so, that happened

I guess I mentioned that I was going on a date, and now that the date is in the past, I’m supposed to mention how it went. Well, it’s a tale as old as time, really. Met up with everybody at a restaurant that was very crowded. Had a drink while we were waiting. Finally got to sit down and have some food (the food was good), and there was talking, you know, normal date conversation: strippers and whatnot. And then after dinner we went to a bar to continue hanging out and someone (not me) played a lot of Radiohead songs on the jukebox (what kind of jukebox IS this? I’m in love!) and I said “You guys! Radiohead!” a lot and that was kind of awesome, except it makes me sad when people (and maybe now I’m talking about the people I was with) aren’t familiar with Radiohead because, pardon the caps, but OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO FUCKING GOOD. And then, I don’t know, there was a liberal amount of bourbon (this is why I love liberals) and perhaps after awhile it turned out that I was oh, so very drunk, and maybe I had a conversation about how I couldn’t feel my face, and if ever there’s a time for someone else to touch your face, I suppose it’s right after you say “I can’t feel my face.” You know, because what does it matter? It’s not like you can feel it.* I’m just saying. And maybe it was pointed out to me more than once that some other dudes were checking me out, and that’s kind of awkward, right? I think so. After awhile, and I don’t know, because the timeline gets a little hazy thanks to the manufacturers of Maker’s Mark, but at some point during the evening, there was a game of darts. And I didn’t kill or maim anyone. Don’t be concerned. But I sat down at the bar to get out of the way, and wouldn’t you know that there was a guy right next to me? There was, for real. And oh my gosh, I’m so friendly, so we started talking, me and this guy sitting at the bar, and it is such a small world, you guys, because we went to the same college! What are the odds? Not at the same time, or anything, because he’s a bit younger than me, and perhaps I said “Well, now I kind of feel like Mrs. Robinson,” and he was pretty cute, I think, I mean, what do I know? I was drunk at the time. But my brain came to my rescue and told me that it was a bad idea to flirt with a random guy sitting at the bar while I happened to be on a date with someone else, so nothing happened, okay? Geez. I can’t help it that I’m irrepressibly charming. Or something. But really, it was just one of those things that could’ve happened to anybody, or at least it could’ve happened to anybody who’s a gregarious drunk. And um, we left not too long after that, and I didn’t go home because it was not a good idea for me to drive anywhere, and also it was snowing. So the dude drove us back to my friends’ house and I crashed with them (well, not with them, but in their house), and at 6 a.m., their cat knocked their Christmas tree over, or maybe it was just that at 6 a.m., they discovered that their Christmas tree had been knocked over by their cat at some point during the night. In the morning we ate a greasy hangover breakfast (mmm, hash browns) and watched the show Survivorman on TV and commented more than once on the fact that the dude on Survivorman is not ripped like the dude on Man vs. Wild, and then one of my friends drove me back to my car and I went home, hungover as all hell, and I spent part of my Sunday wishing that there was another day in the weekend. I also watched a few episodes of The Wire.

And there you have it. Pretty standard group date.

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* Back a few years ago, when I worked at this one place that… I don’t even know what the hell is going on with it anymore, there was this guy, and I think he was in his 70s at the time, so, you know, he was a total player. He used to come in and before he’d leave, he’d pause at my desk, which happened to be located near the door, and he’d kind of lean over my computer monitor and look at my boobs (and I never timed it right — I always happened to be wearing something with a V-neck on those days, dammit — and then he’d touch my face. He’d kind of… lightly caress it a little. I think we can all agree that this was sort of creepy. So maybe Captain Von Face Toucher ruined it for me, but I have a hard time not flinching when someone tries to put the moves on me in a face-touchy sort of way. Also — and this just goes to show you how weird I am — I mostly just think “I wonder if he’s washed his hands recently.” So, not romantic, anyway, is the point. But if it’s gotta happen, then I guess it’s best for it to occur during a bout of alcohol-induced numbness.