Wednesday, February 23, 2005

"I'm only here to pick up chicks..."

Vanessa here...

So, my friend Griz and I went to this event last night thrown by this local media group at a cool bar on Washington Street called Felt. It's a pretty spiffy place, I must say. The event was for people in the public relations industry, so since I'm a marketing guru, I went for the free eats and socilization. Griz, who's a web designer, came along for the ride.

We get there at 6:00 p.m., like the invite says, and we're the first people there. No one to welcome us at the door or tell us we're in the right place or anything. So, we go to the bar and get a glass of wine. ($7! Do they think this is Manhattan?) Twenty minutes later, we're still sitting there when I look around the room and realize it's pretty much all women! There are like three guys there and I can sum them up: The Fat One, The Bald One and The Wee One.

At 7:00 p.m. when there's still no finger food out, Griz and I decide to shoot a game of pool (which was a spectacle to behold, considering neither one of us is very good.) I actually won off banking the eight ball off the right side to spin it into the corner left pocket. See, I knew watching those ESPN pool contest specials at two in the morning would pay off one day!

Annnnnnnyway. Around quarter of eight, they start bring out food and the natives rush to the table. I come away with one chicken finger, a mini egg roll and a corner piece of cooked dough that was part of a small pizza. Griz and I are standing there shoveling in the food (because we're stahhhhvin' at this point!) and The Wee One comes up and starts talking to us. You know the, job title, company. I think it's so pathetic that in this society we're identified by what we do and who we work for. The Wee One writes freelance news articles for magazines we've never heard of, but he seems proud enough, so we go along with it. Then his cell phone rings and he turns his back to answer it. Here's what I hear...

"Hey man...nothing...this PR event...I'm only here to pick up chicks..."

What? Eww...go away!

Chicks? What is this guy? Fifteen years old? It certainly looks it from the acne on his cheeks. Grow up, buddy! So much for this being a professional event.

As someone who helps with events in the office, I'm of course judging how this whole event panned out. If I'd been in charge, someone would have greeted you at the door and the food would have been served at 6:15! Maybe I should freelance my event services in the future? So, I tell Griz I've had enough and I cram the remaining egg roll into my mouth as I head towards the coat rack.

That's when I ran into him.

Ponytail Cutie!!!!!!!!

He was at the event. Well, he was getting his coat to leave because he obviously thought the party was as lame as I did. He smiled when he saw me and asked if I was stalking him. Yeah...right! I laughed nervously and tried to play it cool. You know...hey, it's big deal. (God, I'm really bad at this.) He was really nice, though. Turns out, his name is Phillip Coulter. Get it...Ponytail Cutie's initials are PC after all. How weird is that? He works as the PR Director for this software company around the corner from my office. I tried to be professional, yet flirty and he ended up asking for my card. Then, get this. When I handed it to him, he said, "does that have your home number on it?" I was like, "No, but I can write it on there." So, I did!

I don't have a date with him officially, but he has my digits and in approximately three days (oooo...just in time for the weekend!), he might call me. In the meantime, I'll just stalk...errr...look for him on the train in the morning.

Vanessa Virtue's cold, dark, snowy February is looking up.

Don't forget Project Runway's two-hour season finale tonight!!!!! If Wendy Pepper wins, there will be hell to pay...

Double Vee


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