Yacht Girl - Part 2

If you haven't yet, Read Yacht Girl Part 1 Here.

Also, If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.

  We eventually arrive at a club. Ya, right on the water. I've driven up to a club in an Aston Martin - but seriously - this is the way to arrive anywhere.

So up to the club we scurry.  I head towards the bad-ass line up near the front when one of the yacht dudes stops me by saying, "This way, we're going in the back door....they don't like us up there..." I'm immediately like "ahhh, I'm with theeeese guys"....and realize that we'll probably just roll up to the back, the dude with a giant yacht will grease the door guy, aaaand we're in. Nope. Turns out the bouncers at the back door weren't too fond of them either, and as I stand there trying not to pay attention to them negotiating with the doormen, I score some serious awesomepoints.

I hadn't been to this town much, but know a few people from here, and as I stood there deciding whether to call a cab or not, I look onto the patio of the club and see a face staring at me with bewilderment. I quickly realize that its a waitress at the bar, and that I had met her and her friends in Mexico on vacation - she was bff's with some of my bff's. She recognized me and freaked out. I do the obligatory long lost friend hug and "OMG OMG OMG!'s" and turn to my new found yacht-posse with the, "Hey, can me and my friends come in?"

Score one for cockblocking out of town tag-along guy.

Now immediately upon getting in something becomes blatantly apparent. I don't know a goddamn soul in here. And one of my most hated things in the world is being surrounded by people and not being able to interact with them. Yacht girl is running into friends, yacht dudes are making their way to wherever,  I immediately find myself alone in a club of drunken revelers all waaay too far into their respective nights to just strike up a convo with. So I come to point #2 in the evening when I begin to think I should cut my losses, be happy with how I got here and bail. Then its awesomepoints score #2. I go to the bar, buy the boat owner a beer, thank him for the ride, turn around and run into an old co-worker from my bartending days, a guy who is at least as boisterous as I am, and due to the random nature of my arrival, he loses his freaking mind...just as yacht girl walk out of the restroom.

So to recap, random out of town bar dude gets everybody into the club and then is greeted like I'm he's back from spending a month trapped in a mine. Whaaat!?

This is literally the opposite of blurting out something inappropriate when out for dinner with people you just met.

Like making a bald joke when there's a bald guy you don't know at the table.

And hey, we can always use a little help in the impression Olympics right? I'd love to be so overwhelmingly awesome that any interaction with me made me look infallible, but I'm not.

SO here I am, I got yacht girl back, with more old friends, at a club. Not to shabby. Next up, lights come on and I'm back on the boat nuzzled up with yacht girl rocketing through the blackness at a million miles an hour. Happy as a clam.

Where to now? Not a clue. I was just enjoying the company of a sassy lady using me as a heating blanket when suddenly the engines cut and we're gliding along into the darkness. I don't see anything but city lights in the distance out the back of the boat. Then I feel a bump. I look over the side of the boat to notice we are docking, beside a shiny cigarette boat and a half a dozen Jet Ski's all hoisted out of the water on this super pier.

House party.

This house was bonkers. Like, Harley's in the foyer bonkers. It was night, but it was castle huge. Once again though, it was to a point of awkwardness as I sat in an enormous kitchen as everybody who was at least vaguely familiar with each other pranced about.  Still, I had such a great effing day/night I didn't really care what happened. It was the closest that had ever been to zen I think. I don't do yoga, and at times can be the poster child for attention deficit disorder...but I felt really balanced, calm and...oh ya...drunk.

At this point, very large and at times scowl-y owner of the house looked at me from across the kitchen, stared at me for aboutfive solid seconds and said:"Wanna see my Man-Garage?"

Me: "Fuck Yeah."

Sooo, what's in a "man-garage" you ask?

A Ferrari elevator. Oh, and a Bellini machine. And a giant BBQ made out of a car engine. And a bunch more Harley's. And me.

For the rest of the evening I ended up crushing an entire Bellini machine of Grey Goose and Veuve Bellini's and talkin' shop with the fellas, who I managed to eventually beat into submission with my awesome. Me and yacht girl got along quite swimmingly, and I managed to partake in one of the best make-out nights I'd had in a long time.

My last memory of the night is my fondest: as the sun rose, me and the two ladies left casa de Ferrari and jumped into a cab back to my hotel, Yacht Girl and I embraced for a final goodnight neck before I departed, as she leaned back onto the cab and I kissed the hell out of her face, my eyes were drawn through the back window of the taxi where her friend sat, giving me the double thumbs up through the back window.

Awesomepoints moment number three.

Yacht Girl DID come back to the hotel to visit the next day for a few drinks. I introduced her to all my friends...who weren't sure she even existed...and I'll tell ya...she was freaking gorgeous. Like. Whoa.

But alas, I'm way more funny and better looking the drunker you are, so after a sober meet up, well, our magical spark fizzled away eventually and the mystery of the Yacht Girl remained the lore of that wedding weekend.

To this day it still feels like I got to make out with a unicorn.

Holy Crap....theres a Part Three...check it out here...