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.
