Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Leftovers: S.I. Adventure: Ann
Ann. A-n-n. Yes I think that's way her mother must have spelled it. Simple.
Ann announced herself to us on Saturday night through Drew, I think, at what must have been near 1:30AM at an unbelievable (not necessarily in a good way) bar close to the business end of the Staten Island Ferry. Personally, my introduction to her was when Dave handed me her bottle of champagne (which she brought into the bar) to open for her. As we would learn later, Ann likes her champagne--she had a bottle of Kristal in her car--and the very same bottle that I opened for her she chose to user as a chaser for some mystery pills she consumed just before getting behind the wheel.
Ann claimed to be 50, acted 30, wanted to us to think she was acting 20, and had the social maturity and discipline of someone not older than 10. She could run on the charred fumes from her night with us for weeks, whereas all of us presumably hoped to wash her out of us as fast as possible, much in the same way that I desired to wash the dense smokiness out of my clothes from that night, a consequence of The Real McCoy's flagrant spitting in the face of Mike Bloomberg.
Ann looked like Wonderwoman in the same way that Ronald Reagan in that Genesis video looked like the real Ronald Reagan. Squat, squishy dough-faced, huge saggy boobs, saggy everything for that matter, all with a not-thin sheen of cosmetics. By all that's holy, she looked like she should have been working in a booth at a flea market.
Evidently her husband, a 35yr old Hispanic named Gil, owned a club that was once rumored to be Scores. (Alas this was a brief rumor.) Even though Ann claimed to be a Sicilian queen, and therefore required sex "three times a day," she readily admitting to never having consummated her curious relationship with Gil.
She failed to make the correct turn off the Verrazano Bridge and very nearly made it to Coney Island before realizing the mistake, this after waiting quite a bit too long to make her exit and plowing through a row of orange piping like a combine taking down a row of corn. Admittedly it must have been tough for her to focus, what with the 95mph traffic slalom we executed while crossing the bridge, lord knows it had me literally hugging the headrest of the seat in front of me.
As if simple drunkenness or the general euphoric intoxication caused by a day spent in Richmond County were not enough to sufficiently terrify four naive Manhattanites, Ann decided that she needed a pick-me-up at the beginning of the trip. This came in the form of some unidentified pills, which as pointed out above she promptly chased with champagne. Several minutes later, I'm not sure if this was before or after crossing the Verrazano, she swiveled around to face the back seat and asked for her glasses, which she assured us would probably help. I assured myself that I'd hold on a little tighter to the headrest in front of me.
Ann also claimed to have lived with a woman for eight years before finding out that she was a lesbian ("she" being the roommate). Ann said of course that was ok with her, cause "I can go either way," but that the roommate wasn't her type because she weighed approximately 300lbs. All of this story was relayed to us while she drove the car with only her left hand. Her right hand was caressing Devon's thigh.
There were many other fantastic things that came out of Ann's mouth, the enormity of which caused me to, without any hint of melodrama, exclaim that I wished I had a tape recorder; however, I was both drunk and expending all of my energies trying to retain bodily fluids which were dying to exit my anus, penis, and mouth simultaneously. Just know this: Ann was a beast. A terrifying beast with heels, a hideous accent, and more ridiculously implausible one-liners and stories than even four adventurous souls could ever hope to collectively remember.