Tall Tales

Last night was the strangest night out I've had in ages. Well, in weeks, anyway.

It all started with a Tall Club gathering.

Yes, there is a club for tall people, and they do everything from dinner to drinks to salsa dancing.

I'm not even tall enough to be in Tall Club (I fall a few inches short--ha ha--of the 5'10" minimum height requirement for women). However, Polly and Willow are both of height and were excited at the thought of meeting lots of tall people. And when I say "people" I mean "men."

Let's be honest here, I love me some tall man, too. I was hardly taking one for the team by going to a bar where the guys would be at least 6'2".

I made sure to wear footwear that raised me to around 5'11" and was ready to get my tall groove on.

"I'm guessing 'hows the weather up there?' would not be a good opener when approaching these people," I speculated out loud, as we entered the basement lounge chosen for the meet-up.

"I would say probably not," Willow replied.

We got settled in and ordered a pitcher of sangria, because it's much easier to socialize with tall strangers after a drink or two. Also, man, did we all need it after the tiring week we all had.

Eventually, the three of us started mingling. One of the first men we talked to (6'3"? 6'4"?) had been in the club for over a year.

"So what tall things have you done in the last year?" I asked. "Also, could you get that can of string beans from that top shelf for me? Thanks."

Okay, so I didn't say that last part.

Everyone we spoke to was friendly, though it seemed like most of the members were, on the whole, older than us, and we didn't have much in common with them. We did meet one woman, Theater Thelma, who was around our age and creatively-minded and generally very cool. We invited her to join us at the next bar.

The four of us took a taxi to Chelsea, to a small bar Willow and I frequent. We were in high spirits and even higher after round of tequila shots.

At one point, Willow got approached by a guy in an orange t-shirt. On the short side, but fairly cute. Looked Italian. We'll call him Charlie.

Willow and Charlie looked like they were in an intense little discussion, but then he went away. A little while later, I saw him chatting with a couple of girls further down the bar. I asked Willow what happened.

"He came on a little too strong. He was asking if I wanted to be with him.... Um, I think he wanted me to do cocaine with him."

She explained to me and Polly that Charlie asked if she wanted to "have a sniff" with him, and we affirmed that he did indeed mean what she thought he meant.

Charlie came back to our group a few minutes later. I turned around and exclaimed,

"Oh, you're the cokehead!"

His jaw dropped open.

I turned back to Polly and told her what I just said. We talked about how we probably would have taken Charlie up on his offer (si a todo, right?).

A few minutes later, I turned to Charlie again and said,

"I totally didn't mean any disrespect there. I've done my fair share of drugs, so the last thing I would do is judge you."

He asked if I wanted to do coke with him.

"Sure," I nodded.

He smiled and told me to wait ten seconds, then follow him to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, Charlie took off his t-shirt. He didn't kiss me or ask me to do anything other than to stroke his bare chest and back. That was it. I did a bump off the back of his hand and we went back to the bar.

[Let me pause the story here for a moment. Before I get emails advising me to seek help for my drug problem, I would just like to point out that prior to last night, apart from drinking, I hadn't done any drugs in years and years (and nothing heavier than pot since college). Also, this was also only the second time in my life trying cocaine and most likely my last. We cool? Good; let's continue.]

When I returned to my friends, Willow's eyes nearly popped out of her head when I told her where I had been. I was worried she would be upset with me. We've been out together a lot, but she hasn't seen my wilder streak as much as Polly has.

I didn't feel enormously different after doing the coke, just a bit more hyper, chatty, alert, and (as Polly later pointed out) paranoid.

Charlie and I snuck into the bathroom a couple of more times during the night to do more coke. It was like something out of a Jay McInerney novel. I was a bit concerned we'd get caught and kicked out of the bar (that would be more of the paranoia Polly mentioned), but other than a few irate patrons banging on the door, we had no trouble. Charlie also didn't try to make out with me, which I was happy about. He did try to get me to leave the bar with him and go somewhere else, but I said I was with my girls and would not abandon them under any circumstances (cocaine or no, I still had my wits about me).

When you are high in public, typically the questions that will orbit your mind are:

"Is it obvious I'm high?"

"Can anyone tell?"

And variations thereof.

I must have asked Polly that question a dozen times and she assured me I was fine. At least I wasn't as twitchy and distracted as Charlie was. I tried to act as "normal" as possible (whatever that means for me, since I hate that word). I swore to Theater Thelma that I don't normally do this kind of thing.

Charlie bought me a couple of drinks and got my friends a round of shots. He kept going outside to smoke and talk to other people, which was a relief because I wanted to spend more time with the girls.

The last time we went into the bathroom together, we finished off the bag of coke and he told me he was going to get another one. I had had enough at that point. Charlie tried to persuade me yet again to leave with him. No way was that going to happen.

Willow and I shared a taxi home and I launched into a ten minute monologue on how overrated cocaine was.

And it is. It was fun, but I could get just about the same effect from drinking lots and lots of coffee (and even then, I'd probably be less paranoid). I don't see what the big deal about it is or why people love it so much and get so hooked on it. Get a double latte or something and save your delicate little septum.

I'm not hungover today and I don't know if it's because of the coke or because I got lots of sleep.

I'm still very surprised at the turn of events last night. I realize I put myself in a situation which could have had negative consequences, but I don't regret it. I felt like life was offering me this mini-adventure and I accepted. Obviously I wouldn't make a habit of it.

Later on, to offset last night's debauchery, I'm going to spend the evening at a local coffee house with a stack of books.

Tonight, green tea is going to be my drug of choice.

[Edited to add: I would just like to point out that if you look at the first comment to this post, you will notice that Jesus has blessed this blog. In case you want to chastize me for my little narcotic episode, think about this: Jesus said it was okay.]