Helen’s version of Gigi and Helen’s Night Out.
(To be read after reading “The Adventures of a Thoroughly Confused Gigi – Part XX)

With tears streaming down my face, I opened the door to greet a smiling, sparkling Gigi. Gigi’s smile immediately falls into a sympathetic frown, as I continued crying and told her, “It has been yet another time of Gideon going with his father and not wanting to. It begins on Wednesdays when it is his weekend to have him. Gideon begins saying, ‘No James, mama. I want to stay with you.’ Heart wrenchingly, I dig down deep and remind him of how much fun his visit will be and that he will also get to see his grandma and grandpa. This week was especially hard as my son reached his chubby little hand out and begged me with tears in his eyes to not let him go. I cried hysterically as my ex drove away in yet another car.”

“Come on honey, get ready to go out and dance,“ she said as she wiped my tears from my cheeks and led me away from the door. “I don’t care what you say, we are going out for a night on the town and have a blast. We are going to find men and we are going to torture the hell out of them!”

“Alright. Let me just plug in my rollers. (Yes, I still use hot rollers. Not only are they rollers, but they are circa 1970 and can burn the hell out of your scalp if you are not careful. Ahhh…I am blessed to be a beautician’s daughter). I plugged in my rollers that night feeling more like getting on my fuzzy blue slippers and giant blue matching robe than going out.

“I need something to help me get motivated.” I said quietly to myself, as Gigi re-applied her lipstick. A sudden epiphany of inspiration and hope led me to the “naughty cupboard” that I have high above my refrigerator. Pathetically, it is only stocked with a small bottle of Kahlua. However, I took it down and did two shots back-to-back of the milky, sweet drink, and smiled as the liquor burned all the way down. I did a “chaser” of milk afterward just for good measure. Wait, aren’t those two supposed to go together? Isn’t the drink called kahlua and cream? I am not quite sure, as I have never been a big drinker. In college, I was always the designated driver and picked up loads of people from the bar at 2 a.m. “Oh, never mind.” I thought as I heard the ting of my rollers that told me they were ready to be set in my hair. I ran into my room, as my spirits began to lift, and I began to get more excited with each passing minute and the prospect of having a little adult fun. I ran over to my computer, put on some dancing music and began the “dance” that I so love of getting ready to go out. As I sat and put the rollers in my hair, Gigi and I began to excitedly chatter about where we were going to go.

“Okay, let’s go to the salsa club”, Gigi began.

However, as soon as she said this, flashbacks to her stories of the latino men who would dance with women and be all over them throughout the night, despite being married with children didn’t sound like my idea of a great night out. Besides, after the one time of us going to the salsa club, I found that my swing dancing feet were having a bit of trouble translating in to salsa feet. Not to mention, the D.J. at the salsa club was practically human saran wrap the night that we went, trying to shove his tongue down my throat and explore every curve of my body, despite the fact that he had a pregnant girlfriend waiting at home for him. I needed a change.

We finally decided upon going to a very upscale, classy bar where young professionals hung out. Finally ready, with our hair curled and make-up perfect, we walked out the door. The night air was a perfect mixture of summer and fall, with the tiniest breeze that blew our sundresses in the wind, while we walked out to the car that night in our high heels. Excitement and curiosity hung in the air, as we animatedly talked and drove to the club.

As we walked into the club, I pushed away the insecurities that everyone has when they walk into a new place, wondering if my dress covering all of me? It was pretty low-cut; was one of my bodacious, (but not as bodacious as Gigi’s), tata‘s hanging out? Was my lipstick on straight? What if I fell while walking in these ridiculous heels? Did I look like a fool because I was wearing a dress and not jeans like all of the other young women? “Oh, screw it,” I said, as I smoothed my dress down over my hips, fluffed my hair in the reflection of the window and plastered a little smile on my face as we walked into the bar.

