Early 30 something dude who just became single. Again. I'm not here to find somebody, just to share my adventure. I'm lucky in life & friends but just not in love. I don't know what I'm doing, but this is my story.
Okay, I guess I gypped y'all a bit on the Yacht girl story (Read Yacht Girl Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3). To be honest, it doesn't totally suck due to anything conventional, I'll just say that it didn't exactly work out as amazingly as it began. And the juicy details of exactly what happened is something I just don't feel the urge to share so much.
What I will add is that over the last few months I've contemplated the "lesson" or "message" I was supposed to learn from it.
Through any single experience, we all get bombarded with the same cliche advice about what has happened. The "it wasn't meant to be's" and the "things happen for a reason's".
To which I like to reply: "Suck it".
I can't find the lesson I was supposed to learn, or what I am supposed to have discovered about myself, all that I've concluded is that girls are dumb, and maybe I should just be a gay.
I often say that I don't believe in "fate" or some omnipotent plan that leads us all to where we end up. Call it cynical or jaded, I just think that sometimes cool stuff happens, and sometimes it doesn't.
I guess thats a glimpse into my lack of spiritualism or something, but the way I see it, "Fate", "The Universe" and "Timing" are three dudes sitting around doing shots of tequila one-upping each other on just how crazily they can eff with me.
And those three guys are actually hilarious, and if it wasn't me it was happening to, I'd probably be laughing alongside them. But it is happening to me. And If I saw all three of them walking down the street, I would kick them all in the junk. Repeatedly.
I've tried my best to not act like a pathetic heartbroken dweeb during the whole time, but even as I write this and think about what happened...that so much aligned so perfectly, that it seemed like The Universe and Fate and Timing had all collaborated to send me a message saying "Hey, we were just screwing with you, this is what its really supposed to be like, no hard feelings"...it still stings on a very strange level.
Sometimes things end for a reason. I reflect back on my last long term relationship and its very blatant as to why we shouldn't be together. It didn't make the break up easier at all, that shit hurts no matter what, but you can connect the dots. I can with all of my past relationships. Most of us can.
But this one was different. There are no dots. It just is what it is, which frankly is the most mind-bending thing to wrap your brain and heart around. When the answer isn't there. When maybe there is no answer. When I constantly have this conversation with people:
Them: Hey what happened to that girl you were all excited about?
Me: Ya, ummm...it didn't work out.
Them: Oh really, thats too bad, what happened?
Me: Ummm...I don't know really.
Them: Well, I guess it just wasn't meant to be.
Me: Go fuck yourself.
It's been a little while now, and I'm doing well, but there's still this strange itch that cant be scratched.
Like that cut on the roof of your mouth you can't stop messing with with your tongue.
They say time heals all wounds, but for me, "Time" is "Timing's" cousin, and I want to punch that sunovabitch in the face.
Ya thats right. Facebiter. Bit my face. On the cheek. Is this a story? Not really, but my face still hurts.
But who does that? Is that a whole other level of crazy? Or have I just been out of the loop that long?
Heres the scenario. Out, hanging with peeps, having cocktails. A friend of a friend shows up, she's a babe, we hit it off. (Though she seems a biiit aggro as she proceeds to drink, but nothing I can't handle or think is too bonkers.)
The night progresses, at some point on the dance floor a smooch occurs, and finishes with a lip nibble on her part. Ok, cool....some people dig that.
Shortly thereafter, she swoops in for smooch part deaux, this one ends in pain...and the faint taste of blood in my mouth. Whoooooooooooa...I'm not THAT drunk yet.
So I proceed to decline smooch three.
And am rewarded with a CHOMP on the side of my face.
Like a "wrapped her mouth around my cheekbone like she's tackling a Whopper" bite.
This is a relatively petite, pretty girl who seemed fairly normal - now standing there with this Chucky Doll smile on her face.
Just standing there. Staring at me.
Have you ever attempted to tiptoe slowly backwards out of a crowded night club? Ya, you can't. So its a standoff, Smiley Facebiter and me.
Her, perhaps expecting a return bite? Maybe I was supposed to pull her hair or something?
For what felt like an eternity she stood there with a look on her face like she was thinking stuff and that I was somehow listening to her thoughts.
Like she was having a conversation inside of her head with the inside of my head...and her head was winning.
Alas, the DJ saved my life that night, as the song faded into some top 40 mash up (Usher I think) and the dance floor was immediately swarmed by the entire club I literrally beelined for the door...I dont even think I paid my bill.
