MY BUDDY CLAIRE had just broken up with her boyfriend, ...

At about 8:30, we sat down to what started out as a quiet meal at Relish: an unassuming refurbished old diner across the street from a used motorcycle shop. We were discussing the how's and why's of a man who refuses to fuck you, yet has no problem going down on you, when we were distracted by a loud group lurching through the door.

Three hipster doofi and a model-wannabe plopped themselves down at the counter. It was obvious that Princess was used to being the star of the show, as she shrugged off her coat to reveal a black dress cut down to her asscrack. Tossing her wrap to one of her lackeys, she loudly commanded him to hang it up. She then turned her back on that guy and thrust her tongue down Bachelor #2's throat. As the two of them dry-humped on a barstool, Bachelor #1 was left to deal with her coat. The waiter pointed at a rack across the restaurant. "That's too far away for her," Bachelor #1 fretted. Girlfriend extracted her tongue out of the other guy long enough to laugh loudly and screech, "That's right!"

After about 10 minutes of heavy groping and moist smacking noises, Bachelor #2 was in need of a smoke and went outside with Bachelor #3 (the quiet one).

Claire's back was to the foursome, but I made her turn around to watch as Bachelor #1 (coatboy) busted his move. Sitting on the stool behind her, he wrapped his arms around her chest, as she threw her legs up on the stool to her right. He then slid his hand down her right thigh, spreading her legs wide open so everyone on that side (thankfully not my side) of the restaurant was treated to a gyno-eye view of her Brazilian. Throwing her arms in the air, she once again reasserted her merriment?HA HA HA!!?at top volume, so nobody within 10 blocks of the place would miss the fact that this chick was having a really fucking good time. For a little added fun, she knocked over her cocktail and demanded coatboy mop it up. Which he did like a good little bitch.

How she managed to keep her perfect little ass balanced on that barstool while at the same time splaying her legs all akimbo, one foot flung up on the bar, the other on a stool, all the while waving her arms around and cackling madly, completely confounded me. In her same spot I might've managed a titter before I slid off and broke a hip, but I doubt I'd be able to manage that position in the first place. So much for yoga.

Bachelors #2 and #3 returned from their smoke, and Miss Thang promptly disappeared into the bathroom with #1 and #3, leaving #2 at the bar to order more drinks.

By the time those three shuffled their way back from the can?sniffling loudly, pointedly wiping their noses, and adjusting their clothing?everyone in the restaurant was staring. Partly because the top of her dress kept falling down. (Oops! Guess who forgot to wear a bra?) This attention only added to her pleasure (which she expressed repeatedly and at volume 11).

When they'd first come into the place, I was a little bit in awe of her. She was gorgeous, and after all, she was there with three guys. The last guy I went out with told me that two dates was too soon for sex. (But not, apparently, for blowjobs. But I digress.) However, the longer we sat there, subjected to this punishing floorshow we hadn't asked for, the more I began to loathe her.

I'm normally pretty easy-going, but on this night, every bite I took was interrupted by one of her hysterical look-at-me yowls. I was starting to develop an eye tic. Their histrionics made any kind of conversation impossible. I was quickly working up a head full of hatred for this bitch. You know the type?we've all been trapped in rooms with these girls. They seem to have a physical need to be the center of attention (especially if that attention comes attached to a penis). They're loud, can't stand other women, and are, as a rule, exceptionally good-looking. (Funny how a pretty girl acting like a jackass is considered quirky and fun-loving, whereas an ugly girl attempting to pull the same shit is correctly diagnosed as pathetic and/or deranged.) A lot of these dames are as stupid as they are beautiful, but the truly sad ones aren't morons at all?they just play the twit. I don't know which camp this slag fell into; all I know was that it was becoming harder and harder to restrain myself from jamming my chickenbone into her eye socket. Repeatedly.

As I sat there stewing, praying for the check, I started to wonder if maybe I was just annoyed because I'd never been on a date with three doting trolls. Perhaps I was pissed because I wasn't as skinny or pretty as her and even if I were, I'd be too shy to wear a dress where people could peek down and see my naked bum. Then she let out a shriek so ear-splitting that it scared the fork right outta my hand. It was at that point I realized I wasn't envious of her and her three-retard circus; I wanted to clock her because that loud skanky bitch ruined my dinner.

Write [dategirl@nypress.com](mailto:dategirl@nypress.com) or Dategirl, c/o New York Press, 333 7th Ave., 14th fl., New York, NY 10001.