Wives, girlfriends, bachelorettes and cops

Friends are getting married, so landing up for get-togethers makes me lament my situation. The spouse is there, so interacting with buddies like the good old days is impossib-le. But some of those new spouses have turned out to be wilder. Basically, so wild, they seem to ask their spouse: "what the hell did you do before marriage?"

The scene now moves to San Diego, where a grand gathering of college buddies took place. Everyone, with their spouses in hand, sobbed at an alone me -- and sure, forgetting my attachment, I decided to have a wild time before getting sucked back into the reality of life with a woman.

In the morning, after the first water scooters arrived, we were so excited to take for a whirl that three of us guys jumped on it. Result? The overcrowded water scooter flipped over and we were underwater for a few seconds until coming back to the surface and being rescued. It felt magical drowning into the Pacific's green for the first time.

"Were there three of you on that water scooter?" asked the rescuer.

"Yep," I said.

"And you are Indian?"

"Yep," again.

"I didn't know Indians could be that dumb," he said cheekily, flashing his triumphant smile of passing a smartass comment.

Back on the beach, the women handed out life lessons to their spouses, Sam and G, about the risk we took. "Don't you ever do that again," and "if you want to do that again, do that in a tub," the women shouted. I looked at the poor guys, feeling good to be there for myself, for once.

And someone helped us fix the water scooter, saving us $500 in damages which we spent on alcohol: Beer. Wine. Vodka. You name it. By 9:45pm the tough decision came on what to do: keep the party going or give it up and sleep. We decided to keep going.

So I sit in the car with two wives, R and S, sitting in front. On the way to San Diego's hotspots, a drunk Sam provided R with wrong directions, so we kept lane-changing, u-turning, playing wheelie until a cop put an end to R's misery by pulling us over.

The approaching cop could see two beautiful women in the front, and me, in trance, shaking my moneymaker in the backseat without any music playing.

The cop asked R for credentials, which she showed. A thorough gentleman, he asked the women if they were doing ok.

"Yes," both R and S said, in perfect union. "We are fine, we just got lost a bit," R cleared out with the cop. "How do we get here?"

After directing R, the cop approached the backseat. I opened my window.

"And how are you?" he asked, in a suspicious tone. He naturally thought I was some sort of pimp, with the two beautiful women in the frontseats.

"I didn't do anything," was my automatic alarming response. Wrong thing to tell a cop. I was basically telling him I committed no crime, indicating to the cop that I was a prime arrest candidate.

I was freaking out even more now, as I thought he was gonna me pull me out for inspection.

He looked at me with cold eyes and asked again "are you sure?"

"Yes sir, I didn't do anything." Darn, committed the same mistake.

Then he looked at the women and smiled, and the women responded with a sweet and confident smile. They were my saviors.

"You are a lucky man," the cop said. "Riding with two beautiful women," he said, trying to return my innocence.

Thanks cop, good effort, but I still feel like a pimp.

I gave the cop a cheesy smile and he moved toward his vehicle, asking the women if they'd be ok. "Yes and thank you" R and S were getting tired of him too, so they quickened his departure.

R and S couldn't stop laughing as we drove and finally got to the club. The first woman I tried to hit on was a cute woman wearing three light neon neck bands.

"I want one of these" I shouted out to her, with loud music was playing in the background.

"Follow me," she said, grabbing my hand. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Just follow me."

Soon, we were on the dance floor.

"The neon really makes your great facial features come to life," I told her. She cooed and gave me a light hug. She put one neon band in my neck, much like a mala when a person gets married.

"Boy, this wasn't difficult," I thought.

Now I realized I could push only so far, as my better half wouldn't approve of it.

While shaking booty, we did some nonsense chatter about drinking games, vodka coolers and clubbing in Brazil. She was an anthropology student, studied at UCSD. For fun, she booed at people who went to fancy restaurants. "You're looking for the word 'Yuppies'," I told her.

"I've lost my friends, I don't know where they are," she shouted at some point during the chatter. "I hope they pass by." Soon her friends came along, a mixed bunch of gals and guys, and she asked me to follow again.

I entered a world of excessive Americana, and I missed my gang. After a goodbye to Neon, I sought mah buddies out. I wasn't in SD, no point taking Neon's digits.

My next target was a 6 foot 5 lady dancing behind my gang. The alcohol powered woman seemed hard to approach, so I simulated my boogey moves with hers. When she turned around, I did too.

Maybe she didn't notice me because I was a human barstool, or maybe she was in total trance.

Tired, I tapped her on a back. She turned around, looked down at me in the eye, gave a smile, and turned back into her own world. Flop.

Atleast she made me feel graceful in the loss.

After breaking up with my gang, I struck a random chatter with a woman sitting on a table. San Diego just wasn't for her. "They don't have bay-gels heahr," she grinned. Oh yeah, a complete NYC gal. She wasn't into boogeying, our chat hit a wall at some point, and she bailed out. I rejoined my gang.

The club obeyed SD's shutdown laws, so around 1:30 we were out, seeking Mexican chow. While sitting inside the Mexican restaurant, I noticed a woman wearing a Boston Red Sox cap. I walked across to her.

"Did the Sox win or lose today?" I asked her.

"I have a boyfriend," she said. "He's gone to pick up the food."

Huh? Apparently she conceived my innocent question as an attempt to make a pass at her. I cleared out from that table, running back to the car before her boyfriend knocked me out.

So, the daily score was 2-4, if I include the unintended pass at the Mexican chow spot. Just about an OK success rate.

After picking up the Mexican food, 'A' was the only woman who could drive us home. She also happened to be a novice driver, but we had to take our chances with the rest of us guzzling beer. A's boyfriend sat on the front seat, guiding her and pointing out driving mistakes she made.

Things were smooth till we got home; then came A's struggle to parallel park. Her boyfriend sought mathematic parking perfection, so even if A pulled back the car 1.29 inches more, she was asked to do it again. Twenty attempts later, the car started feeling like a prison. I couldn't leave as I didn't know how to get to the apt. in that huge complex.

After 24 or so attempts, she finally nailed it and we were released by A's boyfriend.

And next day, we watched Hum Tum, an OK movie. Its message? Hook up with the woman sitting next to you on the flight to San Francisco....