wine and cheap perfume

On Friday night I met up with Desi and a few of his ridiculous friends at Odessa. I just have to say: the bar at Odessa is the finest in this neighborhood. You'll find ornery Ukranian bartenders in pastel jumpsuits, fake-wood panelled (sp?) walls, and bad vodka. Granted, you have to wade through about ninety Williamsburg hipsters to get in (and not even seasoned ones; I don't mind the seasoned ones much because they've made peace with their lameness and don't try so hard anymore. It's the 'I just moved here from Milwalkee to work in a record-store' type that kills me), but once you're in, it's pure delight. Anyway, after making mindless conversation with his cronies about one-night stands (I've never had one. I know, I know.) and hearing them say things with mock-glee like, "It's awesome! As soon as you're finished they're out the door!" I was like, okay I have to get out of here. Why won't anyone admit to being lonely anymore? Or if they do, they're dressing it up in so much clever self-deprecation that it deflects from the issue and you end up laughing at them instead of taking them in your arms and whispering with utter sincerity, "It's okay. You are not alone."
It was then that Desi grabbed my arm and said, "Let's get out of here. Help me find someone to take home at Boysroom."
So we went to Boysroom, where the bouncer wouldn't let me in because I didn't have an I.D. (it was an 18-and over night, and he still wasn't having it) before I dropped a couple of names (like my boss's, because he owns the joint and doesn't hire people under 21) before he finally let me in and Desi and I were accosted by a homely prostitute in a doo-rag and tight corderoy pants. The only guy in the joint who Desi found attractive was getting a lapdance from this guy, and we started whispering and staring because we were drunk and forgot that that is a rude thing to do. He must have interpreted this as interest, and interest translates into potential new customers, so he comes slithering over to us and starts licking my face. Once he realized that I had no intention of giving him $20, he scurried away. We stayed until close, and I have to say, as much as I love Desi, he has no game. There was just one quasi-attractive guy left in the place at the end of the night and Desi kept saying, "What should I SAY to him? What do I SAY?" and I said, "Hi?" or "What's your name?" But Desi wasn't hearing it and instead opted to charge up to the guy and squeal, "Can I have some of your beer?!" Oh Desi. I love you.