Don't Leave Home Without [Her]

If you're a woman heading out on the town this weekend, no doubt you'll think to remember to bring along many essential items. In addition to throwing on that ideal outfit, the one that is as cute and sexy as it is comfortable, you may also think to stock your purse with a cell phone (think twice about those late-night drunk text messages, ladies), lip gloss, money and your keys. Those items are all well and good but you'd be remiss to forget the most essential one of them all: Your wingwoman.

I was reminded of the importance of the wingwoman several weekends ago while at the Capitol Lounge with a group of friends, among them a frighteningly clever fellow blogger. Now, you all know how often I frequent the Lounge and how I pretty much feel inclined to do whatever I please while I am there. Lord knows I have. But in the past year or so my confidence level in approaching strange young men has declined. I chalk this up to a new-found sense of protection of my personal space, most likely caused by being a bit too, um...trusting of strangers. Whereas I used to regard the gentleman at DC bars as brave new territory awaiting conquest, my experience doing so has clued me into the fact that there are a LOT of douche bags in this city. Cue the "duhs" right now, folks. I was young and naive. So many in fact, that my interactions with a handful of them was enough to quash my desire to meet their cronies. Anyhoo. No longer relying on the kindness of strangers, I eventually fell out of the habit of chatting them up when drunk.

But that weekend was different, probably because it was the first warm weekend of the year and everyone seemed to be supercharged with the motivation to get friendly. I was chatting with my clever blogger friend and a mutual friend when a gentleman of my exact and total type wandered by us on his way back to his friends. I didn't notice at the time because I was too busy talking to my friends, but apparently a rather obvious check-out happened on his part. My friends caught it and encouraged me to go talk to him.

Oh, before I go on, I will explain what my exact and total type is, as I don't think I've ever shared that with you all before and you might be curious. It is: tall (6 feet or taller), lanky, boyishly handsome, messy-haired, and indie-rock-ish in personal style.

Anyway. Cue protests and a modicum of meek, girlish giggling on my part.

Tee, hee, I can't do that. I don't pick up men at bars.

Well, I don't, but my friends apparently do. She walked right over to him and exclaimed "Dave? Is that you?" And used that line as an entrance into a conversation with him, eventually summoning me to come over. Her eyes told me to play along with the charade. I did.

"Doesn't he look exactly like Dave?"

"Oh, yeah, totally."

From there she gracefully slipped away, leaving me to work the Kate charm. Which I did for a while until I grew bored for some reason or another. I think it was because he was from out of town and I didn't feel like dealing with the logistical ramifications of that particular challenge. But my friend's little ploy totally worked and I totally could have gotten some if I had chosen.

You all are welcome to borrow that little trick. I'm sure my friend wouldn't mind.

So, to summarize: all you really need for a successful night out is a killer outfit, a fistful of cash, and a supremely clever female friend.


Off topic, but also of note. Sometimes my ipod behaves so beautifully when I put it on shuffle that I feel compelled to share with you all the total genius of the songs it selects. Here is a sample of what it selected for me to hear today:

Going Against Your Mind: Built to Spill
Boys in the Band: The Libertines
Come Back Margaret: Camera Obscura
Free: Kitty in the Tree
You Talk Way Too Much: The Strokes
I Need You: The Rationals
Washer: Slint
Drown: Son Volt
Talk Talk: Music Machine
Girl in the War: Josh Ritter
Call Me: Blondie
God Only Knows: The Beach Boys

Peace out, my loves. Happy weekend.