(btw: The video is Sir Mix-A-Lot’s lesser known “Put Them on the Glass”.  It’s the censored version.  I’ve seen the uncensored and it makes me laugh.  Boobies make me laugh.)

“You need a new booty call,” my friend Drea* (*not her real name) proclaims.  We are sitting at Baby BLues BBQ in the Mission District of San Francisco.  Drea is laughing merrily.  Really, ‘merrily’.  She has this perfect laugh.  She IS perfect.  She is the kind of girl that makes me feel like a Neanderthal.  Next to this asian version of Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, she makes me realize my knuckles are dragging.  Drea took ballet for most of her life, so she walks with that airy gait that coupled with the right pair of heels and a whiff of wafting parfum, sends men crying to their knees.

I’m drinking bad wine when hormonal resolve kicks in. “Okay,” I say with a new found determination.  Drea and her friend, Maia*, look startled.  I lay out my conditions: 1) he has to be ready to go tonight. 2) he has to be willing to wear a condom 3) STD-free and at least within my range of what I would date if I wanted to date but I don’t want a date I want a one-night stand 4) I plan to leave pretty early cuz I’ve got work in the morning.

The girls nod.  Out come the iphones.  Scroll scroll scroll. “Oh, he’s… no, he’ll talk too much.” “Oh how about… no, he’s an accountant.”-”I can do accountant,” -”No, he’s SENSITIVE.” -”Oh.  No accountant then.”  ”How about Johnson?” Drea shows me a picture.  ”Um, Johnson doesn’t look like he’s got much of a Johnson…” Scroll scroll scroll.

Maia sighs and puts down her phone.  ”I’m sorry.  But everyone I know works in finance.  They’re all a bit more uptight than you (“I can do uptight!  Who needs it more than the uptight?!” but she ignores me) and truthfully, I would hate to have to see at work.  It feels dirty.”

Drea is still looking.  Her eyes brighten. “Hey Maia, how about Jack?” Maia turns pale. “But, I work with Jack!” she wails.  Drea shows me ‘Jack’ on her phone.  Not bad.  He’s a male “butter face“.  Whatever.  ”Let’s call him,” I agree.

Maia is now visibly agitated. “No!  He’s… nice.  He’s more boyfriend material, he’ll want to talk or get to know you or something, he’s a good cook you might have to eat his food, he actually is higher up on the corporate ladder, what if I have to work on a project wit him???…..”

Jack’s voicemail answers.

“Don’t tell him you got his number from me.”

“Hi Jack, Maia told me to give you a call,” I purr (or attempt to purr, I really should have had Drea do this call), “Want to be a lucky f*cker tonight?  Call me.  My number is…”

Short and sweet and to the point.  Should I have spent some time groaning on the phone? Maybe.  But I did invoke Maia’s name and now she’s embarrassedly hiding in the bathroom.

I lay the phone on the table.  ”If he calls within 2 hours, he’s seriously a ‘lucky f*cker’ tonight.”

Drea giggles merrily.  We wait.

And he never calls back.

I’m done.  I’m taking a break from the world.  I’m going to spend more time with my cat and crochet more dresses for my Toilet-Roll-Dispenser-Doll.”