After spending half the day in Disneyland on Saturday, I was feeling an urgent need to spend some time around adults. I ended up at a friend’s BBQ in Downtown, where it was mostly a new crowd, a lot of people who I don’t know.

My friend who was having a BBQ had a whole bunch of friends visiting him from DC-area. The male to female ratio at this party was about 10:1, totally in my favor, except that out of all the guys at the party, there were only couple that I found attractive. One was someone I had already had a drunken make-out session with (a long time ago) and another guy was one of his DC-area friends visiting. Let’s call him DC-dude.

So after the BBQ, and after watching the USC-Ohio St game, everyone decides to go out to a club in Hollywood, which has the highest concentration of the “LA” clubs, the ones that get the most celebs and paparazzi. One of the guys in the group, a DC guy living in LA – let’s call him Zen – has the hookup at Bardot and can get everyone in. Zen and his wife Nam are two of my new favorite people. Very hot and stylish and both really awesome dancers. Anyway… getting a a group of 10+ guys in at Bardot at a last minute on a Saturday night is a small miracle, since 1) Bardot is high up in the LA nightclub pecking order and 2) it’s impossible for a group of 10+ guys to go to a club without the appropriate number of girls in the group. And there were only 3 girls in this group, too low for a group of 10 guys. On the other hand, one of the advantages of being a woman is that the same nightclub rules don’t apply. I can pretty much go anywhere, guest list or no guest list. My rule is, “God did not give me a vagina to stand in lines.” And I live with this rule. If you’re nice to bouncers, and look decent, you can get into any club… if you have a vagina.

Anyway, we get into Bardot which is pretty fabulous, the music is awesome, and the the DC-dude is totally flirting.  I’m flirting right back.  We start dancing and he’s a pretty good dancer. Which says a lot because I’m a really good dancer and takes some skills to keep up with me on the dance floor… or off. After dancing a while we sit down and at one point I glance at his left hand and see a ring on his wedding finger. Interesting. The way he’s been flirting, it never occurred to me that he might not be single, yet alone married. Until I saw the ring on his finger.

So I’m sitting and chatting with someone in the group and DC-dude grabs my hand and leads me away from the table and towards the stairs. I’m playing along out of curiosity to see how far he thinks he’s going to take this. We get to a semi-private area, and he tries to kiss me. I pull back and I ask him, “What’s up with the ring on your finger? Are you married?” He says, “Yes.” I reply, “Sorry, married men are a total turn off,” and I walk away.

I go back to the table, and one of his friends — who’s very nice and sweet, let’s call him sweet-DC-dude — is trying to make conversation while I’m deep in thoughts still processing the vodka tonics and the advances of married DC-dude. He wants to know what I’m thinking about. Ugh. I hate when anyone asks me what I’m thinking about when I’m silent. Usually I really want to say “None of your damn business” but the guy is sweet, and I don’t want to be mean so I say “people.” Trying to keep it very general, so he takes the hint and leaves me alone with my vodka tonic. But he doesn’t take the hint and wants me to get more specific about the broad topic of “people.”  I tell him, I’m thinking about why people cheat. I can tell that the sweet-DC-dude knows that I’m talking about his friend. He tells me they cheat for a few different reasons… 1) they’re unhappy 2)they’re bored and 3) they want to see if they can get away with it. Not sure which reason was the motivation for his friend’s behavior — I’m guessing reasons #2 and #3 — but I really don’t care. Out of respect to the other woman, I won’t have anything to do with a guy who’s unavailable, especially a married guy.

So I go back to the dance floor, and I’m getting my dance on with a hot Euro guy. Swedish I think. A really awesome dancer. Meanwhile DC-dude is still dancing around me, while I’m dancing with the hot Swede. Swede leaves the dance floor and DC-dude is once again dancing with me. While I’m dancing, the DC dude’s friend, let’s call him DC-fatty, is trying to dance with me too and getting a little uncomfortably too close. Uncomfortable because 1) he’s unattractive and 2) fat and 3) keeps wanting to dance too close while I’m trying to dance with another one of Swede’s friends on the dance floor. So I ask the other Swede if he wants to dance because I know he wants to. We had been giving each other looks while the DC-fatty has been trying to dance all over me. So I push the DC-fatty away and he turns around and says to me “I see you’re hung up on the married guy.” Excuse me? WTF? No dude. I’m just not into dancing with you especially when there’s another hot Swede near me who I could dance with. You’re not attractive, you’re killing my game and just because I unknowingly flirted earlier with your good looking married friend, does not mean I’m chasing after your friend and am so desperate that you have a chance. I wish I had said this to him but the music was loud, it wasn’t worth my energy and I had a hot Swede waiting to dance with me.

And then it was time to go. It was 2 a.m. and I ended up in a cab with Zen and Nam, to go 2 blocks from Bardot to Playhouse, another place where Zen’s magical powers got us into. After 10 minutes at Playhouse, I had to admit to myself that dancing and walking in 5 inch heels for the past 5 hours had left me so exhausted that I couldn’t take another step. I leave Playhouse and decide to walk back home. Bad mistake. Not because it’s 2:30 a.m and I’m walking home alone in Hollywood, but because my feet hurt so bad that I really can’t take another step and I’m not seeing any empty cabs on Wilcox. And then, just when I’m about to collapse, a tow truck pulls up and ends up towing me home in my 5 inch heels.

Oh, and USC beat Ohio St. That’s right. Go Trojans!!!!