Fleet Week = surge in STD spread

Ships Ahoy! So starts another weekend. Actually it was only Thursday night, but it was the official start of Fleet Week! For those who don’t watch the show Sex in the City, Fleet Week is when a bunch of naval ships dock in NYC for a weekend furlong and consequently, the city is flooded with thousands of sailors who have been stuck on a ship for weeks or months. Unlike what is portrayed in the show, the sailors are not gorgeous rippling muscle manly male specimens. They are more like juvenile 22 year old country boys. Seriously, I am sure many of them have never been to NYC (let alone any big city) ever before. They were beside themselves because the city has so many things to do (my street alone has eight peep shows and two strip clubs) and the city nights never end. Plus all the tourist girls were enamored by many men in a uniform (no matter how short, awkward, or immature the guys were) and proceeded to throw themselves on them.

Okay the night started off with cursing the tourists. Farrell had a super nice best girl friend coming into town with her friends. She currently lives in Kansas City, but is from Minnesota. Her three girl friends were equally as cute, nice and awestruck by the city. Farrell and I decided to meet them in Times Square because they wanted to see the neon lights at night. Well we showed up at the appropriate corner on time. They were nowhere to be seen. He called them and they said they were under the AMC theater. Farrell and I then pushed through a few blocks of clogged sidewalks of night-time Times Square to the AMC theater. They were not there. Another call, and it turns out they were at the Hard Rock Café. A few blocks more, we arrive at Hard Rock. Guess what, they are not there either. What? They really suck at locating themselves. Turns out they were across the street and up the block looking at the Hard Rock. Okay imagine the frustration of trying to meet up with someone who says, I’m at a corner and I can see blank. Well that does not help especially in Times Square where you can see several blocks from one corner.

Anyway, after playing Marco Polo in a crowded Times Square, we headed off to meet up with Bree & Ali and catch dinner on 8th Ave. Of course all of the girls got exotic martini-esc drinks with names like “purple passion fruit”, “mango-tini”, and “perfect tropical storm”. Farrell scanned the list and commented on their take of the long island ice tea (mostly how it was talking all sorts of crappy liquor like so-co and mixing it into one toxic drink). I figured why not and ordered it to make him proud. Plus the cosmos the girls ordered were not cosmos but more like cranberry with a splash of liquor. Seriously they were reminiscent of Porter’s $5 cosmos in college that were nearly all juice and no kick. I felt bad for the girls who slurped up their $9 cranberry cocktail. Of course the buzz off of the weak drinks and the thought of going wild in the city made the girls get second and third rounds (you can see how this is going to turn out). On a side tangent, the crazy girls out on the town are always the married out-of-towners. Seriously, on bachorlette parties, the girls that want to flirt and grind with random guys and stay out all night are the married girls from the suburbs. My theory is that the single city girls can have that any night, so it is not so novel. However, the married SUV driving soccer moms are looking at the night out as a way of shedding her boring, small town, PTA life. Okay don’t hate me if you fit that description, but I have seen it multiple times. Then again I could just be a judgmental bitch.

Okay back to the evening. Well the Minnesota girls, Farrell, Bree, Ali, and myself headed off to visit a few bars on 8th ave (between 45th and 50th streets). We saw all sorts of displays with the sailors. Girls would run up to the guys and paw all over them. Okay they deserve a little attention but these girls were almost lewd. Well girls were grabbing the boys sailor caps and popping them on their heads. I think there was an unspoken contest to see how many sailors you could get into one picture. Seriously, there would be three girls surrounded by twenty boys in white. The sailors also had many roaming hands so the girls will have picture proof of a goosing or tit grab. Our group of Minnesota girls were tame at first, but then the booze kicked in. They started getting boy crazy and calling over all sorts of sailor men. Then came pictures and making out (only two of them made out with willing sailors). Later they ran across the street so they could take pictures with the firemen. Okay my neighborhood firehouse has a lot of hot firemen, but they were all out fighting a fire or in bed because the guys in the picture were Magnum PI mustached old men. I later bailed around 3am and let the Farrell tend to the flock of hormone driven girls.