Saturday, December 8, 2012

The night I came in second place with Ryan Lochte

Exactly 100 days ago, on a hot Tuesday August evening, my friend Faige called and asked me if I wanted to go to a party sponsored by Hennessy. I had a craptastic day at work and although I didn’t feel like getting dolled up, I threw on a dress and went to meet her. The venue was pretty much inside the commercial property building she works in so she showed me around, we had a few glasses of wine, and made our way to the party. Once inside, we were met by a dozen leggy models holding trays of different Hennessy mixed drinks. We tried our own and each other’s, and realized the only way to get through the pungent, vile taste was to suck them down quickly. Before long we were 4-5 drinks in and walking around the space, also noticing that we were probably 2 of the 4 white people at the party. A non-issue, really, but amusing in the sense that there is always some truth to stereotypes (read: Hennessy is a black drink. Read: must find out which of my black friends drink this shit and how the hell they can stomach it). A few people from LA began talking to us, and I learned a couple big name celebrities would be at this event; Erykah Badu and Ryan Lochte. I chuckled at the randomness of it all, but then remembered Ryan Lochte supposedly had a thing for donkey booties and clearly, there was no shortage of them there. Faige scoped out the VIP area (which wasn’t that hard to miss at it was a raised square resembling a boxing ring on the right side of the room) and we sauntered in that direction. At this point the diesel fuel was pumping through my veins and I started doing that awesome thing where you strike up random conversations with everyone around you, even when they don't have any interest in talking. I was talking to some dude when out of nowhere he sort of pushed me to the side to let a group of people were part ways for someone to walk past us. I looked over at him (cannot stand when strangers touch me, so rude) and was about to open my mouth when a woman placed her hand on my arm and said “how you doin' tonight, girl?” I looked up and locked eyes with Erykah Badu. Inside I felt something resembling innards starting to liquefy? But that sounds awful so that’s not a good comparison. Maybe like hot flashes on top of hot flashes? At any rate, I could feel my mouth form into a big, cheesy fucking grin and the only thing I could make out was “oh my God you are so beautiful” to which she smiled and walked away. I hadn’t even noticed that Faige was no longer standing near me, so I looked around and saw her talking to an older guy in the VIP area. I made my way over to her and gushed about my earth shattering experience with Ms. Badu, but she had one goal and that was to get into VIP. The man she was talking to was going to “let” us sit at his table, so we walked up and sat down with a group of stiff, white haired businessmen. One of them with an English accent asked me if I wanted a drink, and I declined. “Don’t you like Hennessy?” he asked. I leered at him. “No I don’t like Hennessy,” I said. “This shit tastes like gasoline.” “Oh, interesting that you say that,” he replied. “I’m one of the VPs for the company.” Woops. I figured the only way to get out of that situation was to start dancing, so I put on my best robot, tried some Jersey turnpike and dropped it down low like only I can. Faige, easily mortified, tried to get me to sit down but I wasn’t having it. I looked over and saw a group of people standing near someone tall in a white shirt. “Holy shit, it’s Ryan Lochte!!” I exclaimed. I edged my way over with Faige behind me and began discreetly making my way closer and closer. Women and men alike were snapping pictures with him and trying to chat him up. I mean, they were really eating this shit up. I found myself next to a short guy who started talking to me and it turned out he was a friend of Ryan’s. I made small talk with him and just as one woman was walking away, I tossed my phone to Faige and introduced myself. She took one photo and I didn’t like how it turned out so I asked him if he would take another. Apparently this is not the type of thing you ask of famous people because once again, Faige looked horrified. I asked him about the Olympics, how he liked Europe, and what he thought of Erykah Badu as she was just going up to perform. Let me be honest: this guy was ah, dumb. DUMB. The rumors about him being intellectually sub-par are all true. He was barely able to articulate sentences without sounding like a 7 year old. He was, however, gorgeous, and it was then the star spangled banner began to play in my head because I had come up with a goal all of my own: to nail him. Another girl had grabbed his (incredibly short) attention span, so I resorted to talking to his small black friend. “So listen. If I wanted to hang out with Ryan after this thing is over, how would I go about doing that?” I asked. “Give me your number” he said. I did, and as Faige drove me home, I told her she would be accompanying me in said mission. She had found herself a nice stallion, so unfortunately it looked like I was on my own. She dropped me off and I realized that it was already close to 3am and it was a school night. I debated on just going to sleep, but my phone rang and soon after I was put on speaker and asked to come to the Public Hotel where Ryan was staying. In my drunken haze I realized I would have to go to work in the morning so I thought it made sense to PACK AN OVERNIGHT BAG. Yes, an overnight bag. My old ass, vintage Puma bag that’s pretty much falling apart. Not one of those, oh hey, I'm gonna meet you at a nice hotel and have a sexy romp, but a I'm being practical and packing a bag that could very well be 30 years old with my TOOTHBRUSH AND CLOTHES FOR TOMORROW. I took a cab to the hotel feeling pretty proud of myself and downstairs found a bunch of young kids working. They were part of the Hennessy marketing team. With drunkenness and exhaustion, I tried to muster “what room is Ryan in?” when his friend came to get me. He eyed up my bag and I just shrugged my shoulders. We got to the room, which was in fact two suites together and there I found Ryan sitting on a chair on his phone. “Hey,” I said as I sat down. “Hey,” he responded and went back to texting. The three of us sat in silence for a good few minutes before I finally asked, “so is anyone going to offer me a drink?” His friend shot up and led me into their bedroom where there was a small fridge. I took a mini bottle of wine and sat back down in the living room. By this time Ryan had turned on the tv and was watching a skateboarding competition. “Man, I’m totally getting back into this when I get back to Cali,” he said. “Oh for sure man, you’ll be so good at it,” little black guy responded. Really? I thought. Because I don't know how he was able to grasp the concept. I yawned, and they both looked at me. “Sorry, it’s late. I have work tomorrow…” Silence. "So is Olympic Village like the big whorehouse everyone says it is?" I asked. "Are there condoms lying around everywhere?" "I actually don't know anything about that," Ryan said. "I spent all my free time practicing." I bit my tongue about seeing the segment with Ryan's mother being interviewed and telling the world her son tells her about his one night stands. Ryan turned on MTV and a Nicki Minaj video came on. “Man, I love her titties!!” he said, with the most inflection in his voice that entire evening. I choked back a laugh and started thinking of the best way to get Ryan’s friend out of the room or to make it more obvious that I was in fact there to LAY HIM. I went to the bathroom and went through the cabinet, which was full of toiletries and two huge watches. I remember thinking, wow, I should really take one of these but then snapped back to reality because a. I was not a klepto and b. I had more important things to worry about. I walked out of the bathroom and found that another girl had stopped by, and Ryan was not only making her a cocktail, he was walking her around the suite. She looked about 18. I looked quizzically at short black guy and hissed “are they going to hook up?” He shrugged sheepishly, “maybe.” What the shit? My cleavage was out, my legs looked amazing, and I was chewing at least 12 pieces of gum so there was no way I reeked of alcohol. Okay, yes, maybe I had gotten the hiccups at some point but they went away remarkably fast. I marched over to the bedroom area, picked up my Puma bag and started to put on my coat. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Uh, home,” I replied. “Why?” he asked. “Because, short black guy (I knew his name that night, or at least I hope I did). The sole purpose for me coming here tonight was to fuck Ryan Lochte. If that’s not going to happen, there’s no reason for me to be here.” “Well, you can always crash on the couch,” he said. “Excuse me? No. I’m going to leave here with A LITTLE DIGNITY.” With that, I slung my Puma bag across my shoulder and slammed the door.

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