As soon as we stepped over the threshold of the door, it seemed as if every person in the bar turned to look at us as we strode in with all the confidence in the world, despite our insecurities hiding beneath the surface. “Gigi, is it just me, or is everyone looking at us?” I muttered out of the side of my mouth, as Gigi thankfully took my hand and led me over to the bar to get a drink. There were so many gorgeous looking men here that I needed a drink just to handle this reality. “What do I do if one of them actually wants to talk to me?” I thought. “Do I talk about surface things like what I do for a profession? Do I ask them what they do? Do I talk about politics, sports, or Star Wars?!” A tiny shiver of panic ran through me as my mind flashed back to what I had read on my msn.com webpage that day. Okay, politics, check. Sports, check. Star Wars… no check. Damn, I still hadn’t found out what George Lucas really did. Damn, damn, damn! The hottest man in the bar will probably sidle up to me tonight and ask me which was my favorite episode tonight and I will be unprepared! “UGHHHH!” I thought exasperatedly.

So much time I had to prepare and so little actually done. “Well, that’s alright,” I reminded myself stubbornly, and stood up straight. “I am the new Helen. I can actually tell the truth, and tell them that I could care less about any of that nonsense. The Ewoks were still the highlight of the movie for me. Perhaps they will find my ignorance and sheer honesty endearing and adorable.” Perhaps not, but remember, the whole point to finding someone to spend time with is finding commonalities between each other that really exist. After all, I wouldn’t want some guy researching one of my interests just to woo his way into my heart. No wait, actually, that seems pretty sweet, come to think of it. However, much like men say push-up bras and water bras are false advertisements, faking interest in the subject, although very sweet, is still faking it. And no one likes a person who says, “Oh, and by the way, I have been faking it the whole time!” Right, gentlemen? (I say this with a wink, wink of my big, blue eyes. If you don’t get this bit, perhaps you have been one of the victims of such circumstances).

Anyway, I pushed my insecurities aside as Gigi and I too quickly drained our glasses. Before I knew it, we were moving onto our next beer and the men in the bar began to look even more attractive to me. At this point in the evening, we had yet to be approached. So, we decided to have a bite to eat to with what we predicted would be massive amounts of alcohol.

We hadn’t been sitting down for five minutes when a tall, Caucasian man who was as bald as a pool cue sank into the booth right next to Gigi. He began intensely staring at her breasts as though they were the one thing in life that could save him from death. He began persistently talking about how everyone at the bar was lame. He hated people and he hated being there. He even, much to the dismay of Gigi and I began to exclaim how a man had asked him out. A man! By this point, he was nearly shouting as Gigi and I tried to pathetically stifle the giggles that were about to erupt from our perfectly painted mouths.

We couldn’t help but let him drone on and look at each other with amusement and dismay. “F*&% this bar!” he continued to shout. “A man!” He continued. “ Can you believe a man asked me out?!” Actually the only thing that was ringing through my head as he continued to say this was, “Yes, actually, I thought you were gay when you sidled up next to Gigi. I was astonished that you actually were interested in breasts at all. Perhaps you would use less profanity and be a lot more happy if you actually admitted to yourself that you are gay?” I thought. He even talked in a tone that sounded very effeminate and dressed extremely well for a straight man. Nevertheless, Gigi’s sweater kittens were still the object of his desire as he went on for about an hour (no kidding!) and even had the audacity to eat from our appetizer plate without asking! I couldn’t believe it, as this man went against every societal rule that my parents had ever taught me.

After about forty-five minutes, Gigi escaped to the bathroom and left me with baby New Year. He then, amazingly changed his tone and tried to switch to softer, more subtle topics of conversation, as though I hadn’t been present during his recent, vulgar rant. “So, how old are you?” he asked, but never let me actually answer. “Oh, it’s not important. The important thing is that you are hot. You actually have very nice breasts, too. Smaller, but still very plump, perky, and nice. Maybe I should have gone after you”. He added quickly and threw in a charming little head tilt as he looked me up and down.

The only thing that I could mutter was a quiet giggle, as I re-situated my dress and imagined myself kicking him in the face with my black high heeled sandal and prayed that Gigi would return soon. Why I didn’t tell him off and tell him where he could shove his Kenneth Cole shoes, I do not know. Even though I claim to be “The New Helen”, I am aware that these transitions take time. Now that the moment is over, I can think of plenty of clever and mean things that I could have said to this very sorry excuse for a man.

