My entire lifelong dream is to be able to get into BAR 7 and be accepted as one of the Beautiful People. No, really, I would give anything to be part of that.
My idea of a great bar isn't some tight-ass place where everyone's hanging out in suits and expensive designer outfits. These are exactly the kind of people I'm trying to get away from! A great bar is a place where you can relax, get wild or just have a fun time with friends. Apparently, my way of thinking has not caught on in Moscow's bar world.
The point being that I wasn't devastated when Bar 7, the supposed new 30/7 (gee, 7 is an original name to name your 30/7-bar-abee, isn't it?), denied me at the entrance last Friday night. The only reason I was bothered was that it meant I couldn't review it. Ames even said a few nasty words to me afterwards, like if I'm not cool enough to get into clubs, then I'm no use to him and he'll find someone else. (Translation: why oh why won't Hannah sleep with him? Answer: Uh:is this really a brain teaser?)
Fine. So I called my friend Steven up to see if he'd take me the next night. The thinking's that if we pull up to Bar 7 in his Land Rover, the face control seas will part. I know what it is that they don't like about me. I don't play the game. I don't play by "the rules." Meaning I don't have gobs of blowjob lipstick, I don't wear designer bling and have the latest beauty salon do. I don't look like some cheesy mafia goon's idea of an arm decoration, and that's how I like it. Back in the West, guys understand that a really sexy girl has a bit of will of her own. Russia just hasn't figured it out yet.
Anyway, Steven told me he couldn't meet me because he felt like watching TV instead. No biggie. We're friends now. It's easier for both of us this way. I think he was getting a bit attached and confused, with his family situation and all, and I'm also a little too much of a free spirit for him.
Then he called me up at about 2am Saturday, woke me out of bed (I stayed home and ate a Transpizza - m'm!), and told me he wanted to see me. Make up your mind, Steven!
"Cool, let's go to Bar 7!" I said, laughing at his typical male indecisiveness.
I needed a few minutes to shower and look presentable - no devushka blowjob lipstick, but makeup how I like it. Then I took a taxi to met him at Pushkin Square, since he said he didn't want to have to come all the way out and pick me up.
Turns out Steven had his driver that night. He was drunk and I think coked up and the first thing he does when I get into the back of the car is maul me. His must have had fun watching us. It was unexpected. I blew him right there in the backseat. The whole thing didn't take long, thanks to my technique, and Steven's excitability.
Then like 2 minutes later, he gets a call from some chick. And he's going, "I thought you left! That's why I left." Then he clearly says, "Okay, I'll come meet you in 15 minutes." Later he denied it, but I heard him say exactly that.
Whatever the reason, he drops me off at Bar 7 alone and drives away. And didn't answer his cell phone all night. I wasn't about to go in there again and get denied again. It was even more crowded with rich cheesy types than the night before.
Steven, if you're reading this - fuck you forever. That's the last time.
12.00 'til the last client
730 55 47, Novaya pl., 10, str. 2, Metro Lubyanka