This story happens to be an impromptu little freebie that was handed over to me by some dbag dating gods, who my must have felt my dry spell writer’s block and decided to supply me with some much-needed material.
You see, this past weekend, I attended a wedding in Boca Raton, Florida, a locale beloved by wealthy elderly Jews that I visited many years ago with my first boyfriend Jason, a nice beefy guy with a distinct Long Island accent. I never really considered returning there until the beautiful ornate invitation appeared in my mailbox, inviting me to join the happy couple at their impending nuptials. The bride, a fellow expatriate who had found love in none other than Sweden, informed me in advance that there would be exactly one single guy in attendance. Coincidentally, he happened to be her ex-boyfriend, so I decided to cross him off in advance and resigned myself to an evening of drunk celibate fun with friends. Little did I know exactly how friendly the night would be.
I was seated at what was presumably meant to be the singles table, but was actually comprised of three Swedish couples and three single people, myself included. The other two singles were the infamous ex-boyfriend – a cute Jewish guy with a biblical name à la Noah – and a lovely girl in a gold dress that immediately evoked the vision of an Oscar statue. The two of knew each other from college, which left me solo as all the couples headed to the dance floor to continue the bride and groom’s first dance.. I was about to head to the next table to chat up another dateless girl (misery loves company), when Golden Girl saw me and grabbed my hand, pulling me on the dance floor along with her and Noah, enveloping us in a 3-way slow dance like nothing that I had experienced before. She was so open and liberated and hot in a way that a frigid Russians like myself will never be, that I started developing a girl crush on her… It turns out that I wasn’t the only one. The elderly couple dancing next to us was so smitten with our little tripod that they moved closer to us to strike up a conversation.
Older lady to Noah: Now, look at that – you are one lucky fellow!
Noah: Don’t I know it!
Older lady: Do you have room for more?
(Wait, what?)
Golden Girl: It depends – do you like younger women?
Older lady: It depends – do you like older women?
(Golden Girl wraps arm around older lady’s shoulder. I almost choke.)
Guys, I was not in Kansas anymore.
Realizing that the evening would require far more alcohol that I had anticipated, I headed to the bar to load up on tequila and recount my brush-with-orgy to my friends. The boys, a cute gay couple successfully enduring a long-distance Paris-LA relationship, suddenly got very excited. It turned out that they had met Noah and had a sneaking suspicion that he was played more for their team than for mine, and they needed me to scope out the situation. Investigative journalism at its finest.
I returned to the “singles” table and turned the charm up a notch, pretending to be highly interested in whatever Noah was saying… It must have worked, because suddenly Noah did something that I assume is his signature move: he swooped up his chair, slid it directly next to mine, brasserie style, and intertwined his leg with mine. Smooth. At this point, his blatant arrogance was so comical and so obvious that I did not hesitate for a second before informing him that I write a blog called Dbag Dating.
Immediately, his eyes lit up: “In that case, I am your perfect case”, he informed me. This was a new – never had a man been exited at the idea of being featured on this blog.. I felt like a journalist who was being given a story – all I had to do was sit back and watch!
The band began playing “Last Dance”, which is technically not a slow dance but was perceived as such by most of the guests. Noah invited me to the dance floor and we started jamming out next to the other couples, including my gay couple friends.. Suddenly, Noah got really excited and decided to join them, placing us smack in the middle of their duo. He seemed particularly interested in grinding up against one of the boys, a lithe Frenchman we like to call Bambi for his exceptional eyelashes. Bambi’s boyfriend and I stared at each other, bewildered. Not only had my partner just abandoned me to dance with a gay couple, but I had somehow ended up in the mix. Brush with orgy #2!
After our collective romantic moment, the four of us headed to the bar. I was feeling all drunk and flexible and started randomly doing push-ups agains the bar. Impressed, Noah challenged me to a competition, and we headed to the garden to bench press against an actual bench. (I never claimed to be normal either.) Ten push-ups into it, I started losing my breath, which is when Noah decided to go all romantic comedy on me by swooping me up and trying to kiss me.. Except that I didn’t really want to be kissed, so I just giggled and plopped down on the bench. Noah sat down next to me and slid his leg through mine, at which point I suddenly noticed that the sole of his shoe was red. Trying not to crack up I inquired if they were Christian Louboutin. The response that followed was rather brilliant. Starting deep into my eyes, he whispered in a husky, sexy voice: “They’re douchebag shoes. You have to be a true douchebag to get them. In fact, you need to have a DBA.”
A DBA. The man was a genius. Like the CFDA, but for douchebags!
It started lightly drizzling, and so my DBA genius and I headed towards the entrance, where we bumped into our favorite gay couple. The boys were all cute and drunk and touchy-feely, and Bambi gave me a kiss on the check while gossiping to me in French.. The vision of this must have really excited Noah, because he suddenly leaned in from behind and began nuzzling my neck and whispering into my ear, asking me if I liked two guys kissing me at the same time.
And, brush-with-orgy #3.
All I remember from that moment is staring into Bambi’s boyfriend’s eyes and trying to think of an escape plan. I think I pretended to be really concerned about a Jewish grandmother seeing us and ushered everybody back inside, where I sat down with the Swedes and started nervously shoving wedding cake in my mouth. Noah, clearly oblivious to my rising panic, sat down next to me and, slipping his leg in between mine (this was starting to feel comfortable at this point), informed that he was planning a very wild Jacuzzi afterparty that I absolutely could not miss out on, at least in the name of blog research.
I considered staying, but I (rightfully) felt like I knew exactly what was going happen. The truth is, as much as Noah tried, he was no douchebag. Because real douchebags don’t try so hard, even at being douchebags – it just comes naturally to them. What comes naturally to Noah is a very diverse sexual attraction, which I will leave him to discover well into his 30s.
As for me, I skipped the Jacuzzi party, ordered myself an Uber, and headed home to my early morning tennis lesson and massive hangover.
Perfectly suitable images by Vincent Peters via Fashion Gone Rogue.
For more wedding disasters, click here.
This one time, at Barnes and Noble…