Thankfully, moments later, Gigi returned and we quickly paid the bill and began to leave to head to the dance floor. We were grateful that Mr. Cue-ball left just seconds after Gigi’s return and we didn’t have to deal with him any longer. As we were getting up to leave, however, Gigi pointed out the two men who were sitting next to us. One of them Caucasian and the other African-American, but both of them were gorgeous. They had witnessed the whole scene of our unwanted guest and within minutes, we were all four sitting and laughing like hyenas at the whole thing.

Before we knew it, we were all passing our driver’s licenses around the table to see one another’s ages and names. This is probably not the safest way to get to know a complete stranger because your state ID has your address on it (and you should be aware that I tend to pick up the complete stalker types). However, with Gigi by my side, I felt protected and that it was okay. Through our little introductory game, we found out that their names were Joe and Demian. I can’t quite remember the transition from us being in our seats to us getting on the dance floor, as I had uncharacteristically drank quite a bit by this time. Thinking back, it actually seems like a foggy memory like I was time warped into the scene like the guy on Quantum Leap. (See our index if you are unaware of the show).

Dancing and shaking and moving and grooving were the four of us, like we owned the dance floor. Shot after shot was thrown back into our laughing mouths as we danced, swayed and sang the songs that the d.j. played. The only predicament Gigi and I had that night (besides what was yet to come for me) was that we couldn’t decided who liked whom. I would be dancing with Demian (the African-American guy) and would go to the bathroom to come back to Gigi dancing all over him. Because I was “well-oiled” at this point and because Joe was pretty fine also, I would just give a little shrug and dance my way over to him. The night of musical men continued this way for what seemed like hours.

Finally, after six shots, two beers (plus the two shots I did at home), the world was a fuzzy, hot and crowded place. I ended up sort of staggering my way outside to find myself sitting on a metal gate, talking to a creepy guy in a cape. A cape. I kid you not. Gigi still claims that she didn’t see this man, but for some reason, we were talking about very philosophical things like politics, and why in the hell people had to go out and get drunk every night. All I could think as I talked to this man was, “Why in the hell is this dude wearing a cape?” I tried to also stifle my laughter as I went on to think, “Does he know that I am completely obliterated, while he is putting down all of these people who are staggering out of the bar?”

I must have sat and talked to the man in the cape for a while because Gigi eventually came hurriedly out of the bar calling my name. I laughed because despite her looks of concern, she still had one arm around Demian and the other arm around Joe. “Hmmm”, I thought. Perhaps I will get written out of the story all together tonight and Gigi will take them both home?”

I joined the crew and we began happily walking (or staggering) to God knows where. I still have no idea where in the hell we wandered around to for three hours. Gigi and Demian disappeared, while I walked around with Joe. Now, brace yourselves for the best part of the story. Joe and I were walking along, talking about everything under the sun. I would reply back, talking (or so I thought) in my conservative, reserved fashion. I was brought up to be very respectful towards everyone (say excuse me, please, thank you, etc.) So, the first time this happened, both Joe and I were surprised at the outcome.

“Oh, Helen. I don’t know. I do have a girlfriend, but I am just not happy with her, you know?” Joe said as he tipped his head toward me.

“Ummmmm… Joe? I am not feeling quite so well.” I said as I let out a little gasp of air, trying to settle my stomach. “Umm, I said, trying to jump back into the conversation. “I think, seriously, if you are not happy, you should just tell her. Why don’t people just tell the truth? Honestly, would it be so bad to let the other person know where they stand in a relation…” but I trailed off as I violently yelled, “Excuse me a moment!” and pushed away from Joe, who was trying desperately to put his arms around me as I spoke and pull me in for a kiss.

As I was running, I was looking somewhere, anywhere for a trash can. I did NOT want to be the girl in the street who was seen throwing up. “Oh God”, I yelled out loud, “If you just let me find a trash can to throw up in, I swear I will go to church every Sunday from now on!” It was as if the heavens opened up at that moment and God’s voice came down and said, “Well, alright then, Helen!” The dark green trash can on the corner of the next street up shone in the light of a tall street lamp like it was made out of twenty-four karat gold and was beaming as I ran to it.

I ran up to the trashcan like a track star trying to qualify for the Olympics, not caring that it was on the corner of a very popular, little diner that was jam packed full of people who were looking out the windows at a leggy blonde about to spew her dinner. I didn’t care. As I puked, I thanked God in between blows. After about five minutes, I thought I was done, when all of a sudden, I felt two strong arms pull me around (despite me not being sure as to whether or not I was done puking) and saw Joe, looking at me adoringly.

