As previously mentioned and further explained on this illustrious blog of mine, I entered the VIP zone at Dreamhack. Aside from business ventures, networking, and avoiding awkward conversation, we got a chance to turn up at an exclusive nerd filled soiree sponsored by Twitch. Now keep in mind, a lot of big names in streaming, e-sports, casting and commentating were scattered about at Dreamhack. Some of whom I’ve met, most of whom I just creeped on from afar because #1 voyeur. So my best friend fills me in on what the dealio is with this VIP party action. Open bar was not confirmed, but it was a fair assumption at the time. Anyway, that morning we try to hit up this brunch spot for some Man-Mosas. Essentially these were mimosas that contained a whole bottle a champagne with how ever much OJ it needs to not taste like ass. It sounded pretty godlike on many levels. My friend and his girl ended up inviting a mutual friend of theirs they met some months ago kayaking. Just keep him in mind. He’ll be important later on.
At this Man-Mosas Mecca there were literally 50 dogs with their equally annoying dog-owners. Allegedly this place was not supposed to be crowded at 10am according to Google and this other friend. We’ll call him Weenie McBitch for short. Bad intel all around, though the management was primarily to blame. These fuckwits used some hipstery-ass flag system to seat patrons. Full retard. That only works when there’s enough flags to go around, but considering that there were at least 100 people milling about the establishment, they ran out (BIG SURPRISE). The best part was getting wind of this dumbass system an hour into waiting for our table in a sea of hipsters and poorly trained pooches. My friend’s girl asks them how many more parties are in front of us. Six fucking parties, no biggy. I’ll just eat one of these mutts in the meantime. I mean I was half asleep so irritation didn’t really register yet, but my best friend was absolutely livid. And for good reason; it says a lot about a restaurant that can’t even accurately give a ballpark of a wait time that’s not “Well I dunno.” Even still, we stayed another 35 minutes because my friend’s girl really wanted to do this Man-Mosa shit. I mean I did too, but I let her be the scapegoat. We eventually came to the consensus that dying of hunger for a shitty novelty wasn’t worth it. WMB suggests a spot across the street that he frequents for brunch and we go. And to his credit, this place was dope Never had a sammie before but it was amazing. The mimosas were on point as well. Not to mention the ambiance. It was reminscent of a French outdoor cafe which is prolly what they were going for since the name of the place was in French. I could see myself there a couple times a week for sure. Also, I didn’t know how great this grainy vegetable dish was that tasted exactly like grits. Straight up magic. I can’t for the life of me remember the proper name, but I definitely sniped some bites from my friend’s plate. Oh and while we were waiting for our food, the Man-Mosa shitbags texted my friend saying our table was ready. Yeah right.
After brunch we go back to Dreamhack land where the finals are all taking place as it was the last day of the convention. Of course I had to catch my Street Fighter V matches, which were hype as a mug. But I’m gonna fast forward to post-Brailizan BBQ which never disappoints on the food front. Their staff was challenged though, my word. These clowns fucked up splitting the check and getting my friend her tea for a sore throat she acquired. Why it was sore I didn’t bother to inquire about (L E W D). Outside of that madness, we were all fat cats ready for a fat nap. Some of us more than others as evidenced when my friend’s girl knocks out 45 minutes before this VIP party thing. Similar to last year when I showed up at about midnight to Dreamhack. Her crashing wouldn’t have been so much an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that WMB was supposed to be joining us. I didn’t want ol boy’s number and neither did my friend so we told his girl to relay the deets to McBitch. I’m dozing off in a chair while some random Fast and the Furious marathon plays in the background. We realize we should prolly head out before too long. I debate just going back for a shower then fanciest nap I’ll take this year, but decide against it. I wouldn’t wake up. Plus we needed those wristbands for entry. Super Cougar went through the trouble of hooking it up, so we had to do right by her.
