This is my response to a woman I’ve met only once regarding a very old friend’s birthday celebration and her gracious invitation:

Where does he live? Does he have a nice TV?

Ice maker?

Smoking area?

What’s the menu?

I can’t do oysters, asparagus, things like that.

I like to be catered to. I like to feel welcome.

You should probably have a small gift for me.

I wouldn’t spend more than seventy five to a hundred dollars. Just something thoughtful and classy that let’s me know how happy everyone is that I’m there.

I also like toys and props and games. I need things to pretend to be occupied with when I discover that everyone is boring.

I only drink the best hooch. I love Bombay Saphire, but if you have a premium vodka, I can probably do that.

If you see me grinning like a dumbass jack-o-lantern, know that I’ve smoked too much pot and I’m not following the conversation I’m having with the person in front of me.

At this point, you should approach me slowly, put your hand on my arm, pretend to talk to me and lead me to a dark corner where it’s unlikely I’ll compromise myself further.

If I came with a woman and seemed to like her, try to find her for me. If I was avoiding her, tell her I left.

At the end of the evening, I’ll thank you each profusely, irritatingly and ad nauseam. I’ll break something on the way out and borrow twenty five bucks for a cab before I get in my car and endanger the thousands I’ll encounter while driving home.

You might think about calling me around one the next day to pick me up for a champagne brunch. Just the three of us. I’ll get the tip.

By the way, I really like a mildly spicy gin mary with celery, capers, green and black olives and cherry tomatoes along with a cold Pellegrino and lemon. It goes very well with shrimp and champagne.

Sorry, DVR locked up so you got the full eye.

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