I've shaken the rust off. I'm back.

Two nights ago, I went to a fashion show afterparty. A few friends invited me out, and I wanted to support my other friends who launched a line for Summer 2012.

I get to a swanky hotel party room, and I instantly see the main friend I know (a photographer). We refuse to talk shop, which is a fucking miracle at this kind of event. We grab some beers and talk about my upcoming trip to Vegas, food, girls... NOTHING about industry bullshit.

Somewhere through all this, he introduces me to a friend of his, an exotic looking tall brunette. I'm not really in game mode, but I can't help myself: as I'm telling stories I pause to ask for her opinion, and clown her responses. She seems a little bored or distracted, so I try not to push too hard.

I also run into another journalist "frenemy" who only talks about himself and his career. I've learned not to play that game. I don't need to impress anyone.

That's a winning attitude. Right after this, my night hit a turning point.

I saw the guys who launched the line and offered my congratulations. I was moving from person to person, eventually talking to complete strangers. Mixed groups. Not caring if I made a new best friend, or had a 30 second conversation. I'm just a social guy with no agenda.

I'm building momentum. Now people are opening me. Random guys and girls are walking up to me to talk about my Lakers Mitchell and Ness hat. Just beyond every conversation, I see another group of girls staring at me.

After one conversation tails off, I see a tall euro-looking chick standing next to me looking a little lost. I lean over my shoulder and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

Me: "This is a pretty good party. I'm really diggin the music."
Euro: "Yeah! I wish more people were dancing."
Me: "Me too. But you know how industry parties go."
Euro: "Yeah... a lot of old guys in blazers."
Me: "Oh come on... That guy looks like he has moves." (points towards short fat balding guy)
Euro: (laughs)
Me: "Seriously though. These parties, there's a type of person who tries so hard to impress, they don't actually end up having any fun."

I just start talking about how at these types of events, people seem too obsessed with their career. The irony is that it stops them from really having the courage to do what they really want to do. It's kind of a philosophical tip, but it works because I show passion for life, and I seem like a master of this social scene. I try not to get too heavy, and lighten it up.

Me: "You seem cool though. Not like these other people. We should totally show em how it's done."
Her: "What do you mean?"
Me: "I mean let's get some DRINKS."
Her: "Ohhh!" (laughs)

We walk to the bar. She says she likes my hat, which leads us to talking about fashion, and my friends who launched the fashion line. I find out that she's Croatian, she speaks three languages, and loves to travel. We swap travel stories. I get her laughing and touching my arm. At some point she asks my name, which is a good sign.

Her friend, a short blonde, finds her. So she introduces me. I ask the friend some generic questions, tell one more travel story, and eject from the set on a high note.

By now it's about 1:00am, and a lot of the older squares are gone. Only the true partiers are left, and they're starting to get pretty buzzed. Including me.

I find my photographer friend again. We're chilling for a few minutes when suddenly I hear my name being called.

I turn around. It's my ex. (From 4 years ago or so.)

She does her super fake thing. The "HEYYYYY HOW ARE YOU DOINNNNNGGG" like running into me is the greatest thing that ever happened in her whole life. Fortunately, my photographer friend jumps into the convo, as does some of her friends, which makes it easier for me to make a dash for the washroom.

As I'm coming out of the washroom, I see the cute euro chick. By this point she's tipsy enough that when she sees me, she sort of poses for a second and swishes her hair and pumps her fist to the music. And I'm tipsy enough that I just keep walking and put my arm around her waist, and drag her towards the half-hearted dancefloor that's sprouted up.

I'm good at dancing. So I do my thing, and we gradually move closer. Before too long, she's grinding on me hard, but pulling away here and there. My brain stops working for a few minutes. There's probably a solid two songs where I'm starting to feel her up, and she's into it... breathing heavily on my neck. I realize I should probably cool it off before anyone I know sees me being a freak, and before she realizes "I'm grinding with some stranger in front of everyone." I tell her "be right back".

As soon as I turn the corner, I see my ex staring at me, surrounded by all of her friends. For a split second I panic, like "oh shit, I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar". But I keep it stone cold.

That's when she gives me this crazy look. Not angry or happy. Straight up "I wanna fuck you" eyes. Either she's completely hammered, or she actually saw me getting a little hot with the euro chic and caught some kind of weird envy. Either way, I smiled at her, and kept walking.

I find my photographer friend, who is ready to leave for an after-after party. A few groups of party people (mostly people I don't know) are all talking about some other after hours club. Sure enough, I see euro chick and her group of friends looking like they're ready to leave. She seems surprisingly sober, so I take my best shot:

Me: "Yo, everyone's heading to X. I think we're gonna keep partying."
Euro: "Me too! Can we come?"

She convinces her blonde friend to come, and this giant messy group sort of leaves together for this after hours. As we're walking up the street, my photographer friend drifts away to talk to some friends he came with. Euro chick's blonde friend has a male companion (I think a boyfriend), so the four of us are walking and conversing. By the time we get to the after party, me and the euro chick have fallen behind, and the few other people that we know are way up ahead. (Or already went home.)

Euro: "This place looks sketchy."
Me: "Yeah... there has to be a better place to get a drink."
Euro: "Do you have any vodka at your place?"

I've realized that phrase usually means she's not interested in vodka. She knows I live downtown. We have an easy excuse for disappearing (I decided to skip the after hours and go home by myself).

I'm not writing an erotic novel. So let's just say we caught a cab, I made out with her in the elevator, and then finished the job once I got through my door.

I did NOT expect that to happen. Funny enough, that's when the craziest things happen for me.