Lonely makes you stupid
Sometimes, my datebook has holes in it on a Saturday night, which is not a good thing. I am total crap at being on my own on a weekend. By the afternoon, I've already gone to a movie by myself and am mystified as to what to do in the evening hours. So, I start calling people. "Hey! What are you up to? Oh. Well, I sure want to see that spackle when it's done!" "'Sup my brotha...What you got going on tonight? God, I thought she was due NEXT month! If it's a girl, name her after me!" It is on a lonely, rainy Saturday night that my faith in a good and caring god is most likely to falter.
Last night, I wound up, pissed off after having seen "Fahrenheit 9/11" (a friend of mine is in Iraq now and I have another friend who will likely be going by summer's end), at the Lakeview Lounge, book in hand and pocket full of beer money. Alone. At a bar. I figure a woman has a limited number of times she can go to a bar alone before she turns into one of The Lost People. You know, the kind of people who sit at the end of a bar, waiting for you to make eye contact so that they can engage you in conversation. "Hey! HEY! Gotta light? I shouldn't smoke so much on account a my assmar. I have sciatica, too. My kids don't visit me. I once ate a 64 ounce steak on a bet. Does this boil look bad to you?" I forfieted one of those times last night and I'm a little sorry I did.
A man came up to me as I read my mystery novel to the dulcet tones of Nightwatch, the geriatric cover band, and said to me "Jew haff byootiful toessss." Um, thanks. Later, on the way back from the bathroom, a man stopped me and talked to me about jazz. I hate jazz. He gave me his phone number. I shook hands with him, which I took perverse pleasure in because there had been no paper towels in the ladies room and the handshake was quite moist, at best. Thankfully, one of my friends that I had called in a desperate panic prior to going to the Lakeview called back and invited me to a party. Full of hope and a sense of having dodged some kind of bullet, I lept out of my booth and out into the rain to wait.
The party was interesting. Walking through the apartment, I realized that there were three people there I had made out with. Two in the last month and one over two years ago. Weird. The over two years one wound up taking me home and coming in to see my terribly cute apartment. I flopped down on the bed, wanting just to sleep and he sat in my wing chair for a moment. "Hey, can I ask you an off-topic question?" (The topic we had been on was decor, incidentally) "Mmmnf," I responded as I started to slide off to sleep. "Wanna fool around?" I was awake again. "Um, I guess so," was my reply. So we kissed a little. A very little. I had remembered him as slightly boorish and terribly full of himself. It was less than a good time. Finally, he asked if we could make out more, and I said "Oh! What? I was asleep. Sorry." He took the hint and left, thank god.
Holes in schedules aren't so bad, I guess, when the alternative is making out with a boor who wants you to suck on his nipples just because he gave you a ride home. Now, I'm going to go to a movie by myself and then over to the Lakeview for a beer and a burger. Happy Independence, everyone!
Last night, I wound up, pissed off after having seen "Fahrenheit 9/11" (a friend of mine is in Iraq now and I have another friend who will likely be going by summer's end), at the Lakeview Lounge, book in hand and pocket full of beer money. Alone. At a bar. I figure a woman has a limited number of times she can go to a bar alone before she turns into one of The Lost People. You know, the kind of people who sit at the end of a bar, waiting for you to make eye contact so that they can engage you in conversation. "Hey! HEY! Gotta light? I shouldn't smoke so much on account a my assmar. I have sciatica, too. My kids don't visit me. I once ate a 64 ounce steak on a bet. Does this boil look bad to you?" I forfieted one of those times last night and I'm a little sorry I did.
A man came up to me as I read my mystery novel to the dulcet tones of Nightwatch, the geriatric cover band, and said to me "Jew haff byootiful toessss." Um, thanks. Later, on the way back from the bathroom, a man stopped me and talked to me about jazz. I hate jazz. He gave me his phone number. I shook hands with him, which I took perverse pleasure in because there had been no paper towels in the ladies room and the handshake was quite moist, at best. Thankfully, one of my friends that I had called in a desperate panic prior to going to the Lakeview called back and invited me to a party. Full of hope and a sense of having dodged some kind of bullet, I lept out of my booth and out into the rain to wait.
The party was interesting. Walking through the apartment, I realized that there were three people there I had made out with. Two in the last month and one over two years ago. Weird. The over two years one wound up taking me home and coming in to see my terribly cute apartment. I flopped down on the bed, wanting just to sleep and he sat in my wing chair for a moment. "Hey, can I ask you an off-topic question?" (The topic we had been on was decor, incidentally) "Mmmnf," I responded as I started to slide off to sleep. "Wanna fool around?" I was awake again. "Um, I guess so," was my reply. So we kissed a little. A very little. I had remembered him as slightly boorish and terribly full of himself. It was less than a good time. Finally, he asked if we could make out more, and I said "Oh! What? I was asleep. Sorry." He took the hint and left, thank god.
Holes in schedules aren't so bad, I guess, when the alternative is making out with a boor who wants you to suck on his nipples just because he gave you a ride home. Now, I'm going to go to a movie by myself and then over to the Lakeview for a beer and a burger. Happy Independence, everyone!
posted by Unknown at 1:23 PM
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