13 dirty martinis and no olives
"And your name?" -- "Oh, Alex."
No. That is a complete and utter lie. If you ever see a dark haired girl, drinking dirty martinis, no chugging dirty martini's and chain smoking in heels that are way too high and way too expensive, be forewarned - her name is not Alex. No matter what she may tell you, no matter how convincingly she bats her eyes at you, she is not Alex.
Alex is a crazy alter ego of mine, that finds her way out of her shell after about... 5 to 6 drinks on average. You see, my name is not Alex. It's never been Alex. But yet, I tell this Alex lie so convincingly - and it could be anywhere and everywhere. A bar in Soho, a club opening in Chelsea, or even here in London at a punk rock concert on Monday night (needless to say I was completely overdressed, but the gold heels and white linen dress still looked so fab amongst the plethora of blue spiky hair and tatooes.)
I'm not sure why I do it. I'd really like to blame it on the alcohol consumption But there's been a number of times where I have been completely sober (that's another lie - just a little "buzzed") and this little lie has slipped. I'd like to say it's due to low self esteem. But again, another blatant lie. Sure, I have my moments of "I'm too fat, blah blah" but most of my friends would argue that appearing outwardly confident and oftentimes expressing this - is quite commonplace for me.
No, I think it comes out at times when I would like to keep a boy an anonymity in my mind. The scene always seems to be the same. Careless banter. What do you do "Oh, I work in PR." (Again a bit of a stretch as I simply intern in PR but of course "Alex" is a senior account manager.) Usually, without fail, I'll have a paid drink in my hand from the male of the moment (vodka martini three olives).
And usually, about 56% of the time (I have calculated), I end up going home with this boy. Perhaps it ends in just a quick "drink" and sloppy drunken kisses on his couch, but sometimes I slip up on my Catholic upbringing and do sleep with him. But Alex never gives out her number at the end. If they protest, it's usually some form of my number with a couple of the last digits inverted. Once an overly eager boy tried to play the game of "well let me call you, so the number's saved." My cell phone magically ran out of batteries that night. Alex has many more of these strict rules. No sleep overs (she works out in the mornings - never misses the gym). No remembering any intimate details about choice male. And most importantly no second dates.
Could it be these boys that force Alex to make an appearance? It's not quite clear. Most are quite nice gentleman (well not really, usually they're some form of my latest crush -- whether it be punk rock stare, sexy banker, or tortured artists) But the only logical thing I can come up with is that Alex is me in a grander scale. It's the "Ags" I would like to be in say, five, ten years. Shes not only stunningly dressed (since I usually already am), she's also successful, intelligent, and fabulous.
So perhaps, I am a bit self-conscious. Perhaps it's not in my aesthetic appearance and perhaps it's some inner bug I still harbor.
Nevertheless, it's a shame Alex disappears once my sober self returns. Some of the boys are quite delightful (if my drunken memory serves me correctly) and I'm sure they would have been fun for more than just one night.
Needless to say, I have told myself every night that tonight, Alex will not come out of the shadows. But, I can never tell exactly when she is lurking in the shadows. It's only when that one boy walks over to shake my hand, and stare in my green eyes that something clicks and POOF -- shes on stage for all to see.
Disclaimer: If you are a boy who has met Alex and been put through some of the tribulations mentioned above, I am deeply, deeply sorry. However, I am not liable for any emotional damage I may have caused, as frankly ... I don't care.
