Hungover...

I was drunk last night.

I was very very drunk last night.

It was another Jazz on Jackson Place. The second to last of the summer. I'll certainly miss Jazz on Jackson Place.

This time it was held in the carriage house. Our group was smaller. Peter, Ralph, JS, JS's brother, Miss Doolittle and a couple of her friends, Sabrina and her man. Nice and small. I was excited for the swing band. Unfortunately, the swing band played slow big band music. No dancing to be done. I missed the cheese. I ate bread for dinner. Bread and wine. Not a good combo.

Afterwards, we went to Play Lounge for a date auction. I wasn't on the evite. Everyone else was on the evite. People responded to the Jazz on Jackson evite that they were going to the date auction instead. People talked about the date auction in front of me. And yet, no me on the evite. I was hurt. I even saw the list of my friends, in a row, who were obviously put on the evite by another "friend" minus me. I take things to personally. I guess I can count on Peter. At least he forwarded it to me.

Anyways.

So I crashed the date auction, basically. But the other people I was with were on it. 633 people were on it. So I went.

Maybe we caught the end. Maybe we missed the hottness that should have been. Instead we got an okay looking blonde girl. She came with me a gift certificate to dinner at Clyde's. I suppose that maybe was worth the money. Then we got a short, unattractive man with a military haircut. He went for $200. I'd rather just give the charity (Team in Training) my money. And then, funny enough, we saw a girl that Peter rejected up for bidding. Without a gift certificate, which leads me to believe she volunteered to be for sale. She's okay. But, as Peter put it, she's not exactly the type of girl you need to pay for to go out with. What sort of girl puts themself up for auction anyways? I guess you have to feel pretty secure about your worth. It was funny though. I wanted Peter to bid. How entertaining would that be? She hates him. She says he treated her poorly. Hun, if you don't want to be treated like a toy, don't put yourself in that situtation.

We left about the time they put the bartender at Play up for auction. He came with a gift certificate to Morton's. If you win, do you have to go out with the guy or can you do what you please with the gift certificate? Bartenders are another easy-to-get-into-bed category.

We made our way to 18th Street Lounge. Ended the night there.

When I get drunk, I start to believe I'm the Socrates of dating advice. I begin to theorize. Like Miss Doolittle's friend. He was cute. A baby, but cute. So I asked his status. Not that I'm available, but one should always know these things until a ring is placed on the finger. Per my dad, actually.

So she politely tells me he's reallllllly into a girl he's just gone on a date with. Translation: he doesn't think you are cute. Which is fine. In NYC, guys had types. Major types. Some liked them short and brunette. Some liked them short and blonde. Some liked them waif and tall. Or curvy. Or Latino. And that was okay, because there were so many beautiful women in NYC. You didn't need to get beat up about it. You weren't there type. Fine. You were someone's type.

In DC, I don't know many guys with a type. I guess attractive girls are harder to come by. So you do feel a bit ugly and swear you'll never wear whatever outfit you have on and do your hair differently from then on. It's a less complicated city in that sense. If you are attractive, everyone wants you. If you are smart and attractive (really really smart, not like me) you're dating the President. Simple.

My other theory (among the audience of Ralph and Peter, who were hopefully drunk enough to find it entertaining):

Guys only say they are dating someone, because they're an "ass" man or a "boob" man or a "sexy ugly" man or a "but-her face" man when they are dating someone's who ugly. If you're hot, no guy will describe you as having big boobs to his friends. He'll just say "she's hot" or "she's smokin'" or "sexy as hell." Types are only used to justify actions that aren't quite up to par. It's like when Jerk said about his new girlfriend, "Looks aren't everything." That's what you say when you're dating someone who's ugly. Especially when she's much uglier than your last girlfriend, and everyone keeps talking about it. And I'm not being arrogant here, for the record, my friend's are very blunt. I've seen pictures. The new girl is ugly. Smart. Nice. Fun. But ugly.

Anyways. Done. Going home to nap. Summer hours rock!