Well, no dice on that “finding a cool group of women, like the Sex and the City women, to hang out with” thing. I’ll tell you how it went down if you really want to know.
So this afternoon I flipped through my mental black book and I remembered that Brittney, Amber, and a whole other slew of other mall girls get off work at 8pm on Saturdays and go get outta control at S.C.T!.’s (S.C.T. stands for “Saturday’s Cool Too!” which is kind of in response to that TGI Friday’s chain. From what I’d heard, the founders are doing pretty well with that idea, warming people up to the thought that Saturday can be a pretty good day of the week in addition to Friday). Anyhow, I thought I’d spice myself up with one of my monogrammed shirts, open at the collar, a few splashes of Polo Extreme Sport (kind of a fun weekend cologne), and my new chunky silver chain bracelet before heading over to S.C.T.’s and joining them for their first few rounds, while they were still pretty clear-headed and most likely to be sophisticated and witty.
So I was looking pretty dapper, all with my mug just trimmed three days before so it didn’t look too fresh and in fact was in its prime, all with some low-rise boot cut new GAP jeans on, thick black Gucci belt, etc. I was straight up Clooneying.
Anyhow, I pulled into that place around 8:20 and none of the girls were there yet. I sort of cooled it and read the kids’ menu and stuff, just waiting in the little entranceway on a bench. It was quieter than I had expected--there were just a few families here and there, finishing up meals with their young kids. That’s cool, they’d clear out soon enough and my brichichas would be scootin’ into booths, filling the air with strong, sassy girl talk. I couldn’t wait. I was gettin’ pretty excited so I went to the bar in the corner and sized myself up for a margarita.
Only problem was, there was no bartender. None of the lights behind the bar had even been turned on, and the little credit card slider was off. Man, that blew, so I stopped one of the waitresses and asked if I could get a drink. She said the bar was closed and I was all like “yeah I see that but what can you do for me” and pretty soon she came back with this paper cup that had some marsala cooking wine in it. I sort of sadly gave her a fiver and sat and nipped at the nasty stuff for a while, flipping through the kids’ menu and waitin’ for the ladies.
By 9:30 not a single new person had come into the restaurant except for a family on a road trip whose kid had crapped in his pants, so I hit Brittney up on my cell.
RAY: Hey, delicious! What you doin’ tonight?
BRITTNEY: [loud background party music] Ray? Is that you?
R: Some kid just crapped in his pants! (I had had a few more cups of the marsala by then and was kind of addle-brained, I thought it would be really funny to say that)
B: What? Ray?
R: Seriously! Where you guys at tonight? I’m all up in S.C.T.’s and bringin’ the damage!
B: Uh, look, I got to go, Ray.
Long story short, S.C.T.’s had lost its liquor license about a year back and no one went there anymore. I must have sounded pretty insane, like I was hanging out blasted at an unpopular family restaurant and calling women to come join me. No wonder she didn’t tell me where she was.
At any rate, I’m gonna look on the Internet about how to make a Hot Toddy. I bet I got all the right ingredients.