My Wingman

Last night, my friend Sexy Pilot was in town.

Sexy Pilot and I have not seen each other in a looooong ass time. I'm not going to admit how long, because it will make me sound like a grandmother. It's been that long.

Sexy Pilot hadn't been to NYC in a while so I dragged him down to the LES and we did a little Ludlow Street bar crawling...and crawl we did, after the amount of alcohol that was consumed.

We found ourselves at 151 Bar, which incidentally is where I always seem to get lucky :) Not that I was thinking about that when I dragged him down Rivington after we had already had oh, 40 vodka tonics or so...at least, not consciously ;)

We'd been sitting at a table for a while, had a few drinks, when Sexy Pilot found his way to the little boys' room. I looked up for a split second and made eye contact with a dude across the bar who seemed to be making crazy eyes at me..although I couldn't tell for sure.

Until he waltzed up to me and plopped himself down right across the table where Sexy Pilot had been sitting.

Now, I'm not sure why these things always happen to me, but clearly I have a sign on my forehead that says "Crazy, and Weird Names, Please" because he started going in for the kill immediately and told me his name was "Omigod".

No, seriously.

"That cannot be your name," I snorted. He looked at me with the crazy eyes and said "Yea, it's Egyptian."

I'm pretty sure that it's not....

He then proceeded to tell me his life story...he worked on Wall Street...he quit Wall Street...he was working on the great American novel....he was a coke addict and was in the bar for one reason only, to get his fix.

All the while, I've got one eye in the direction of the bathroom. Where the fuck was Sexy Pilot? Why was he taking so long? Did he fall in the toilet? Did he run away with a dirty hipster?

As Omigod continued droning on..."I swear all I do all day is smoke pot and bump"...I think his parents named him Omigod because he never fucking stops talking and you're just like "OH MY GOD"...I excused myself to run to the bathroom, and I saw Sexy Pilot chatting with the bartender.

"WTF are you doing?" I hissed.

He thought that I was enjoying the conversation with crazy eyed cokehead, so he had gone to sit at the bar and give me some space...I looked at him in disgust and was about to ream him a new one...and then I took a good look at my new friend across the bar with the intervention in his future, and realized that the wildly unkempt hair and "starving" artist persona IS, indeed, completely my type. ARGH. Note to self: get new type.

With a wingman like that, who needs enemies???