The Audacity

Another thing I love about my BF (we'll call her Beantown) is that she brings out my audacious side - the part of me that could take over the universe if the rest of me weren't such a big, fat, chicken sh*t.

In celebration of her birthday, we went out for a night on the town. Having recently discussed why we should get over our neuroses and appreciate our youth and beauty before gravity forces our boobs into our shoes, Beantown and I decided to get all dolled up and rock the city like "30" was seven years away.

And we did.

In fact, I actually glided up to the bouncer of a club that had a line around the corner, batted my eyelashes, stuck out my boobs (which I never, EVER do) and convinced him that letting me and 20 of my best friends (read: people I met in the back of the line) into his bar would be the best decision he ever made.

Feeling a little bit high from all the audacity, I decided to let my inner kissing slut come out of retirement for a special appearance. One of Beantown's friends, we'll call him Elvis (it was the hair), was out for the big celebration. Two years too young, a smoker, partier and without a doubt, a male slut, Elvis isn't really my type. But alas, he is adorable, charming and I saw no reason to avoid shamelessly flirt with him for the majority of the evening.

So, in Boston, 3,000 miles away from my life, I grabbed Elvis's hand, led him around the corner and kissed him like I was a soap opera actress one kiss away from landing the lead role in a romantic comedy opposite Hugh Grant. The best part? After begging in vain for my phone number and a chance to see me before I left for LA, I was walking with Beantown toward a cab, and Elvis ran out of the bar and called after me at the top of his lungs, "Stteeeeellllllllllaaaaaaaaa!" How do you refuse a guy who quotes Tennesse Williams? Bascially, you don't. So, I walked back to him and gave him one more kiss - much to the delight of the bar hoppers waiting in line.

I swear I couldn't make up this crap if I tried.