning something about having lines. Then football dude did an end run after the pusher and I shook my head in disbelief. Yep, the old stomping grounds still had it. And, evidently, so did I. My ego felt nicely massaged as I ferried my still-flirting girlfriend homeward, wrestling her away from an executive chef with an untucked shirt and a cosmopolitan accent. Quite a night out for an auntie, I tell you what.
I thnk I'm getting closer to my 15 minutes of fame, now that my favorite bloggirl Malice is going to appear on a reality show based on the bakery where she works. Now that just takes the cake, don't it?