The Best Day with the Wurst Guys Ever

Just one more birthday-celebration-related post I promise. But really, we all know I suck at blog promises so we'll just have to see, now won't we?

To extend the festivities, The BFF and I decided to take a little wifey date for a boozey brunch thanks to a Gilt Groupe special. The restaurant - B.E.S. - was great and we had the best burgers of our lives. This should not be taken lightly. We are both burger snobs. Truffle oil, brioche buns, delicious aioli. Had they been able to incorporate a little goat cheese (everyone knows how amazing goat cheese is, right?!), I probably would have gotten down on one knee and proposed.

To the burger. Not to The BFF.

Anyway, from there we continued the fun at the Standard Beer Garden in MPD. Since I had never been before, The BFF gave me the play-by-play tour of the time she went and John Mayer hit on her friend.

Yeah she sat and had cocktails with him, and shockingly, he was as toolish as one might assume.

Being a dbag, I soon learned, is pretty status quo for the guys there, but when in Rome... Or in this case, a German-themed snob fest...one should embrace it.

As we navigated through the patio, we chatted with a few groups of guys, but we had our sights set on a trio who were just perfectly fratty enough to warrant our attention. We circled the Tommy Bahama-clad crew like sharks until we were finally armed with enough liquid courage to make a move.

It worked. Gold Star for Rachel. I mean, "So, uh, how are those mojitos?" is obviously the most clever line ever...

It took less than one minute of conversation to learn that the cutest of the group was also The Worst Person Ever. But in a funny way. Because FJO douchery is now just comical, not lust-worthy. Although technically he's no longer an FJO, because according to his friend, he "doesn't really have to work."

Ah, sigh, the life of a trust fund baby. My next life.

While there was definitely no soulmate action going on, the guys proved to be fairly entertaining. Up until the Best Thing Ever happened.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a former fling. By "fling" I mean he flung my heart against the wall, then picked it up and stepped on it. Rinse and repeat.

It was during my first year in the city - not the shining star of my dating past - and every time I've run into him since, I always think. "How could I have been so stupid!??!"

He spotted me while he was playing ping pong, sauntered over like the swaggering jackass he is, and asked me and The BFF if we wanted to play with him.

We obliged. I was on his team, playing against The BFF, his Least Biggest Fan Ever.

Now, The BFF is not one to hide her emotions. After an afternoon of day drinking and armed with a weapon, this is even less likely.

Not five minutes into the game did the manager have to come over and escort her out the door for being too aggressive. I mean, in her defense they shouldn't put the tables so close to innocent people's chairs! And, sorry, she used to play tennis!

Hilarious. When I recounted this story to Ashley later, she asked "So was she hitting him with her paddle or the ball?"

Thank goodness it didn't cross The BFF's mind to use the former. (I probably would have peed in my pants from laughing so hard.)

Since then he has called me three times. Dude, I can barely call my family on the phone. I responded - via text, obv - that I didn't feel like talking to him. Zing. And I then refused his offer to hang out.

Might have only taken two whole freaking years, but I've finally regained my self-respect and the upper hand in this situation.

[Did you know it's really hard to type while you're using one hand to pat yourself on the back?]

What a glorious end-of-summer smackdown. I could really go for another burger to celebrate.