The Operation was a failure

A friend and I went out last night. It was just a day or so ago that I was complaining to my mother, saying that I felt like a certain somebody had stolen my youth and caused me to miss out on some good fun having times. Last night I realized that I aint missed shit. So the original plan was attend a celebrity charity function at My Studio in Hollywood. Our "way in" told us to meet him there between 8 and 10. Sounds simple enough. I was ready, the perpetual planner that I am, by 8:30pm. My friend wasn't ready until after 10:30pm. She asks me to drive to her house so we can take her car there. Since I drive a regular old car and she drives a sporty new Mercedes, I figured this would be a good idea. Boy was I wrong. We got to My Studio and, naturally, our "way in" isn't trying to disturb his groove and come outside to get us and my friend does not want to stand in line. So we waited out in the cold for approximately 40 minutes, me in an itsy bitsy sequin mini skirt, tank top and quarter-length sleeve jacket (we saw d-list celeb, Samantha Mumba with a tacky homegirl, too, by the way). He told us, via text message, to let the guys at the door know that we're on his guest list. My friend felt that was beneath us. We ended up next door at Geisha House having a drink and working on Plan B and Plan C.

Plan B was supposed to come and pick us up in a cab. He never showed. Plan C was this super thirsty Persian guy who has allegedly been trying to get naked with my friend for quite some time now. He and a friend of his, also Persian, showed up in a very nice Audi to pick us up. The four of us drove down Hollywood Blvd. to a club called "Playhouse" where they play nothing but techno music. The oontz oontz kind. I don't typically go to places like this but I was optimistic and since everything was free, so far, I was ready to make the most of the night.

Now I was fully aware that the guy who wanted to make sexy time with my friend was hoping that his friend would play wingman and keep me occupied but there really wasn't any sort of love connection popping off whatsoever from the jump. He clearly was expecting someone of latin descent and quite possibly a size 2-6. I'm an 8/10 with meat on my bones. Anyway, we were both good sports though, so we entertained each other a bit, for our friends' sakes. He told me he'd been doing a lot of traveling lately and hadn't had much time for fun. "To where and for what?" I asked, in so many words. And he replied "Southeast Asia, mostly, for business."

He also made mention that the Audi his friend was driving was his. Fast forward and I'm getting my groove on the way I know how and it's apparently attracting attention because Persian guy #2 shimmies on up to me and starts trying to get more familiar. He whispers in my ear that all the women on the dancefloor are watching me. I hadn't noticed. I was in a zone as though I was dancing in my living room, really letting the music feel me up, ya know? So then I opened my eyes and spotted a trio of women dancing next to me, staring, just like he'd said. I was flattered. So the night went on, more oontz oontz oontz and I've practically danced a hole in my soles. I'm ready to go. Look at my watch and it's a quarter to 2am. My friend is drunk off her ass, or at least pretending to be. Persian guy #1 is thrilled and clearly plotting to get her in his bed, stat. Persian guy #2 is slyly copping feels on my sequined booty and repeatedly running his fingers through my hair looking for a weave track, lol. I find this funny so I run my fingers through his hair a few times and this fool loves it. He comes up behind me a few moments later and bites my shoulder! I'm like wtf!@? He's making crude comments asking me how many husbands I've bagged "white, black, persian..." and I say none. He says "so you just fuct the shit out of them and sent them on their way?" I laugh, like "how dare yOU!" and say "not all of them." He asks me if I'm left or right handed. I say I'm ambidextrous, which I'm not. And he says "well, which hand do you prefer to slap with?"

"My right," I say. To which he replies "faces and asses?"

He thinks he's cute. He bends over so I smack his ass. I think he fantasizes about being dominated by a "sista"

So finally, 3 am and I'm beat as a dog. I tell my friend that either I'm going to go to valet and pick up her car and drive myself home without her, or she can come with. It's her choice. She pretends to not comprehend. Next thing I know, we're back in the Persian guys Audi and he's promising us he'll drive us to valet to pick up the car...after we get something to eat. He says we need food in our drunk bellies. I insist that I'm not drunk, despite their best efforts to get me there. He's not listening. He speeds through Hollywood and the next thing I know, we're in FUCKING BEL AIRE! The first thing that hits my head is that movie Taken with Liam Neesom in it. If you haven't seen this fantastic flick, Liam's teenage daughter is taken by some foreign thugs and forced to be a sex slave. It's intense as ache-ee-double hockey sticks. I'm in that backseat plotting my escape, memorizing street names and twists and turns up the hill to this beautiful house that I couldn't give two shits about - I wanted to go home! Persian guy #2 makes a point to mention that it's his house, not his friends. His friend is flossing for my friend. So there we are, the two of us, my friend and I, sitting in this pretty house on a hill behind a remote gate, looking at each other like "what to do now?" I whisper to her that I'm trying to get home, gotta get home. She whispers back to me "Okay. Let me just go in the room with him for 10 minutes of (she makes sexual sounds here) and then he'll drive us back to my car."

They go in that room for 30 minutes without a peep. Persian guy #2 tries to make his move on me :( It's not remotely appealing, and as much as I'd love some sex in my life, I was feeling nothing but mortified and "rhet to go" (c) Wanda.

He rubbed my thigh. He told me that he'd made the guest room up for me. He studk his hand down the back of my skirt to feel the top of my ass crack. I asked him to call me a cab. He realized I was adamant about leaving so he did. When the taxi pulled up, I was out of there so fast he could barely keep up to walk me to the gate. Then, he tried to kiss me but he ended up licking off ALL of my lipgloss instead, lmao! GROSS!!!! I felt infected with germs all the way back to Hollywood, where my plan was to pick up my friends car and split.

But guess what? Valet was closed. It was 4am. The taxi ride was $45 (not of my own money but, still). I asked the cab driver, which was a lady, thank the good Lord, to drive me to my mother's house in L.A., where I spent the night next to her in her bed, comfy and cozy.

The next morning I had my cousin drive me back to Hollywood to meet up with my friend so she and I could pick up her car and go back home. She claims that she fell asleep on Persian guy #1 and he was disappointed that he didn't get to have sex with her.

So now I'm home, still recovering from lack of adequate and consistent sleep, about to take a shower and decide if I have the energy and wherewithall to drive down to Santa Monica for drinks with an out of towner and a few other folks.

My goal was to find a date last night but the date that found me was not what I'd had in mind. And the guys that I fancied were all colorstruck. But what's new?

I think God was trying to tell me something - for one, I didn't miss anything in my twenties, and 2, I really don't need a date as much as I thought I did. Oh, and 3, that you can't plan a fun night, especially in Hollywood. If fun happens, it's by sheer luck.