We trek over to this bar that had a rooftop lounge area upstairs. It was pretty baller. Super Cougar meets us at the entrance for our wristbands. I was having some difficulty, hoping ol girl would bring that fine mature-ass my way to help a brotha out. Of course I get the Bond villain looking-ass dude who was her colleague to help me. Awkward. Everyone that was anyone from the Dreamhack events was there. Some dressed to the nines, others looking like they legit had been wearing the same clothes since Friday. Nerds and partying is always a weird medley. As I’m scoping the clientele, my friend is getting annoying that WMB has yet to show up. He eventually strolls in and I initially thought he never changed his clothes. Apparently he did. My man needed some male fashion advice something serious. He was wearing some played-out tan button up, jeans were flooding a bit, but at least his shoes were decent. But you know, he works for Dell so he’s big ballin’. Who the fuck am I?
We go on and get waved through a long-ass line to the first floor of the club and it’s pretty crowded around the bar, obviously. The first order of business was to confirm open bar. My friend goes up and orders a Red Bull vodka right before the bartender loses her patience with me for not knowing what I wanted. I settle on a whiskey sour and she flashes a bottle of Jacky D asking if it was acceptable. Hell, there’s a 95% chance this is free so I gave her the thumbs up. The moment of truth comes along andddd boom, no payment. Open bar in full effect boys. A perfect explanation for why my drink was more sour than whiskey. Albeit it still tasted great. We end up camping the chips and guac table hidden in some random corner. It was as though the hosts didn’t want anyone to find it; pretty sad looking bowl. And there were tongs in the chip bowl for being sanitary I suppose. Of all the serving utensils (scoops anyone?), y’all picked tongs? Really?
Now we’re about to get into why WMB was relevant. But not before we climbed the Stairway to Heaven, holy shit. I felt like I was gonna go turn up with God or something. Legit ten flights of stairs to the roof of this establishment. Surprised more people didn’t jump off the building to get home. We reach the top of Mount Turnt-lympus and it’s pretty hype. DJ is blasting some random drum and bass, nerds as far as the eye can see moving and grooving. The energy was great. Only problem was the lack of space as people had already posted up on the perimeters spaces that had couches and lounge chairs. I decide to exercise my VIP status and get a cranberry vodka, the only drink I could think of on the spot. One of my ex’s lived and died by that drink so I had a good reason I suppose. Not to mention that there was this guy next to me who probably didn’t believe in hygiene. So at the risk of passing out from Filthy McNasty, I had to be brief. And like my whiskey sour, it was more cranberry than vodka. Free liquor goes fast apparently.
In my quest to find my best friend and WMB, I run into one of the Dreamhack peeps I had been meaning to chat up because I heard he was looking for some help. Help that might include a salary and an impetus to move. So I finesse the conversation a bit and he’s interested, but I could tell he’d rather shoot the shit than talk business. Fair enough. My friend and WMB find me and Dreamhack dude. My friend starts hamming me up which was greatly appreciated. So we’re all in a semi-circle just bullshitting when one of the girls from a prior network meeting and Q&A session inserts herself into our bubble next to me. It was pretty clear she was tipsy, but she was pretty tall. All legs. Anybody 5’7″ and shorter would have to climb up to get it in. And it was pretty clear she looking to go home with somebody. Introductions ensue and then she pauses at WMB. She says “So I’m only gonna remember you WMB because you have the name of my ex. What a crazy occurrence!” If that’s not an invitation to speak to a woman I don’t know what is. And guess what this this fucking guy does? Silent as a god damn gargoyle. I’m screaming internally at this point. Just watching this train wreck of an exchange. Mainly because she’s rubbing up on my shoulder, snaking her hands across my jacket etc; she was not my cup of tea. And partially because WMB did not pursue the world’s most obvious invitation.
So this woman, we’ll call her Lanky Liz, asks me what my name is. I tell her and then she says “So what’s you’re real name though?” And I’m slightly taken aback. I’m thinking “Bitch, what are you on about?” I couldn’t tell if that was a shitty pickup line or if she was more inebriated than I initially believed. Probably both. Anyway, we chat for a bit then she walks off, not before taking a glance at WMB. She goes to mingle with some people on a couch not far away from our group. My friend and I look at each other then look at WMB. We both couldn’t believe our eyes. And WMB is standing there, dumb as a sack of gummy worms. After we explain to this clown what just happened he gets excited then starts saying she totally not interested. We hype him up and convince him that she wouldn’t have gone through that much exposition just for nothing. She was interested in something, what that was is beyond me, but he should take it and work with it. So he does the “She loves, she loves me not” dance for about three minutes before going over to where she was sitting.
