Monday through Friday, most of us don't have much say in what we do. We report to work and do what our supervisors or clients tell us.
The weekend, however, is a different story. It is a chance to break free of the monotony!
If I decide to go to a bar on a Friday night, I will choose my company, and no one will be graced with my attention if I don't want to pay it out.
Imagine with me the following situation:
You're a female. You're sitting with a female friend in a classy restaurant/bar - not a dive - at the counter. She goes outside to make a call. Your bartender buddy (a male) is busy. You're in a part of town where there are no attractive males sitting down the bar from you.
What to do?
Pull out the phone, of course! Now's the time to surf the web, see what's going on with your favorite blogs, check your Facebook messages, etc.
So this is precisely what I chose to do when my friend went outside. I hear the guy to my right slowly shift his weight and turn towards me. He is a short, round, older man. In a gruff but wavering voice, like he's trying hard (but failing) to be macho and suave, he inquires:
"Hey, how's it going?"
"Fine, thanks."
I respond shortly and continue typing, but more furiously this time. I pretend I am writing the world's most important work memo. Maybe a Very Important Text, perhaps. One of those, but I make it clear that I cannot be delayed, I cannot be bothered.
He disrupts again,
"So, how are you tonight?"
"Fine!"
I responded almost as a challenge, using the most irritated voice I can muster. It wasn't difficult. I finish up what is actually a Facebook message as my friend comes back inside. Saved. We get back to talking. As we do, I study Bartender Buddy's interactions with Roly Poly "Gentleman" (you'll understand the quotes soon) closely. Bartender Buddy seems to not want to engage with this particular customer, makes himself distant despite the efforts of the "Gentleman" to be familiar. Bartender doesn't seem to like him.
An hour goes by, or so. Conversation is flowing, but I hear a man's voice mumble under his breath behind me.
"Hey, you stupid c---s. Hey, you stupid c---s. Why don't you get back on your iPhone? Get back on your iPhone!!"
I chose to ignore it. My female friend stops our conversation a few moments later.
"Hey girl, you might want to turn around. Looks like someone wants a little attention behind you... Seems like someone's woven up a little tight, ready to pounce or something."
I turn to my right. I catch the "Gentleman" as he turns as well, to sit facing forward again. At this point, I have some tequila in me and I'm not afraid to set anyone straight.
I tell him I'm not stupid, and that I heard him. That his choice of words is completely inappropriate and unacceptable. I told him I was trying to have a conversation with the friend that I came with, so that I was sorry I didn't get to pay STAT attention to his mumbling, but that I'm sure it was directed at my friend and I. I told him I sure hope it wasn't directed to the female bartender who was taking great care of him. I told him none of us deserve that. That I was out on a Friday night to have a good time and do as I pleased and mind my own business. I choose the people I come with, the people I talk with, and will not spend my free time talking with anyone if I don't care to do so. That I have free will, and I will damn well play on my phone if I feel like it.
I was proud of my little speech. I was happy with myself for speaking up. I think it was the right thing to do - to let this guy know it is UNacceptable to call a woman the c- word if she refuses to flirt with you. Damn dude, offer to buy me a drink at least and then maybe we'll talk. But if I'm buying my own alcohol, don't you dare think for a second that I will be flirting with your lame ass self for free. Last time I checked, "Hey," isn't a pick-up line. Guys get rejected every day. Suck it up and move on.
And by the way, dude, catch up with technology. It's a Motorola, not an iPhone. Obviously he's too old to be trying to pick me up.
Instead of holding on to the good feelings I had post-speech, both bartenders quickly dismissed my complaint about this man. They hadn't heard his advances or his threats, just my public tell-off him - which I must say was given in an calm, even, and logical tone. The male bartender told me this guy was basically a VIP at the bar - comes in every weekend, is a big spender, has always been nice, and has never caused a problem before. They didn't want to create a scene because the owner was in the restaurant that night and he knew this was a good customer.
I told them I had been drinking, but I wasn't drunk. That I would swear by my same words tomorrow and the next day, stone-cold sober. Honestly, leaving that night, I was more stirred up by the fact they dismissed my concerns than by the older man's crude name-calling. I told them, good customer or not, it is not right for a man in any setting to say those words to a woman, and that it upset me.
The male bartender took Not-So-Gentleman outside and told him he would just drop it and they'd forget about the whole thing - just trying to save face for him so he'd keep coming back.
I thought that was a cop-out. I felt like no one believed me - that I had made up the story. The friend I was with even said she didn't hear those muttered c- words. I wanted to see that guy kicked out, told that the police would be up his buttcrack if he ever set one toenail in the plaza again. Guess I'm not VIP enough for that. (Yet, my friends. Yet.)
Several days later, I'm still downright pissed thinking about it all, which brings me here to write off some steam.
I think it just made me brew some more, actually.
I'm not sure I'll go back to that place.
I've never done this before.
Well, except one other time… I've never done this before.
I'm so good at first dates. I'm high energy, I have lots of things to say, I have a mental closet of slam-dunk first date outfits to choose from. I can tell he's liking it all. I know he's into the fact I'm so attentive and so awesome myself, all at the same time.
I usually leave from such events with complete certainty about how it will go from here - he's going to text me again and again, it's going to be a mutual fade-out from both parties, etc.
Fast forward to the feeling after date six. Our track record seems to indicate that Paolo and I have made it this far - awkward moments and sexy moments and fun moments and all of that - that we will keep going. We've done the initial evaluations and no red flags have impeded our journey from continuing. It makes me very scared I'm as sold on him as I am. Rarely do I feel this way. It's what I've been waiting for.
But after the past several dates with him, I leave with uncertainty about whether or not all of this is going to continue. Can I be enough for him?