Needless to say, its a jungle out there, and some days, when I stare at myself in the mirror and ponder why I'm still single, I'm gonna think about that night and reassure myself that finding somebody isn't about just sorting through all the single people, its avoiding the Batshit crazy ones long enough to stumble across some awesome.
Till then, Keep fit, have fun, and don't stop believin'.
Ok, as far fetched as the original Yacht girl story was, it just gets gnarlier.
Please go check out Yacht Girl Part 1 and Yacht Girl Part 2 if you havent, its a helluva story, and will help this make a ton more sense.
So, where we left off with Yacht Girl was our weekend love affair fizzling out over time and distance.
Typical. I mean, she was a knockout, and hilarious, but how does something blossom between two very busy young professionals who live 250 miles apart? Not completely unfathomable...but difficult nonetheless.
Our texts became more and more infrequent, and eventually, we both went on with our lives.
Then. 6 months after that amazing night, I walked into my local spot. Rammed on a Saturday night, strolled up to my friends and out of the corner of my eye theres this gorgeous blonde just staring at me.
Obviously I think to myself, "What the hell is she staring at"... and then it hits me.
Fucking Yacht Girl.
Sitting with her friends, in my town for only a day shopping, and ended up at MY spot out of the literally hundreds of places they could have gone....miles away from their hotel.
Laser beams.
It took about 2 minutes of me standing there flabbergasted and yammering on like a clown for her friend to grab a chair, slide it beside her and say "Sit down".
And thats where I spent the entire night. Not with my friends. But sitting hip to hip with a bloody unicorn.
To say we started where we left off would be an understatement, it was a night of hilariocity coupled with a significant amount of rug-cutting. A perfect evening to sat the least. And to say I wasn't smitten would also be skirting the truth.
The surreal nature of how we came back together is only a testament to this single life I live. I mean, it couldn't have happened a different way to me.
Its bizarre and confusing for a boy who stopped believing in "Fate" a long time ago.
But its like the universe just dropkicked me in the neck as if to say "Hey asshole! It can happen to you too!"
So is there a fairy tale ending to this story? Well not yet, but it hasn't fizzled...yet...and hell, do I have a story to tell or what?
Your day is not just yours. You share little bits of it with people all day long. You can't help it, but you have control over it.
I got out of my apartment the other morning and there was a girl waiting for the elevator. She looked at me as I turned around to lock my door. I made it to the elevator just in time to watch the door close.
What an effing jerk store.
If we happen to get in the elevator on my floor together...I'm pushing every damn button on the way down and I'm just gonna stand there and stare.
But...it effed up my morning. Only because I was like "Who does that?" Ugh.
The experience got me thinking about a time I had an effect on somebody. It starts with an anonymous text message I received while having a beer at a pub. It just said "I'm texting you against my better judgement, but I just wanted to say Hi."
I figured I'd most likely given my number to somebody whilst lightly toasted one night and forgot.
Typical, happens to all of us.
But I have serious anon-o-text anxiety. I HATE texting a person and getting back the "Who is this?" response. HATE it, so I tactfully responded with the ol' "Lost my phone sorry, with whom am I speaking?" reply.
This came back: "I'm a friend of a friend and you don't know me."
Huh?
Throughout an evening of text sleuthing this is what I figured out;
Three months earlier, at the Yacht Girl wedding I attended - an event that had me not only loving life, but being completely on fire - at some point during the reception when I was annihilating the dance floor I grabbed the hand of a girl and started dancing with her. I don't remember this.
There is a pretty robust pile of photographs documenting the weekend, and I've pieced together most of it through these visual aides, but this one moment I have absolutely no recollection of.
It probably lasted only 20 seconds, because a friend of mine immediately said, "Hey! She's got a boyfriend!" and I moved on to some other shiny object.
Apparently that moment kinda stuck with this person - who happened to be a friend of the family and was only there for a quick pop-in at the reception.
She indeed was hitched at the time but was gravitating towards single-dom, and our fleeting moment of salsa inspired connection was something that she actually thought about over the next few months.
I guess became sort of an inside joke during this very emotional time for her, between her and the mutual acquaintances we shared - completely unbeknownst to me - and as that part of her life was becoming finalized, she wanted to reach out.
For me, if there is some random, wacky way I am ever going to meet somebody, it's exactly like that. A cleverly worded attention grabbing anonymous text message. That just screams me.
Obviously, I was taken aback. Flattered beyond comprehension. So naturally, being a gobbler (I gobble up everything I want. Hamburgers. Music. Girls. Nomnomnom.) I neeeeeded to meet this person. We texted the first night, facestalked each other and talked the next and met on the third at a coffee shop at one in the morning. (She is a student/waitress so daytime doesn't exist for her).
