Updates.

• I went out to the bar on Thursday night, and ran into a guy I met and hooked up with on New Year’s Eve.** I’ll call him Neighborhood Dude. He’s a fun guy, so I went to talk to him and danced on him a bit. Things progressed, and he said, in a kind of cute, begging voice, “Come home with me.” I was already down before he asked – so I responded, “Well, we’ve already had sex, so it’s not like my numbers would be increasing. Done and done.” Then, we danced some more – and Bar Guy [who works there, and at whom I threw the paper airplane at a week before] walked by. I saw that he was there but I didn’t acknowledge him [because he was busy] and he didn’t acknowledge me [probably because he was busy]. But instead of acknowledging me at that point, he said to the guy I was dancing with, “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, [name]!” Yes, the song had just recently played. But the irony was not lost on me. I told Neighborhood Dude, “You have no idea how funny that is.” Then we left. We went back to his place, but it was a little weird. He’s not cuddly or very affectionate – not that I expect that, but it certainly helps getting…umm…the systems turned on. There was a little of this and a little of that, but we both fell asleep before the sexytime. I woke up the next morning to the alarm. I got up, put my clothes back on, and was going to leave. My hand accidentally knocked a mirror on his wall and made a loud noise, which woke him. I apologized, and said I was leaving, and walked over toward him. He stuck out his hand, I took it, and he kissed my hand. Then I said something about having a good day at work, and then, “…okay. Bye.” The last time we hooked up, I bounced before he woke up, but left my number on a bank envelope on his bed. Never heard from him. A few weeks after that I saw him at that same bar, and he came up, gave me a hug and said, “Hey! How are you? I woke up and you were gone…” I said some bullshit about having something to do. But the role reversal made me laugh. This update is getting really long. The point was about having Bar Guy see me with Neighborhood Dude. But Neighborhood Dude is cute, funny as shit, and intriguing. Just wish we’d intentionally hang out at some time instead of leaving it up to chance. 
• Oh, the sex. Yes. I should address that. I met a sweet guy from Ireland through a friend, and we had sex. A lot. And it was awesome, as I mentioned before. He’s adorable, dark hair and blue eyes, tall [at least 6 feet - though I didn't spend much time standing up with him...], funny in a cute way, cuddled with me, held my hand, told me I was beautiful and had awesome breasts [never a bad thing to hear]. But he lives in Ireland. Though, it’s strange…when we were lying in bed, talking, one of his arms around me, the other holding my hand, him telling me stories about Irish history, I thought: “Ohmygod…I would marry this guy.” In a second. I’d do it. If he said, “Hey, I’m coming back to Boston…let’s get married!” I’d most likely elope with this adorable Irish dude who was awesome in the sack and a complete sweetheart. Highly doubt it – but I’ll keep you all updated.
• School and work are fine. Nothing interesting to note there.
• My birthday is on Tuesday. YAY!
• Ugh, all this sex talk has mentally worn me out. I’m done for now.

**Just realized I never blogged about New Year’s Eve because I was on hiatus. It. was. awesome. and. INSANE. Briefly: Got drunk, went to a party, made out on a stairwell with a guy [he was all up in my Spanx], went to a VFW Post bar with some other random dudes, left, ran into them again on the street corner, they offered weed and convinced us to come back with them, we did, got high, met Neighborhood Dude, he put his face under my dress while we was in the kitchen with our friends, made out in the bathroom [all the while me being on another planet due to the pot smoking], then we left, went home, looked at the pictures the next day – and wondered how the FUCK any of that happened. And we really just intended on going to our friend’s party and having a relatively quiet night…

“Sorry to interrupt…”

Alternate titles for this blog:
1) Stumbling Home Uphill
2) Mumbling Something Incoherent
3) The Lost Earring Was On the Bathroom Floor
4) Smart, Confident and Closed

But the title I picked won. Why? We heard that sentence two too many times this evening. Sarah, my endlessly attractive friend, and I went to the Pig again. Mike, the ridiculously hot bouncer, was there. He was guarding the door again, the keeper of the drunks, the controller of the influx of alcoholics. However, we weren’t drunk at all upon arrival. A Magner’s and a half in, we heard it the first time. “Sorry to interrupt your nice evening…” It was a random early-30s out-of-towner with two small children and who was going through a divorce. Ah, my Prince Charming! His friend approached me first. He said his name, then asked if he could eat some of my french fries. I had a plate of food in front of me at the bar. Now, excuse me for sounding like a pig, but hi, I’m sitting here with my friend, drinking a beer, eating some food, and you come up, bother me, and THEN ask to EAT my FOOD? In what society is this acceptable?? The next thing was the clincher for me: Him: “So where you from what do you do?” [Like it's one thought.] Me: “I live in Boston, but I’m from North Carolina.” Him: “Ooh, that’s too bad.”

Umm, what?

“That’s too bad”?! Are you FUCKING kidding me? You ask to eat my food, THEN insult my home state? So I called him on it. Like, really, dude. What are you trying to pull here? So, awkwardly, he apologized, apologized, and backed away as I continued munching on my fries.

Then the men pulled the switch-a-roo.

The divorcing-with-two-kids guy came up to me, and starting talking mostly incoherently. But the things I did pick up were enlightening.

He said, “If I wasn’t going through a divorce and living in Milwaukee, then you know what I’d think about you? I’d think you’re smart, confident, [something incoherent] and closed.”

Closed.

He wasn’t the first person in the past few weeks to say that about me. The other actually said I was “pretty walled up.” Then later, he referred to my “shell.”

This was all hitting me at The Mission, when the bartender referred to me as being “cranky.” i don’t know what weird, parallel universe I am trapped in, but I am extremely friendly, fun and NOT cranky ever. Especially when drinking! Cranky? Closed? Walled up?? Who the fuck are these guys talking about?! Can’t me ME!!

Or can it?

I asked the bartender what it was about me that made me seem cranky, or walled up. He said I “intimidated him” a little bit. But I seemed smart, well-spoken, not crazy, and attractive, so I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

And I’m not worrying. But I’m not not worrying, either.

I am the common denominator.

Anyway, the funniest part of the night was when Sarah and I were at The Mission, and this random dude came up and said: “Sorry to interrupt, but…[looking at Sarah] can I take you out to dinner sometime?”

Sarah, not missing a beat: “No, I’m good.”

In her defense, the guy was not cute. Not only was he not cute, he was very overweight. And not just not cute, but unattractive. So this fairly ugly, fat guy was interrupting our conversation to hit on my beautiful friend. I can’t blame her for that response. Although I did say that maybe, if she’d been a little more prepared, she could have said, “No thanks, I’m taken.” Even if it’s a lie, it’s a softer blow than, “No, I’m good.”

But it is a step up from, “I’m all set, guy.”

OK, that’s all I got. I’m passing out.

Two Bouncers Named Mike

Both of them were pretty hot. The first, Italian and dark-featured. The second, tattoed and generally hot.

Not that I had a chance with either. But nonetheless, they were very attractive men.

…guarding bars.

…bars that we liked.

…bars that had alcohol. And my, oh my, were we in the mood for drinking.

Story to be continued later.