The Hot Mess
I’m not the kind of person that gets noticed in a bar or club. Nobody locks eyes with me from across the room and lets me buy them a drink. I’m not a particularly good dancer (in fact, I’m so awful that I avoid dancing completely), so nobody notices me on the dance floor and tries to edge their way over to me and grind up on my leg (which might actually be a pro rather than a con).
The other night my friend Jen asked me to be her faux-date to a co-worker’s birthday. “Just one drink,” she promised me, “then we’ll go. I’ll even drive.”
She picked me up a quarter past 11pm and I felt under-dressed. She’s the kind of girl that never leaves the house without makeup and always stands out in a room. And I’m, well, me.
When we got there I gave the birthday girl a kiss on the cheek to be polite and bought her a drink. She stuck around long enough to say thank you, but quickly left us to make her rounds at all the tables of people she knew.
From across the room, I noticed a girl sipping on a drink and whispering with her flamboyantly gay friend. She was clearly drunk and one of those girls who like to be noticed when intoxicated because of the way she laughed without any embarrassment of being too loud.
Girls like her always kill me. I can spot a hot mess a mile away.
Jen and I made small talk while I kept my eye on the Hot Mess. She tossed her long dark hair and pulled down her very short black dress before standing up. She wasn’t conventionally pretty in any way, but what she lacked in looks she made up in confidence and scandalous clothing.
“Are you guys having a good time?” the birthday girl asked, finally finishing her rounds at our table. She was blocking my view of the Hot Mess.
“Yeah, thanks for inviting us,” Jen answered for both of us. “Are you drunk yet?”
“Surprisingly not. All this being a good host crap sobers you up pretty fucking fast. I haven’t really had a chance to sit down yet.”
I nearly choked on my drink when I saw the Hot Mess walking towards me. I could feel everyone looking at her as she approached us. Girls like her don’t talk to or acknowledge socially awkward people like me, but maybe tonight…
She threw her arm around the birthday girl and gave her a squeeze, confirming that hot messes like herself pay no attention to mild mannered people like me.
“Hey, we’re gonna get going,” she said to the birthday girl. I sighed with defeat, but when I looked up she was looking right at me. “Hi,” she smiled.
I stirred my watery 7-up and smiled back awkwardly. “Hi.”
“I’m so glad you came,” the birthday girl told her, giving her a big hug. “Call me later, okay?”
“Oookay,” she slurred. She tapped the table right in front of my glass to get my attention. “Bye, youuu.”
“See ya.” I tried to sound casual and cool, but it didn’t matter because the words didn’t come out until she practically out the door.
Jen finished her drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. “We should probably get going too. Let’s go.”
On our way to the car, I saw the Hot Mess wandering around the parking lot with her friend chasing behind her clutching onto her heels. “You need to put your shoes back on!” he ordered, but she was too busy weaving between the row of cars to listen. She stopped next to the car parked on the right of us.
“This person has a Tori Amos CD in their car!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down.
“Who is Tori Amos??” her friend yelled back.
Jen unlocked her car and opened the back door to change shoes. “So drunk,” she said under her breath with a laugh.
“How do you NOT know who Tori Amos is?!” the Hot Mess screamed. “She is A-maaaaazing!” She whipped around and nearly banged into me. “Sorry.”
“I like Tori Amos,” I offered. “If that helps.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. “At least there’s ONE cool person here!”
We stood there for a minute in silence just looking at each other. “I really like her song ‘A Sorta Fairytale.’”
“That’s my favorite song!” she answered.
Jen honked the horn, she was already sitting in the car and had it running. I sighed. “Sorry, I gotta go.”
The Hot Mess frowned. The first frown of the evening. “Awww don’t leave! This conversation was just getting good!”
“Sorry–my friend is going to kick my ass soon. I gotta get going, it’s getting late.”
“Maybe you can call me some time and we talk more about music?” she smiled.
I was shocked. Alcohol clearly gave her beer goggles and made me appear much more attractive and interesting than I really am. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”
“Wait,” she paused. “I’m so drunk–I don’t even know my own phone number!”
I reached into my wallet and pulled out my business card. “That’s okay. Maybe you can call me instead. Just don’t lose it. I don’t want a homeless person to find it and start calling me for a late night booty call.”
She laughed and then grinned in the way that suggests something big is about to happen. “Okay, I won’t lose it. See ya.” She skipped away–still drunk–and disappeared with her friend in the row of cars in front of us.
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