Keep you hands to yourself

Friday night, I headed out with Dana in the West Village. We stopped at a Serbian bar called Employees Only. You may ask, what makes a Serbian bar any different than any other bar. Well the answer is my friend, weird beer. Yeah, they didn’t have a single beer that I recognized! Plus the labels were all in a foreign language, so I could have been drinking llama piss for all I know.

One great thing about the bar was that it was a complete and utter sausage fest. We started off the night surrounded by drunk British and Italian men who kept trying to playfully hug and kiss us. Yeah that sounds creepy, but you have no idea how tame they were in comparison to the ultimate pervert….British Mark. Dana and I made our way over to talk to a super hot (but ultimately super short) guy who was giving her the fuck me eyes. Sitting next to hot shorty was British Mark and his friend Lyle. Okay first thing, they were 40+ if not closer to 50 years old! To add to the matter, creepy Mark kept trying to feel up my thigh. I would playfully swat away his roaming hands while giving Dana a “are you serious” look. Mark told us about his art gallery (he owns one) and how he just bought a house in the West Village. Yeah, this guy must be loaded since townhouses in the area are probably 2-3 mill at least. Well he invites us over to see his house, and before I can respectfully decline, Dana says “OKAY!”. Hmmm, does anyone else think this is a really bad idea….thought so!

I started to make escape routes in my head as we walked over to his house. I’m thinking, okay if he gets us cornered, I’m stabbing him with my heel or I’ll take one of his paintings hostage. He was pretty drunk, so I figured it would be easy to push him down a flight of stairs. Anyway, he was relentlessly pursuing my body parts with his hands. If he got anywhere near me, I would cross to the other side of the room. One time, I was cornered on the roof terrace, and I considered jumping off the roof in lieu of smacking his hand away AGAIN from my backside. I found momentary relief when Dana an I shared a small sofa. Too bad he soon squeezed his fat ass in between us even though we were clearly sitting next to each other. When he had his head turned from me, I would mouth to Dana “lets get the fuck out of here….I’m serious, I’m going to punch this guy….lets ditch this m-fer when he goes to the restroom”. She is reading my pained expression and trying her hardest to keep a straight face.

Finally we were able to make some lame excuse about meeting up with some other friends (even though it was 3am!). I ended up crashing on her couch, not due to the alcohol because I refused all of his wine in fear it was laced with ruffies, but because I didn’t want to deal with another scumbag on my way home. Dana (God bless her heart) said later “we HAVE to say friends with him…think about how awesome his Christmas party will be”. Ummm, I’d rather shove bacon in my underwear while at the dog park.