Before I could react, he pulled me in for a kiss. I was repulsed. The only thing I could think was, “Doesn’t this man just realize that I practically puked everything in my system out just now?”

I must have looked repulsed because Joe loosened his grip a bit on me, but then again said, “Oh Helen, you’re shhhooooo beautiful”. (and yes, he said it in this way. He grew up with a hearing problem so he didn’t form his words correctly. This and liquor do not make for a very great combination). As he went in for another kiss, I felt that familiar feeling of my stomach muscles contracting, preparing me for another round of wretching. Thankfully, I shoved him away in time enough to wheel back around and throw up in the trash can like someone who has just come down with food poisoning after Thanksgiving dinner.

“OOOOH, buddy! You just made it there!” A drunk guy yelled as he sidled out of the corner café next to where I was puking. Evidently, he had a front row seat to a very funny show that night and didn’t even have to pay admission to see it. “You’d better let her get that out of her system before you try to get any action!” called a friend of the first moron that walked out of the café as they high-fived each other and walked across the street to hail a cab.

“Hallowed be thy name…” I prayed as I held on tightly to the sides of the trash can, praying for my stomach muscles to stop contracting. Finally, when I was finished thanking Jesus, Joseph, Mary and whatever other holy figure I could, my stomach felt better and I straightened myself up a bit, grabbed gum out of my purse and Joe and I continued talking and walking as if nothing had ever happened. How hilarious. Oh, the angels in heaven were probably laughing their heads off that night.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, I suspected that Gigi was “getting her groove on”. Gigi tends to be a bit more wild than me; however, we have come to the conclusion that we are great for each other. We are very much like the characters from the Odd Couple. In fact, I call her Oscar (played by Walter Mathau) and she calls me Felix (played by Jack Lemmon.) Gigi, like the character Oscar, is pretty wild, the life of the party, loves to make messes, and a hit with men. I, like the character Felix is the one that can have fun, but is usually responsibly watching over everyone to make sure they are safe and okay, cleaning up (I am very much a neat freak), and has terrible luck with men. Overall, Gigi helps me to let go and loosen up once in a while, and I help her tighten the reins on her craziness.

While Joe and I walked, he would stop every block or so and try to pull me in against a building for a kiss. Any bystanders would have compared the scene of poor Joe trying to “work his magic” to that of a Karate sparring scene, where he is not fighting, but just keeping Mr. Miagi away. (Oh, and just for the record, I actually DID like Karate Kid and know the characters). Anyway, he would pull me in for a kiss, I would back away. He would put his arms around me, I would break free. There was one point in the whole ordeal where I actually began thinking about the locations of his pressure points behind his earlobes and how easily accessible they would be if I needed to take drastic measures. Anyway, it never came to that and eventually, we found Gigi and Demian. Gigi and Demian were plastered up against a building and I didn’t even bother to use my manners when interrupting poor Gigi. I told her how I had tossed my proverbial cookies and I was ready to go.

Funny thing is, at this point, the next thing I remember was sleeping. As I woke up, I saw Gigi and Demian sitting across from me in a booth at what looked like a damned Coney Island of some sort. They were quietly giggling and Gigi asked me if I was alright. As I turned my head, I saw Joe grinning like an idiot and had his hand on my leg and my head was on his shoulder. “Helen, are you doing okay?” was all I remember him asking.

“Move!” I practically yelled.

“What? Where do you want me to go?” he asked. You see, Joe was the type I am assuming, to do anything for a woman. He, I am sure, is the type to fall in love with someone before even knowing their middle name. So, when he asked me what he could do to help again, I shoved his body out of the booth, as I pushed past him and broke into a full sprint to the nastiest, dirtiest, aquamarine colored bathroom I have ever seen. Not caring about the mess that it was because I was in dire circumstances, I flung open the stall door and immediately began my prayers to God again. “How in the world could I still have enough in my system to throw up again?” I wondered as I almost screamed.

All of the sudden, as I looked up from taking a breath in between blows, I saw two black shoes inching their way underneath the stall door. “I don’t believe this!” I thought as I screamed at the person, “Excuse me! Someone is in here!”

