Models and Bottles. Except no Bottles. And too many Models.

I spent my Valentine’s Day with a Brazilian model, no big deal.

Before I begin, a brief rundown of my Valentine’s Days of the 21st century:

2000: Senior year of high school. I bought my then-girlfriend a teddy bear (I know, how romantic) and took her out to dinner at a small, cozy little Italian restaurant in town (No, not Olive Garden. They were booked solid.) Two weeks later, I broke up with her. Over the phone.

2001 through 2006: Absolutely nothing. God’s way of saying “Really? Over the phone? Say hellooooo to loneliness.”

2007: Stayed up all night with a Brazilian Model.

My friend Mike, a Chicago-based marketer of shampoo, was in New York for the week overseeing a commercial shoot for one of his company’s products. A few of us agreed to get together last night for drinks to celebrate his last night in town…and the fact that we’re all single and had no other plans.

We met up at Public, a restaurant in Soho (or Tribeca?). Mike was with his boss and some folks from his ad agency, and he told us that one of the models from the shoot would be also be joining us (!). We were enjoying a few drinks, among them a Pomegranate Mojito (Justification: It’s OK if someone else is paying), when the model finally came in.

Thing is…it was a male model. A Brazilian male model.

And it pains me to say this about another man, but damn he was really, really ridiculously good looking. Like “Jesus H. Christ, is he real?!” good looking. Like 6′5″, tan complexion, chiseled featu- OK you know what? I’m just gonna stop right here. Just imagine everything I’m not, and go from there…

We hung out at Public for a few hours, going through many rounds of drinks. As we finally wrapped up, talk of continuing the party elsewhere came up. I had initially planned on heading home, but was easily persuaded by the prospect of someone else’s expense account continuing to foot the bill for the night. The Patriot, New York’s diviest dive (officially, I think) was suggested. However, it was the Brazilian Model’s first time (and last night) in New York, so a much trendier representative sample of New York nightlife was needed. After making a couple of brief stops at Sway (literally zero people inside) and Hiro (closed), our group ended up outside the front doors of Marquee.

Yeah…Marquee.

Mind you that this is now 1:30am on a Wednesday night, Valentine’s Day, I’m boozed up, and now I’ve managed to find myself into New York’s trendiest nightclub with a male model in tow.

And as if the night couldn’t get any crazier, Mike and his boss randomly ran into some more models they knew through work. More freaking male models! A VERITABLE ENTOURAGE OF MALE MODELS. (DJ, for the love of God, play some Wham! right now so we can see what happens!)

As I plowed through shots and beers, feeling ashamed to be hanging out with them because my grossly inadequate physique was most certainly bringing them down, I could just imagine God saying “Amish, on this day of Love, instead of surrounding you with women, I have chosen to bless you with men, men way more beautiful than you. Please consider this a reminder to you that not only are you single and alone, but you are ugly and have very little chance of ever physically pleasing a woman. Oh, and have a nice hangover.”