The Titanic, The Irish and a 2nd Grader

August 4th 2012

Happy Birthday Harper.

We made our debut on this fine, Saturday afternoon at a bottomless brunch at the Agave restaurant in lower Manhattan. The first scene of our brunch was reminiscent of a slow motion “Sex and the City” montage that looked like this:

Bountiful margaritas, bloody maries, extra strong mimosas, heads thrown back in charming laughter, floral dresses galore, toasting to “friendship” and shit.

Fast forward just an hour later and the latter part of our morning could have easily been mistaken with footage of primates in a zoo circa feeding time. I think it’s best if I don’t recall the details of what went down when our entrées were delivered…

We terrified such bystanders including our waitress who feared for her life every time she approached the pack of wild chiquitas at table 8. I suppose I can’t blame her when we asked her questions such as:

HOT SEAT. What would your plan of action be if a labradoodle named Frank were to open a Jazz club this VERY evening?”

every 

time  

she approached the table.

The questions just got weirder with every round of drinks.

…I take full responsibility for this.

We eventually >>>>> escorted ourselves out and ventured to our next location.

        The frying pan.
    A restaurant on a boat

that delicately floats amidst the Hudson River.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Or as I like to call it: Sausage Fest Central. Within 4 minutes we were crashing bros night out….and I didn’t hate it.

Ladies.

   Hands in the middle.  

May best girl win.

Round 1: Andrea vs. Olive

I moseyed over to a lad named James. If I can recall correctly we chatted about med school, Maryland and dabbled into the subject of hiking…until it took an abrupt turn, compliments of me (as per usual).

*Andrea was  s                        ped up by a nerd babe.
                          w            o
                                   o

What’s a nerd babe, you ask?

The only visual you need is this:

His glasses were so thick…they did not have any rims.

And she was digging it.

James meandered elsewhere, concerned and confused as to how our med school chats somehow segwayed into a venting session about mountain lions.

…I take full responsibility for this.

I glanced over at Andrea. She was elegantly perched on a

  elevated above

…bucket. Slightly                          nerd babe…

Wind blowing in her hair as she leaned against the railing of the boat. His hands were wrapped around her waist and I just kept thinking to myself…this beautiful moment was extremely reminiscent of a couple I had seen on a boat before…what was it…hold on wait, I know this…shit…ah yes, the Titanic. As Celine Dion Djed their new-found love I decided to gracefully bow out of round 1.

Andrea – 1                   Olive – 0

Round 2: Harper vs. Olive

The next batch of men emerged, straight from Ireland.

A pack of Irish men emerged from the far corner of the boat.

I have this theory that all Irish people don’t talk, they just YELL.

And I like it.

And anyway.

I struck up a conversation with a Samuel. We laughed, we joked, he whipped out his signature pick up line “are you per chance related to Angelina Jolie?” unaware that I would accept this as my cue to recite the pros and cons of Jennifer Aniston.

Not

exactly

what he had in mind.

I then excused myself to take a picture next to the nearest trash can.

brb. This picture is an absolute emergency.

…Remind me to bring my game with me next time. I always seem to leave home without it.

I peered over at Harper only to witness her  grabbing the nearest irish man to her right and began kissing the hell out of him. As she should. it’s her goddamn birthday.

                         raised

iPhones were                  As well as other things.

Irish friends were cheering. Regular friends were cheering.  Olivia attempted to take a video, and failed. Naturally, she requested  that they go at it again.

Harper obeyed.

Your wish is my command, Olivia.

Harper 1:                Olive: 0

Round 3: Charlie and Olive

A man named Brandon >>>>> shuffled over in my direction. We exchanged banter about the extremely recent scandal between his friend and mine, did an in-depth analysis of the lion king once or thrice and high-fived to the abandoned bucket of corona that was entirely too accessible. Also, fantastic news. I didn’t bring up mountain lions OR Jennifer Aniston (kudos, self) and after a ridiculous amount of time conversing I departed with a “Well thanks for the chat, Brandon!”

…As it turns out his name was Jose.

Good times.

I checked Charlie’s status. Irish man #3 was overflowing her cup with copious amounts of miller lite. She complimented his…white watch and made witty remarks about today’s economy. Well, played.

Charlie: 1                  Olive: 0

I departed from defeat #3 to check back in with defeat #1. Andrea, nerd babe, and their titanic romance were all going swimmingly (pun intended). They were cuddled in a corner, ordering food.

On

My

Way

                                                    hovering

Suddenly, I was on the bucket                     uncomfortably over his shoulders, reading the menu through his rimless glasses. He did the slight turn around, mostly perplexed as to how I even got there in the first place and politely asked,

“Would you um…like…food…Olive…or…” ONE CHOCOLATE BOMB CAKE PLEASE.

Although there was no bomb…cake…on the menu….nerdbabe used his wits to order me something within the general vicinity.

Such a nice nerd  babe.

It
 
Had
 
Arrived

This chocolate bomb cake came all-inclusive with a layer of milk chocolate, a raspberry drizzle and a mint leaf placed ever so carefully atop the display.

I pounded it in 3 seconds.

Eventually Charlie corralled the troops and we headed home after a long day of failed romances.

Oh wait.

That was just me. It was 6pm sharp…

We grabbed the neighborhood special at the local pizzeria and beelined to the rooftop only to be greeted by a fleet of 5 men.

Game on.

They were the new neighbors (score pants!) 3 of the 5 had the same name as the Hanson bros (score pants x 2!) They introduced themselves. We introduced ourselves. I asked what they did. They said teachers. But that information was lost in the land of pizza heaven as I zoned out 100% with every passing bite. It completely muted their answer and within those 3 seconds.

1
 
2
 

3

had no recollection of what they said, or that I that had even asked a question at all.

“So what do you do?” I asked…again.

Assuming I was a normal human being that did not lose hearing when eating pizza, they began to elaborate on their careers.

Hanson brother #1 said “Elementary School.”

My eyes expanded to the size of small saucer cups.

Elemen..

tary school…

“So like…grad…school…?”

“What…? No like…elementary school.”

……………………

“So like…college…”

“Um…no…like…K-12…”

“So like…you just graduated high school?”

……………………..

“What is wrong with you?”

A loaded, yet fair question, Hanson brother #1. 

“…So like…junior high?”

“No! Like…2nd grade!”

WHAT THE FUCK.

My mind was being blow on every level imaginable.

“You’re IN the second grade? Home slice, 2nd graders did NOT look like you back in the day.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

And suddenly I awoke from my pizza coma and had flashbacks of well, 3 seconds prior. It was like that time Derrick Zoolander had the walk off with Hansel…and didn’t..win.

Life: 1                      Olive: 0

I’m just going to…leave…now…welcome to the neighborhood…and shit…
I sprinted off
                       downstairs and made a straight shot to my apartment and thought to myself:
That between James, the irish man, jose  and the Hanson brothers, I’ve never been more certain that speed dating is in fact, for me.
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