“Itsh okay, Helen. Itsh just me, Joe.” I heard as he pulled his body underneath the door. “I came to make sure you were alright”. He finished as he pulled me yet again to him and began trying to make out with me.

“Look, Joe. I don’t know if you realize, but I just hurled something fierce. I can’t even believe you are trying to kiss me right now. Please go,” I shot back, not even caring about his wounded expression that replaced his smile.

Thankfully, Joe ended up walking out after that and I honestly couldn’t tell you anymore details of the night. Oh wait, no, I do remember coming home and still doing my nightly routine of flossing, brushing my teeth, washing my face and then even applying a mud mask. When I was done, I wished Gigi a good night and flipped over to the opposite side of the bed and turned off the lamp. That night, I slept like I hadn’t in years.

“Gigi! Gigi! Turn your stupid phone down! Gigi! Where is that bright light coming from and please make my head stop pounding! Wait a minute, Gigi, why are you sleeping next to me?” I whined as I woke up. For some reason it felt as if my mouth was the Mohave desert and I hadn’t drank water in days.

“Oh, Helen. You are so funny.”

“Oh please, Gigi…stop yelling. Please, whisper. I can’t take it.” I whispered, as the veins in my brain contracted like a blinking red light.

Gigi and I decided to get up, I in my Ralph Lauren pajamas and Gigi in her t-shirt, and staggered out to the kitchen. As we padded our way across the floor, she to the coffee pot and I to shut the damned blinds because they were letting in so much sunlight, I looked up to meet the eyes of a very happy maintenance man. Gigi and I both yelped in surprise and I quickly shut the blinds and we began laughing. Well, I began laughing but then quickly gripped my head as a fresh waves of pain rushed through it.

“Ugh, I have to get my sunglasses. Even though there is only a tiny bit of light coming in, I can’t take it!” I complained.

“Oh honey, this is going to make for a very good story! I think we should get writing now!” Gigi said enthusiastically.

“Uh-uh. I need coffee or something in my system after last night. Just relax, Gigi. We have all weekend to write.” I said as I slipped my glasses on for almost the entirety of the day, even when we walked into stores.

This is where I have found Gigi and I are different. She is almost crazed to get this entire book finished in under six months, while I am okay with being a bit more relaxed in the time frame because we have full time careers and are both single mothers. I do think it is great, however, that she continues to pedal on with this. The sooner we can become rich and famous, the better! Right now, I am just enjoying the taste of my sweet freedom from men and how they can tie you down. Before Gigi, I never took a break in between relationships, at least not that often. I was a serial monogamist and hated not dating someone. Now, however, Gigi has helped me see a whole new world and how fun it can really be. As a result, she has helped me find someone that I thought was lost a very long time ago and not ever able to come back…me.

I thought of this comparison the other night as I was tossing and turning. One of my most treasured movies is the movie Hook. I recently watched it again and cried like a baby through a film that was intended to make children laugh. The whole premise of the film is reminding people that their inner child is never truly lost. It is always hidden inside of you, even if you do a great job at trying to hide it. There is a particular scene, though that reminded me of Gigi and I: Robin Williams returns to Never Land (a place where kids never grow up) and the Lost Boys (his old group of followers that he had) were trying to determine whether or not it was really him.

The last they had seen him, he was a vivacious teenager, slim and full of life. Standing before them, however, was a middle-aged man with a slight beer belly and glasses. One of the Lost Boys walks up to him after they decide it isn’t really Peter Pan and begins pulling his face in different directions while staring at this eyes. All of the sudden, he says with a huge smile on his face, “There you are, Peter! I knew you were in there somewhere!” I felt after the time she met me at my door to find me in tears, was the time that she took me and said, “There you are, Helen! I knew you were still in there somewhere!” Much like the Lost Boys, it only takes one person to believe in you and help you find your sense of self again, even if it has been lost for many years. For that, I am truly grateful to Gigi. Also, you should be grateful to her, too. Because, without Gigi, we wouldn’t have our great stories of togetherness and fun and craziness to tell! So here’s to you, Gigi, cheers!

To read Gigi’s version of this night, see The Adventures of a Thoroughly Confused Gigi – Part XX