From her facebook I knew I didnt know her. At all. Zero memory of her face. Even when she walked in to the coffee shop I was still clawing at my brain for a glimpse of her from that night. Nuthin.
She sat down in front of me and didn't say anything. She just stared at me.
It was the greatest look anyone has given me in years.
A secret about me: I know that I like somebody when I can't talk good at first, or when I realize they're rad. I am generally quite the wordsmith, I rarely get nervous or embarrassed but those few people that kind of "get" me, make me actually realize that I don't have to talk all the damn time. I think it's hilair because I stumble and stutter.
This girl had me blathering. And she smelled good.
She was also easy to talk to, liked to listen to me and we seemed to hit it off.
Also, have I mentioned how she looked at me?
This was about 4 months into being single. And though I had met many wonderful people, over the next few days I actually felt what it might be like to eventually one day maybe actually care about somebody again.
Here's my weird neurotic assessment of where I am at in my singledom:
Every once in a while I picture myself walking down the sidewalk and running into my friends with a girl, I then walk myself through an imaginary introduction of said girl. Based on what happens in my brain, I know where I'm at. To me, since my friends are so important to me, what I feel like with somebody around them validates it all for me. (I know, wiiiierd.)
One of the first girls I met, the thought of running into my friends with her on my arm made me feel barfy. With this girl, I could almost fathom the possibility of being ok with it. Big step.
And she kept getting better. She danced. (If you don't know my perspective on dancing, go here now.)
Within the first week we ended up out and drunkenly dancing until the wee hours. It was pretty damn cool.
But then, the wheels came off.
She'd mentioned quite early on that she seemed to have really poor timing.
It turned out that though she was just going through a breakup with her bf...it was more of a literally in the middle of a break up...as in, still in the same house just in different rooms middle of.
I immediately time warped to being in that exact spot when I was breaking up with my ex. And I panicked.
Why?
Because I was a FREAKING MESS. Like almost unstable. And that realization sucked....because I knew what I was...
I'd turned into the shiny object.
Crap.
Even when we are at our most normal, we are still very emotional creatures...and timing our current state of neurosis with meeting somebody compatible is a bloody crap shoot, I know this.
So no matter how flattered and intoxicating the thought of meeting a beautiful girl that thought of me as this amazing dream dude was...I knew that this was never moving anywhere. She was noooowhere near a spot where any of this was actually real. It was cool, but we all know how we are during break-ups - we're just warped, needy and troubled versions of our former selves. Usually for a while.
And (thankfully) I was right, and after a few weeks of anxiety filled contemplation and interaction...it fizzled. ILooking back, I don't regret the experience, it still makes me feel awesome that I'd had that kind of effect on somebody, and sometimes when I'm at a melancholy point in my day, thinking of this story helps a ton.
Speaking of leaving impressions though, I CANNOT WAIT to run into elevator girl again, I'm gonna leave a helluva impression.
I don't do drugs (besides the ol' drink). I have enough energy. And my mischievousness tends to lead me to some level of bliss on its own.
But I think I may have an addiction to interacting with people.
I love it. I love to know about you. I love drunken late night talk-a-thons. I love surprising people with my story. I love being surprised with theirs.
I am attracted to the unique or the inspiring.
I don't mean grandiose philanthropic inspiration, I mean life inspiring.
We all have a big, badass story. And many of the regular people around us that seem so average have dealt with and overcome more than we can imagine.
And I'm addicted to knowing about them. I'm fascinated by it.
I'm addicted to the organic evolution of a relationship.
How a joke turns into a conversation then turns into a friendship that turns into the legitimate "giving a crap" about a person.
I love the moment it occurs to you that you may be talking to somebody awesome.
I love looking into the eyes of somebody and giving a fuck.
I never leave a room without saying goodbye.
I am generally happy to see people.
It's not a sexual thing, I just love people, and their stories.
Unfortunately, I have been made to feel as if this wasn't a good thing. I forced myself not to care as much. It's taken these last few months of singularity to let that part of me blossom again.
I started this for therapy. Because I was so confused and terrified of this loneliness ahead of me. A loneliness I knew I couldn't avoid.
This one, this time....it was all me.
And that scared the living shit out of me. It still does.
They said I should write. And I decided to. I thought it would be my semi-funny stories of all the people I end up running into.
But now I'm starting to interact.
I'm finding that loneliness doesn't exist without other lonely people.
There is an honesty in this anonymity that I would never be able to find outside of this little secret world I've created.
