I got off work at a reasonable hour and scooped Arianna from her boyfriend’s company so we could relive our single glory days, although my single glory days certainly aren’t over, and Arianna’s pretty good at faking singledom for my sake, so it was actually just business as usual. We scooted through Era for a second, which, at 10:30 pm on a Friday night, was filled with a typical gaggle of “grown and sexy” crowd, which is chill but Arianna and I are definitely immature as fuck and sexy, so we didn’t exactly fit in. So we cabbed it to Van Kleef’s, which was another churn and burn bar before we found our way into Radio, where a discernible lack of desperate men made it kinda boring for us while we sat there and texted/Tindered other people while pretending to engage in conversation.
It was just something to do while biding our time before heading to the guarantee knock out of the evening: 355. The more I go to bars, the more I realize that 355 only gets good for me after midnight on Friday nights. Before midnight, you still get the weird tech trickle off people who live in the condos doing their 8pm-11pm mating rituals, but after midnight the industry people start popping up and everyone who’s in it to win it (you know, in terms of alcohol or regretful fucking each other) shuts the joint down. Which is great, because at midnight Arianna and I were hunkered at the bar drinking our drinks with glazed over eyes while nobody hit on us before the whole bar turned and suddenly we were basking in male attention from quite a few of our long time friends.
So, rather than turning in my fuck bucket list of exactly everyone who was at 355 that I would 100% consider sleeping with (for the first time, or again), suffice it to say that Valentine’s Day was pretty great this year, mostly because it was exactly like pretty much any other Friday night I ever have, and my broke ass was pretty grateful to be drowning in tequila and sexual options as usual.
I feel like Planned Parenthood probably gets really busy on February 15th.