Standard operating procedure
Thursday night the crew rendezvoused at The Standard Bar and Grill. There were fashion colleagues to the right of our table, some entertainment folks in from the West coast to our far far right, some guy who claimed to have started and sold Skinny Cow to Nestle to the left (and if you’re reading this Skinny Cow man, thanks for the three rounds of drinks and if you’re interested in a tax deductible contribution to the out-of-work fashion editor fund please contact me at dabagirls.com), and faux rapper guys in between lobbing fries at our table. Before the night turned into a veritable 6th grade cafeteria our conversation focused on a new plight affecting serial dating DABAs everywhere.
DABA Girl #1: “Am I the only one who’s having a significantly harder time maintaining my five boyfriend minimum now that there are half as many banks? I found out the other day that two of my guys with preferred FBF status are now working at the same bank slash hedge fund slash investment firm.”
DABA Girl #2: “Ugh, I know! When Bear Stearns was bought out by Barclays I had to hand out more pink slips than Bear Stearns.”
DABA Girl #3: “This is just a hypothetical, I mean, I’m just putting this out there, but have you ever considered not dating soooo many people at once? I mean, this could be contributing to your trust issues.”
DABA Girl #1: “Did you just call me a slut?”
DABA Girl #2: “She def just called you a slutski.”
DABA Girl #1: “I don’t know what you’re laughing at ho-bag she was talking about you too.”
DABA Girl #3: “No- well maybe- but all I’m saying is that you gotta keep your s**t tight.”
DABA Girl #1: “OMG, did you just call me fat??”
DABA Girl #2: “She did, you really should try this coffee, lemon juice, Claritin diet I’ve been on.”
DABA Girl #3: “Jesus, no! What I’m saying is that when there is an economic downturn such as the one that we’re currently experiencing, maybe it would be best to similarly downsize some of your investments.”
DABA Girl #1: “See I think we’re coming from different schools of thought on this one, I was trying to diversify. And I don’t have trust issues, I have trust fund issues, as in, I don’t have one.”
DABA Girl #2: “How long have you been waiting to use that pun?”
DABA Girl #1: “I’m sorry, are you heckling my conversation? I will straight-”
DABA Girl #2: “Ignore me, I’m in a sex coma, I’m so mellowed out that I’ve lost the ability to care about other females. Don’t worry I should regain feeling in a day or two.”
DABA Girl #3: “Ladies, let me tell you a little ditty about a DABA Girl, that DABA Girl being me, whose luck recently ran out… It all began one dark and stormy night in San Francisco. I was there recovering from a broken heart when-“
DABA Girl #2: “Correction, it’s more like your heart was broken, then got run-over by a semi while a troop of stiletto wearing plus size models pranced down it like it was a catwalk.”
DABA Girl #3: “Eff off sexpot. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was meeting a blind date. Not just any blind date. A blind date set up by a famous Bay Area matchmaker. There’s a year waiting list to see her. You have to fill out a twelve-page application, swear on the bible that you’re ready for a serious committed monogamous relationship and not dating anyone else, and if she successfully sets you up with your future husband you’ll hand over your first born baby. Now, I of course agreed to all this because I’m twenty-seven and my pre-injectible years are quickly coming to a close.”
DABA Girl #2: “Correction, your pre-injectible years ended two years ago.”
DABA Girl #3: “Lies.”
DABA Girl #2: “Bulls**t, let us all see you try to raise your eyebrows.”
DABA Girl #3: “I have migraines, it’s for a medical condition, and friendship over.
As we all know, old habits die hard. At dinner my blind date started to talk about all the business that he does in New York. Suddenly I put two and two together. I was pretty sure my NYC FBF also worked in the M & A section of the same bank of my blind date.
At this point the waiter asked if anything was wrong with my untouched baby duck breast and fois gras appetitizer. I still rue the moment that I let him take it away.
My throat closed and my cheeks turned a deep, typically tequila shot induced shade of rouge. I had to ask him. I chugged my light on the juice, well-shaken cosmo and outright inquired as to if he knew my other FBF. And by outright I mean I identified my NYC FBF as my best friend’s ex-boyfriend (fyi DABITs, typically a fool proof alibi). Without hesitation he responded “Oh yeah! I love that dude, we talk like five times a day. He’s killing it right now in our fantasy football league.”
I feigned swine flu and left before dessert. Needless-to-say the matchmaker has banned me from future matches until I can get my philandering ways under control. The whole incident was très unfortunate.”
DABA Girl #1: “Très”
DABA Girl #2: “I hope you didn’t tell your blind date that you write a blog.”
DABA Girl #3: “What, do you think I’m smoking the true crack rock?”
DABA Girl #2: “You never know with you.”
DABA Girl #1: “You’re banned from coming to dinner post coitis.”
DABA Girl #2: “Fair enough.”
DABA Girl #1: “Am I the only one who thinks like blogging is sooooo first quarter 2009?”
