Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
They have this saying in journalism about burying the lead. So in the interest of not burying the lead, I give you this:
(There used to be a photo here ... now, you're gonna have to use your imagination. OK? OK.)
So! What a weekend. On Friday night, I went to a Jimmy Eat World concert, which was SO fun. I love Jimmy Eat World (no matter WHAT you say, F). They played 23, which I LOVE, and Sweetness and a gorgeous version of Hear You Me, and basically every song I wanted them to except for Kill. (Which I LOVE love!)
And then Saturday ... oh, Saturday. If you haven't figured it out yet, I was with my lovely BBFF Manic and our friend Jess (whose book comes out in May! Buy it!). The hijinks always ensue when we get together, oh, do they ever. You know when you start talking over dinner about lap dances and what goes on in certain New York City alleys that it's gonna be a night for the books (or blogs).
So: movie (Lars and the Real Girl). Dinner. Then upstairs to a bar where a band named ED was playing. (My guess? It stood for Erectile Dysfunction.) ED, supposedly, was a bunch of doctors moonlighting as musicians, but I think only one of them turned out to be a doctor. I think the rest of them just liked to PLAY doctor. After determining which of the guys on stage was the most you-know-whattable (I actually think the lone girl in the group got a few votes, which should tell you what we were working with there), we decided to go downstairs to a different bar. And it was perfect timing, because just then, the fabulous Kristabella and her equally fabulous friend Darcie showed up. Unfortunately, I didn't get to talk to Kristabella as much as I would have liked, because I was a little distracted ...
(I know I'm being a little bit of a tease, but we'll get back to that picture in a second, I promise!)
So. We go downstairs and get some drinks and all of a sudden, this old man blows into the bar. He's waving neon glow sticks through the air and grinding up on a bunch of girls who are seriously young enough to be his granddaughter. And THEN he rips open his shirt and ... ta-da! A t-shirt underneath that says DRINK TIL YOU WANT ME. We grab him for a picture, he grinds up against a few more girls, and then he runs out. I seriously think it was truth or dare night at the nursing home, and he picked dare. It was HILARIOUS.
So we're laughing and talking, and then a few guys walk past us on their way to the bathroom. They look at us, we look at them. And then a minute or two later, one of the guys is standing next to me and saying in my ear: "Look, I know I'm only 22 years old, but I just have to tell you you're the hottest girl in this whole bar."
Ohhhhhh, boy. Are we in trouble.
Me: "You're a little charmer, you know that?"
Him: "I'm not. I'm a really shy guy, I never do this, but I had to tell you."
Me: "Oh, you are SUCH a liar."
Him: "You are, though. You're so hot. You think you could handle a 22-year-old?"
Me: "Can I handle you? I think the question is, could you handle me?"
Him: "Oh, yeah. Yeah. I've got a lot of energy."
Needless to say, we found our new friends for the night.
So a couple hours later, it's down to me, Jess, Manic and two of our new friends, who I'll call F and J (the 22-year-old charmer). And holy shit, was it one of the funniest conversations of my entire life. Those boys were sharp. And FUNNY.
F: "I like to pretend that I'm sick, and the girl has to figure out what's wrong with me and then cure it. I'm totally into role play."
J: "I like to pretend that I'm a refugee and she's the U.N."
On the pros of a younger man:
F: "We're spry." (Spry was a big theme of the night. And yes, they were spry. Very.)
J: "Here's the difference. An older guy comes home, he asks, 'What's for dinner?' We come home, and we're like, 'All right, where are we going?'"
I wish I could remember everything we talked about, because it was SO funny. Showers, feathers, spring break trips, a little truth or dare ... that picture? That's J. In his boxers. At 3:45 in the morning.
We did catch them in a fib or two (or 10), because as experienced older women we know that all guys lie a little at bars (six sisters? nice touch, J). But remember, F, what we were talking about later that night? And what you said? You're right, there will be. By all three of us.
So here's to you, cute college boys. Until next time, whether it's in New York or Chicago or Stroudsburg, Pa. Whichever city you pick that day.