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June 11, 2002

"This doesn't taste like iced tea." "It's from Long Island. Trust me."

Every year, Boston Magazine has an issue where they profile "Boston's Most-Wanted Singles." And we're not talking hot fugitives, despite the poorly worded title. No. The magazine sought out the 15 hottest single women and the 15 hottest single men in Boston for their June issue (I was #16. I swear. In case one of the most wanted singles was unwilling or unable to fulfill his duty...). Women take note, I have a pattern of knowing people who get selected for this stuff. Sexiest Internet Mogul. Silicon Valley's Most Eligible Bachelor. And so on. And now, Matt[0] is one of Boston's hottest singles.

Other than a month or two of giving him lots of crap for this, what do I get out of the deal? Well, Matt[1] and I got to be guests at the official Boston Magazine's Most Wanted Singles 2002 VIP Party. It was at La Boom. La Boom is the sort of club that probably wouldn't let me in on most nights, and which I probably wouldn't want to go to on most nights. $5 for a bottle of Sam Adams! But no cover and an open bar are things that can change my mind. For what it's worth (which is certainly less than it would have cost me were I not a VIP), the music was very good, and the drinks... well, they were good enough.

The last time I skipped dinner and went to a party with an open bar, this photo was taken. By the end of that night, I was rolling around, giggling, in the middle of the street at the corner of 15th & Valencia. I haven't learned my lesson.

At the party, we got some free sushi, but not really a dinner's worth. We got more than a dinner's worth of free drinks though. Quickly. The open bar only lasted an hour. Of course, at the end of it, Boston's hottest singles and their friends were drunk enough to hand over credit cards and open tabs. Yikes!

Later in the evening, we were all dancing. (If you've seen me drunk enough to dance, you know this is a sorry sight). Matt[1] said something which prompted me to smack him. Aggressively. In the face. OK, it wasn't very aggressive. Gentle, in fact. And for all I can recall, it may not have really been prompted by anything. But my aim (target=cheek) was a bit off. So I hit him in the eye just right and managed to knock his contact out onto a dark, crowded dance floor. Thankfully, no damage to his eye, but bad news nonetheless. Just as [1] was about to unleash his inner-Bruce Banner and kick my ass, [0] miraculously found the lens on the floor. God only knows how this happened, but it saved me from a much-deserved beating.

Over the course of the evening, at least two of the three of us got summarily ditched by women we were dancing with. ("... with whom we were dancing"? Good grammar, bad rhythm.) But two out of three also came home with at least one phone number. One even got a date. I didn't get digits. (I hate that term). But I also couldn't have dialed a phone at that point, so I wasn't too upset. Or surprised.

On the way home, [1] and I stopped for some dinner. Mmmm... late night BBQ. Eating, I would find out at six o'clock Saturday morning, was a pretty pointless endeavor on my part. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to detox.

Posted by buddha at June 11, 2002 01:03 PM

Comments

Posted by: shoop at June 11, 2002 11:11 PM

Posted by: captain speednet at June 12, 2002 12:27 AM

Posted by: captain speednet at June 12, 2002 12:27 AM

Posted by: dan at June 12, 2002 02:03 AM

Posted by: patrick at June 13, 2002 08:41 PM

Posted by: dan at June 13, 2002 08:54 PM

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