Hallelujah!

Disclaimer: I wanted to draw lots of pictures for this post but my burnt hand looks like this:

Today's going to be all about great story telling so take two of me and love me in the morning.

-------

When I was 23, my best friend Olivia still hadn't betrayed me in exquisite fashion and high-tailed her ass to Manhattan to become a flight attendant while leaving me in a heap of sweltering Miami heat and cheap men. People often think that because I have such an active social calendar I'm some sort of party animal but I'm here to put an end to that slander and explain that I'm not.

When it comes to luring me out into the dark side, my friends are very persuasive and I'm very weak, so long live peer pressure and let's get this party started. In the dynamic duo that is Annahlivia (that's our couple name), it is she who's got the itchy feet and always a good reason to go out and look for trouble (excuses be damned).

 

 

 

 

 

It was because of her -and only her- I'd drag my ass off the couch during college. I would've gladly stayed home in my cotton underwear watching Sex & The City re-runs while drinking Miller Lite but nooooo, Olive Oil (the nickname she loves to hate) had to be out living life!

This particular night was a Saturday, and even though Miami has more nightclubs than women with real breasts, our favorite party joint was a hole-in-the-wall named Bougainvillea's.

Bougie's -as the regulars fondly called it- had a live band which played reggae and R&B tunes on Saturday nights . Said band was made up of young, college guys, and attracted the same sort of crowds every week, us included. With broke college kids, come cheap, potent drinks.

Ever since frequenting said establishment and becoming somewhat of a groupie of Scorching Tamale (fictitious but eerily close name), I developed a huge crush on the bass player, Danny. With his boyish good looks and a sweet personality to boot, he had me at "Mic check, one two, one two."

Each Saturday night, as Scorching Tamale played their sets, Olivia and I would dance and drink near the stage, as I'd try my best to make eye contact with Danny and make him see that:

Mostly, Danny would play his sets while I bore my eyes into his soul sending subliminal messages of love and lust and everything in between. Sometimes he'd glance at me and smile, which would undoubtedly send me into a tizzy that usually ended with me drinking my beer in a bathroom stall while hiding there until Olive Oil came to my rescue.

That particular Saturday, I was five drinks in with no dinner when the universe aligned and shone Danny's eyes on me. I tried my best seductive smile as I attempted to look nonchalant:

But I really felt like this:

When the band finished their set, Olive Oil and I were chatting on the patio when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Olive Oil gave me a strange eye twitch and when I turned to see Danny facing me, my knees weakened and the ability to speak English eluded me.

Danny: Hi.

Me: Hrmph?

Danny: I'm Danny. I play in the band.

Me: Hot Tamale. I love Hot Tamale.

Danny:Who?

Me: I mean, I'm Annah (extends hand for awkward handshake).

Danny: So... Want a drink?

Me: That would be best.

With Olive Oil's blessing and a shot for courage, Danny and I retreated to the dance floor. After an hour or so of screaming over the music and dancing, I was sober enough to recognize just how drunk I truly was; whether it was from the alcohol or the smell of him, one will never truly know. Suddenly, Olive Oil approached us and expressed her intentions of calling it a night. At this point I didn't know my rights from my lefts but Danny said he'd take care of me and drive me home. My best friend initially hesitated but later told me I seemed sober and eager to stay, so she conceded.

After Olivia went home, Danny and I stayed for another half hour before heading back to his place to watch a movie. I didn't think I could muster the energy for it, but when we arrived to his apartment at three in the morning, we watched the entire movie from opening to closing credits, popcorn and soda included. By five, Danny led me to his bedroom and I plopped down on his bed like it'd been mine all along. Two minutes later I was snoring loudly and drooling on his pillows, dreaming of an alternate universe in which I was wiser and mature enough not to drink so much, having the sense to seduce the shyness off Danny and propel him directly into where I wanted him.

The next morning, he woke me up and said he had to "go to work." I was lucid enough by that point to realize it was the end of something that didn't even begin, when he interrupted my thoughts.

Danny: So... You snore super loud.

Me: I know. (no longer caring to be alluring/sexy/deceitful)

Danny: It's cute.

Me: You can seriously cut the crap now.

Danny: It *is* cute.

Me: If you say so...

Danny: Want to go to work with me?

Me: Right now?

Danny: Yeah. I only have to be there for an hour. I'm playing a set and then we can spend the day together.

Thinking his set was probably at some beach bar and feeling relieved he didn't want to kick me to the curb after the previous night's multiple failures, I happily agreed. After brushing my teeth with my finger and making love to some Listerine, we were on our merry way. In retrospect, I should've known something was up when the conversation turned to religion on the way to his job. He seemed relieved when I told him I was Catholic, which seemed completely out of place to me, as he didn't strike me as the religious type whatsoever. He grabbed my hand and I sat back while we drove in silence toward our destination.

The Church of Jesus Christ.

By the time I realized what was happening it was too late to protest and risk looking like Satan, so I got off the car and swallowed my immediate desire to run away. Instantly, I was rushed inside with hundreds of other people as Danny went to join the other members of the band onstage.

Everyone seemed nice enough to me, except they were wearing their Sunday best as I sported my Saturday worst.

They rocked intricate hats and nicely pressed suits.

I rocked the stench of cigarettes, laced with the faint scent of Coco Chanel.

They seemed very well-rested.

I was completely hungover.

They were all African-American.

I was fit to play an extra in a vampire movie.

They looked confused by my presence.

Well at least we shared one sentiment.

As the service began and the preacher spoke against the evils of this world, I sat in my low cut shirt with vodka oozing from my pores and smiled like my life depended on it. Danny watched me with a look of amusement from the stage and I plotted his slow and painful death under the vigilant eye of a huge cross holding Jesus.

That morning, I prayed while holding the hands of strangers who couldn't get enough of the words Hallelujah and Amen to that! The grandma to my left and seven-foot-teenager to my right seemed more terrified of me than of the devil himself, but I was just relieved to have five crumpled dollar bills in my pocket for when the basket made its way to me.

After the service, we spent the day listening to Caribbean music while sipping frozen drinks at a place of worship much more to my liking: The Bar of Booze & Beer.

Amen to that.