I Have an Inexplicable Craving for Bacardi™ Rum

I predicted that if I went to enough of these Young Professionals parties, there'd eventually be some payoff, and I was right. In fact, I'm more than a little surprised I'm meeting people after only four events. They threw a party at Glo tonight celebrating the opening of their new website, MySpace-lite, and I showed up for the free NJYP Lance Armstrong bracelet that doesn't support cancer research — first we'll improve my social life, then we'll cure the deadly disease — but I stayed for the five-dollar Bacardi™ mojitos.

Really, they made a huge fucking deal over these mojitos. The bartender dude told me this'll be the best mojito I've ever had, and I would've said, "Well, I've never had a mojito before, so you're probably right," but I was sober so I just smiled. Oooh, big mistake. A mojito, turns out, tastes like alcoholic toothpaste and, contrary to the nice, clear drink pictured on the Bacardi™ website, looks a bit like swill. It's all in the nuances of the word "muddle," which the official Bacardi™ photographers forgot to do. Anyway, for my five dollars, mint and booze don't mix unless I'm trying to fight the gum disease known as gingivitis.

I got the time wrong and arrived an hour early, so I'm walking up and down George Street killing time when Laura, the Young Professionals hostess, (I assume) recognized me and waved me in. Huh. Okay, so Laura knew my face, but of course she didn't know my name, and thus began a ridiculously comic sign-in process where I repeated my name about a hundred times and Laura responded with something-that-rhymes-with-my-name question-mark. We were back on familiar territory. I met this guy who just, coincidentally, happens to be in the computer field and this woman who I tried shouting to at the last event.

But what's really never happened before: I knew pharmaceutical companies sent out retail prostitutes to entice horny, old doctors into prescribing unnecessary or improper medication, but I didn't realize that Big Alcohol did the same sort of thing. So there's these two girls, the type that MTV in its crazy make-up phase would have you think are hot, mingling with the crowd. One's wearing a tight shirt and tight pants and the other's wearing the exact same tight shirt and a really, really short skirt. Like, the kind of short where you're like, "Why are you even bothering?"... and this is a little unusual because most of the Young Professionals are college graduates who'd only wear that kind of outfit if they were figure skating in the Olympics. What's really strange is that while I was off in the corner by myself, they start trying to have a conversation with me.

Okay, when you're me and one hot girl wants to talk to you, it's out of pity. When there's two girls, they probably want your credit card number, as if I'm not going to be a little suspicious if the conversation revolves entirely around, "Have you tried the new Bacardi™ mojito drink special yet?" Oh, I'm not falling for that one again, letting myself get all heartbroken when I discover that Amber and Krista are cheating on me with fifteen other cuba libre and rum punch drinkers. Imagine how shocked I was when Amber and Krista lost interest in me after I told them the mojito was — well, I didn't use the word "Listerine" — but not to my taste. "Wait, wait, wait, ladies! You're not gonna try to sell me a Bacardi™ daquiri or a Bacardi™ blue mountain? You just wanted me for my purchasing power, and possibly my huge cock!"

It wasn't a total loss. As a consolation prize, Krista gave me a Miami Vice sponsored by Bacardi™ Mojito keychain. That's a great marketing strategy right there — put the ad for alcohol right next to my car keys, as if that won't be Exhibit A in my DUI trial. (No, Exhibit A would be the elevated blood alcohol level. The keychain would be Exhibit C or D.) Remember, drink responsibly and see Michael Mann's pastel-free remake of an eighties guilty pleasure.