There are so many people that my friend and I can’t really see if he’s following through or not. We assume that he is. Then this fucking guy comes up behind us like “Yeah she talking to her friends, she’s not interested.” Are you serious right now? God. There’s a seat open next to her that he could easily sit in. He bitches out and makes more excuses. As he’s being the biggest weenie every conceived, Fuckboy #214 sits in the spot. And guess what? He starts talking to Liz. WMB’s window was closing faster and faster. So after another pep talk he goes over…only to make another fucking lap. He says “Yeah man she’s talking to that guy, that’s her boyfriend. Look they’re sitting super close and touching hands.” Never have I felt such frustration in a party scenario. Even after getting called a nigger once (that guy lost both his canines, don’t worry). I say “Dude, that guy literally just showed up and started talking to her. With no invitation. You had the Golden Ticket and you threw it away.”
So as we’re scolding this guy and trying to make him understand it’s not about her and it’s more about him getting out there for his confidence’s sake, Liz disappears with Fuckboy #214. We deduce that she went downstairs back to Hell. Halfway down the stairs there was a small lounge with a hidden bowling alley (why did I bother going to the roof?). It overlooked the bottom dance floor and through my stellar recon skills, I spotted her with Fuckboy #214, but she was clearly stalling. But of course WMD is sitting here trying to justify why he would fail, why he shouldn’t bother, how she’s gonna fuck this guy blah blah. So while he’s lamenting, I’m watching Liz do a grand tour trying to delay leaving as much as possible. WMD eventually puts his foot down and demands we stop pressuring him to talk to Liz. We’re like fine, if you don’t want to do it that’s your prerogative. He was under the impression that we wanted to see him fail. If I wanted to see desperation and gold digging I would have stayed upstairs, let’s be real here.
My friend and I go back up to the roof to say bye to Super Cougar and to thank her for everything that weekend. She truly did hook it up with her fine ass. She was looking pretty fire as well. Age is but a number for sure. We head out to the street and we’re still telling WMD he’s a clown for not just going for it. After the tenth beating into his skull, I guess he found his balls and decided to go back in to find Liz. But in my heart of hearts I knew she was long gone, but for this nerd’s confidence I hope she didn’t go yet. And like a the sweet sorrow of a thousand denied virgins on prom night, she was gone. Not surprising really.
My friend and I explain what the true lesson of the night was and what we were trying to do. There was so much potential that night for him. They both lived in Austin; who knows what would have happened. She came with a purpose and she chose him initially, but he didn’t take the world’s most obvious hint. And all throughout this exchange he was whining “Oh my god, he’s gonna fuck her dude. She’s totally going home with him.” Yes Weenie McBitch, she is. Because you were too chicken-shit to follow her to the couch area and ask three questions then let her talk all night. Then if she ended up at your place, you could have been the real VIP. The biggest frustration is seeing old me in WMB. I used to be scared of rejection and was the #1 subscriber of self-defeatism. So seeing that in action was mildly infuriating. I mean I could have scooped her up, but I had to check-out at 11am the next morning. Plus WMB needed the boost more than me. And I don’t be slangin dick to any woman with a vagina. Something, something standards.
Ugh, I’m getting pissed off just thinking about it. That was some sad shit. After my friend parted ways back to his hotel after verbally thrashing WMB, it was just me and WMB. I’m the good cop so he was a bit more open and receptive to criticism from me. We shot the shit and had a mini heart-to-heart. We shared pleasantries then parted ways. I checked my jacket pocket on a whim while walking and I found Liz’s number. When did she put it there? And why didn’t I notice it? Then I recalled her invading my personal space and her arms hovering over my pockets while asking me what my real name was. Hmm. Third weak-ass drink must have been the charm.