Okay. I can take that. So needless to say, he didn’t do the shoot. We went on to have a fabulous shoot - even in the absence of your highness. Later that evening, the male model calls. He wants to take us out and show us the city. Wow! He actually has time for us. Of course, we want to go… just because he’s a jerk, doesn’t mean his hot model friends won’t be fun to hang out with. So we decide to meet in the Village at a cute little spot for some underground entertainment. This is just my speed. The night will be fabulous, right? Well, here’s where it gets interesting.
Here we are in this hip little spot, sipping champagne, celebrating a productive and most successful day… and still waiting on these male models (our ‘dates’) to show up. My friend and colleague gets the call that the male model is in the area, trying to find where we are. She goes outside to hopefully meet him in the street. She’s gone for a while and I start to worry. Did she get napped by the male models? Did she jump in their stretch hummer and ride off into the night, hogging all the boys to herself? These thoughts cross my mind. But, I finally see her approaching the table. For some reason, this scrub is following behind her. I think it’s someone she’s met while outside. Why is she picking up stragglers? Maybe he’s just walking behind her to get to his table. Nope… no, he stops at our table and she introduces him as the male model.
Before, I could censor my own mouth, I blurt out, “you’ve gotta be kidding me.” This is him? This is the big deal that couldn’t do our photo shoot? This guy had a well-established beer belly that you could tell he had worked on for years to perfect. He was bald, fat, and next to ugly. Maybe ugly is too harsh of a word. Let’s just say he wasn’t at all what I expected. I ask him if he used to be a hand model. My friend is dying laughing by now, but he doesn’t seem to catch on to the insult. He only replies with a simple no. So where are these hot friends of his I wonder?
Well, here comes ONE friend. He walks up and is tall and goofy looking. I am completely disappointed right now… and totally confused. I had in my mind that we would be hanging out with sex gods… instead we got goblins. So, the not so hot male model’s friend joins us at the table. Of course, I get stuck sitting by him. Not only is he a total goober, but his breath reeks. And the musk coming from his armpits is actually singeing my nostrils. He’s got his arm around my seat and is whispering in my ear that he’s depressed and he just broke up with his girlfriend. Didn’t we just meet two seconds ago? Why does he think I want to hear this? And why does he not shut this death trap mouth of his so I can breathe? He cheated. She’s possessive and suspicious all the time. She even checks his phone… On and on about this chick he went. Five minutes after the friend’s arrival (yes, it only took him five minutes to tell me his life story), the fake male model says he has to leave. What? Are you seriously leaving us with this depressed, sad, smelly soul? Your friend? He left. He actually left. So here we are… the three of us. Two hot chicks and a bum.
So what do we do? We do what any other self respecting females would have done in that situation… we call up the dudes we met last night. You know the routine. Tell your friend to bring his friend. Anyways, our next plan of action is to get to where the other guys are. So we tell the musty guy that we’re going to another bar…which is true, mind you. He insist that he take us to this hot bar where he knows the bartender and we can drink all night long for free. This sounds like a plan. We’ll just tell the other guys to meet us there. So off we go! We jump in the car with this complete musty stranger and head to an unknown alleged bar to drink our lives away. At least the other guys will be there to make this night better, right? Well, we pull up to this building and get out. “I’ve just gotta run in and get something, “ he says, as we realize this is his apartment building. Not a bar in sight. Okay, I’m getting annoyed now. My friend has more of a conscious than me and feels bad for the guy. She doesn’t want to just leave him. I’m thinking, hell, his friend did. We don’t know this guy. So we go up “just for a second” so he can get whatever is so important. As soon as the apartment door opens…there’s that smell again. His entire place reeks!! It smells like musty toe jam and 3 weeks old workout clothes. I can’t breathe. “We gotta go!” I tell the guy to take us back to the village. We can tell the other guys to pick us up from there. It’s like we’re trapped. He starts pulling out old pictures of his girlfriend and reminiscing about the days they were together. I am like what the fuck. Then this guy has the nerve….the balls to say that my friend and I should help him get over his ex- by sleeping with him. Are you serious! Did that just come out your funky mouth? I’m walking out the door at this point. My friend follows behind and so does the musty guy, saying “okay, okay, I’ll take you back.” My night has to get better. The events of this evening don’t even feel like they are happening to me. But yes, this is real. I am living this nightmare.
We end up at a bar next door to the one we had just left. We are the only three people in the bar. Could this night get any better? So we sit at the bar. Immediately, the depressed one starts pouring his heart out to the bartender. I am like, this is pathetic. My friend has been on the phone with the other guys and they are close. After we order a drink, they arrive to save the day. Like his friend did him… we left that musty man sitting at the bar alone, crying in his vodka and cranberry. Well, he might not have been crying, but you get the point. I hated to be mean or rude, but I hadn’t come to New York City to be depressed at a lonely bar. It’s New York freakin’ city! The night was on it’s upswing. Nothing but good times from here on. So I thought. Little did I know, the guy I ended up hanging out with that night would become known as “the guy with the hugest balls known to man“… huge monster balls! But that’s another story…
