When we first walked in we went straight to the bar (obviously). There was a guy waiting for a drink and he started talking to us. Blah, blah, blah, his key didn’t match either of our locks, so off we went. In the course of our searching for a matching key we didn’t run into anyone particularly hot or interesting so, finally, I just gave up and gave in to a real conversation with the guy at the bar. Is it bad that he had been getting cuter the more I drank?
I actually said to Suzanne, “I think he’s cuter than he was when we first got here. Do you think that’s because of his personality or because I’ve been drinking?” What I wish she had said was, “RUN!” What she actually said was, “He’s really sweet. Sometimes that makes people cuter.” And I know that’s true. I also know the kind of power alcohol has on looks. I think men refer to it as ‘beer goggles’. But I was newly divorced so I didn’t just like the attention; I needed it. So I went with it must be his personality making him cuter. On my list of things not to do while drinking:
1) Try to justify anything.
2) Make decisions based on those justifications.
The guy from the bar suggested we sit and talk, so I told Suzanne where I was going to be and sat on a bench with this guy. He was from New York and had moved to Los Angeles 11 years ago. Great, another east coaster like my ex-husband. He loved Disneyland. Well, that’s cool; I like a guy who likes Disneyland. But then something about religion came up and I asked him if he was religious. Somehow I knew the answer before I asked it.
He said, “Actually I was raised Jewish. Have you ever dated a Jewish guy?”
Bitch, please. I said, “I was married to a Jewish guy.”
So he’s a Jew from the east coast, just like my ex-husband. Then I found out that he likes karaoke and dancing. And he plays the drums. A musician, just like my ex-husband. An east coast Jew musician? This was all a little too close to home. In my mind I made a pro/con list:
From the east coast, like my ex-husband
Is Jewish, like my ex-husband
Is a musician, like my ex-husband
It came out even which didn’t help the situation. But then he kept telling me I was beautiful, a tricky distraction. I had to add ‘good taste’ to the pro list. So we talked more about karaoke and dancing. He said he likes a girl that can dance; she has to be able to dance.
So I said, “Well then you better be a good dancer too.” He said he was. I said, “Jews can’t dance!”
He must have found that funny and adorable instead of sarcastic and possibly racist because not long after that he kissed me. Now, as you know, kissing is one of my favorite things in the world to do. And he ruined it for me. Kissing this guy was the opposite of my favorite thing in the world to do. Like talking politics or working out. How is it possible, if your mouth is on my mouth that your tongue is on my chin? And stop slobbering all over me, please. It was like he was a dog and I was a water bowl.
I said, “I don’t want to be those people making out in a bar.”
Which wasn’t a lie, but mostly, I just didn’t want to kiss him anymore. He kept trying though, so I had to come up with a better excuse. Suzanne! Where was Suzanne? Looking for her was the perfect excuse to stop and we found her on her way to the dance floor, so why don’t we join her? Wow. He wasn’t the worst dancer I’ve ever seen, but I was thinking he should take back his earlier comment that he could dance. After about half an hour I told Suzanne that I was ready to go when she was. She was ready.He walked us to our cars and when he asked me for my number I gave it to him. I don’t even know why. I think it was just because he was so complimentary. I liked the idea of someone being so into me. And no one had asked for my number in a long time. And I have issues saying no. So I gave him my number and I drove home and I tried to remember what he looked like and forget what he kissed like.