I date a lot. It makes great stories for my friends, and I owe dating a big thank you because I've gotten to see so much of our huge city this way. But. I've barely been in relationships. I owe dating a smack across the face as well, because it has contributed to the idea that it's okay to go on dates all the time and not commit anyone to the boyfriend role.
With Paolo, he's such a great catch that I have this anxious feeling that every time I say goodbye to him, it will be the last time I see him. That he'll just do the standard boy "I'm out" thing without bothering to fill me in. He's already let slip once, "Well, after I broke up with her - uh, I mean, after we broke up -" which gave me a hint that he could have a history of being a heartbreaker. To be fair, though, he's already given me evidence that would lead me to believe the contrary - that he wouldn't leave me high and dry and fade away without verbal indication he's doing so. He takes me on real dates. He's always well-dressed. He's classy. And damn sexy.
It sickens me that I have this need for constant affirmation from him. It's not my personality to attention-seek, to fish for compliments, to continually but indirectly ask someone, "Do you still like me?"
"How about now?"
But he brings it out in me. When I'm with him, it's no problem - he makes his likings clear and piles on the compliments. It stupefies me really - I don't even know what to say back when he says such nice things. (i.e., he says, "You're so sexy." I say, "So are youuuu." He protests, "That doesn't mean anything. You're just repeating what I'm staying!" I whine, "Well it's trueeee.") When we're apart, I start overanalyzing, as girls do, picking apart every step and move and phrase spoken. We're attempting to have pillow talk. I'm humbled by my moments of temporary stupidity:
"What's a secret about you?"
"Um… Hmmm… Er, I can't think of anything good."
[Except that I am obsessed with the show The Bachelor. But that's not a good one, really, just embarrassing.]
On the phone:
"So how have you been this past week? What have you been up to?"
"Uh, good. Guess I'm good. Nothing new. Just working."
[What a conversationalist I am, huh? Yessir! I couldn't think of a single interesting tidbit to share. Maybe because I spend entirely too much of my free time pondering his dreamy cheekbones.]
"What about you?"
"Well, pretty last-minute actually, work gave me this next week off because I've been putting in these extra hours. I booked some spur-of-the-moment tickets and I'm on my way to the airport right now, heading to [the first destination of what will be a worldly tour of Europe (a sibling is over there)]."
Wow. I am really an exciting creature now. What I've really been doing for the past week, handsomeface? Sitting on my computer for hours on end reading blogs. Also: being antisocial and not going on dates with any other people because I'm already sold on you, babe.
My conclusion thus far is that I've lost myself while I've known him. I can't remember how I behaved before. I have trouble recalling my characteristic stories. I can't mentally resurrect all the silly little things about me I usually use to entertain my dates.
Thankfully, he's been doing a lot of traveling lately, so all the crazy talk and analysis and self-doubt have been inside my head. He hasn't seen my dirty laundry. I have the social filter to keep it that way. I think being apart, the minimalist contact, and not being graced with his rapt attention in the midst of his travels has been making me crazy.
It should be perking up my ego that this gorgeous wonderful manly person is interested enough in me to have brought me this far. Instead, I just keep worrying about when he's going to drop me. I'm afraid to open up for fear that he won't like me in my entirety. I'm also afraid that being so secretive will just shut him out and make him think there's not much to me.
Maybe if I had bigger boobs I'd feel more secure?
Patchy Beard gets up to go to the bathroom. It's our third date.
"Oh, no prob!" I proclaim. "I just have some texts to send to my friend! I have some things to tell her!"
Mandie, OMG this date is going GREAT! WOOO I'M DRAAAAUNK
Hey hun, that's so good to hear. Be safe though, and don't forget the condom, ok?
Ahahaha you're so funny!!!!! U love you!
What I meant was, I love you.
I had gone through five beers at our first locale and part of an agave margarita at the next. (I was too naive to think about that little "Liquor before beer, you're in the clear" phrase, and clearly did not follow these instructions.) By this point in the date, I had no idea what was going on. I had no idea what we talked about at the dinner table or how long we were there. He steadied me when it was time to walk out the door. He grabbed my hand. I do remember thinking it was cute. When I moved to get into the car, I said, "Uh oh."
And vomited down the runner of the open door.
He told me we'd drive me home in my car to sober me up a bit.
"Uh ohhh. I'm not feeling so good."
"Should I pull over?"
"Um, you'd better."
I opened the door just in time to free all the beer, the tequila, tacos, chips, and salsa from my GI tract onto the roadside.
Who knows how many times I threw up in my own car on the way to my place. I just know it wasn't attractive.
We park in my apartment's garage. We go inside and he tells me I'd better brush my teeth so he can kiss me. After he leaves, I go to sleep for a couple hours. I have a trip to leave for at five in the morning. I'm still drunk when I wake up at four to pack. Of course I hadn't started yet.
I'm sitting waiting for my train. I scroll through my phone, mostly to analyze Patchy Beard's last textual exchanges. I see some texts from last night sent to my friend Mandie. Immediately I text PB to ask if he used my phone last night while I was in the bathroom. I don't remember sending any of this. I used words and grammar patterns outside my custom style. Such as:
I'm so HAHAHAMMMERED!!
I never use that word. I detest that word, in fact. I don't drunk text or drunk call. What scared me was that I had no recollection of typing the messages or using that wording.
PB texts back. He didn't touch my phone, and needless to say, that was our last date ever.
What, vomit isn't a turn on?
Disclaimer: I look at pictures of him now and my feelings about his attractiveness have totally changed. He looks like he is balding and his Patchy Beard is even patchier. It's just gross. This is a year-and-a-half old story. Now I am older and more mature. My type has evolved into the baby faced, clean-shaven look. Literally, looking back: no loss felt here!