I don't know if its working but it's making me actually feel like writing stuff that isn't just tales of my silly shenanigans.
Stuff that makes me feel.
I dont want to be a writer. I think my lack of authored eloquence is a disservice to some of the ridiculously talented but completely unknown writers in this world.
My inability to articulate my feelings is something I can't unlearn. I am not this expressive am I?
I talk to everybody. You can't stop me.
Take me to the opera or a monster truck show, it doesn't matter, I will end up in a corner surrounded by people, telling some ridiculous tale.
But talking about me? The real me? Pfffft. HA!
My mom died last December. I didn't tell anybody.
People I spend countless hours with every week, they had no idea. I just didn't tell them. Who does that?
That...is...fucked.
This experience in writing about how I actually am is so ridiculously alien to me.
But I've found people. REAL people. Out there. That share this awkwardness and pain. Some of it a million times worse than mine. People that are getting through it and not even blinking.
But people that understand. That reach out to a strange twitter URL without hesitation. Without apprehension. The opposite of my bizarre neurotic introverted emotional cone of silence. People that understand.
And I don't know what I think about it.
Shit, I don't know if I'm even going to publish this. But I can't ignore whats happening to my brain.
I've worked in the hospitality industry for a very long time. As a waiter, bartender, bar back, busser, promoter, host....you name it, I've done it. Even to this day I stay involved in the nightlife here and there. I love being social and out and about.
Now guys we've all tried it. Sometimes you can't help yourself...you have a few in ya, some attractive and charming young lass is making eyes at you, striking up a conversation, laughing at your terrible jokes. Its a perfect storm of libido stroking and false hopes. The best waitresses and bartenders make you think you've got a shot. But what so many dudes forget is...ahem...that's their FREAKING job!!
I know it can be very confusing for us boys, but there are a few things you need to consider here; one - she being paid to feed you. And two; hitting on a girl who can't get away is awfully creepy. If she's not interested, she's still stuck hanging with you for another hour.
Also you need to know something; you treat beautiful girls differently than not beautiful girls. You probably don't know it, but subconsciously you do....and the problem for you is that they know it. How do I know this? Because I have worked/work in the industry, and have been around those people for a long long time. I've watched it happen a million times.
These people are professional flirters. Their rent depends on it. It's not to say that they are all completely insincere, but these people get hit on for a living. By dozens and dozens of dudes every single day. They've heard every line, done every shot and received every advance imaginable.
But, you thinking you have a chance has a direct correlation to how much money they make...and they know that.
It doesn't help that for the most part, servers and bartender are skewed to the better looking end of the population, and oftentimes they've spent their lives being good looking, so you end up with a cornucopia of people confident in that part of themselves with hours upon hours of practice exploiting it.
Pretty much, you don't stand a chance of avoiding the web of awesome they will spin around you if they feel like it. You're playing pick-up basketball with Kobe here.
This post is here simply to give you perspective, because I watch guy after guy get their hopes up, drop a fat tip and then get blasted when they try to close it.
This is a public service announcement. Just stop. I'm sure you're rad, but just understand what you're getting into, you're probably not the only guy she is currently serving that she's making feel like a million bucks.
Of course it happens, and some dudes have a lot of success with the ladies in that arena, but I'm guessing most of us don't, so I'm saving you the trouble.
I say hey, just keep tipping, they still work their asses off and its not like it doesn't feel AWESOME to have some beautiful charismatic lady pay attention to you for a few hours while you eat or watch a game right?
Don't take offense, and don't think less of them, just know that if they were a dental hygienist you proooobably wouldn't leave the office thinking that she wanted to make out with you.
We eventually arrive at a club. Ya, right on the water. I've driven up to a club in an Aston Martin - but seriously - this is the way to arrive anywhere.
So up to the club we scurry. I head towards the bad-ass line up near the front when one of the yacht dudes stops me by saying, "This way, we're going in the back door....they don't like us up there..." I'm immediately like "ahhh, I'm with theeeese guys"....and realize that we'll probably just roll up to the back, the dude with a giant yacht will grease the door guy, aaaand we're in. Nope. Turns out the bouncers at the back door weren't too fond of them either, and as I stand there trying not to pay attention to them negotiating with the doormen, I score some serious awesomepoints.
I hadn't been to this town much, but know a few people from here, and as I stood there deciding whether to call a cab or not, I look onto the patio of the club and see a face staring at me with bewilderment. I quickly realize that its a waitress at the bar, and that I had met her and her friends in Mexico on vacation - she was bff's with some of my bff's. She recognized me and freaked out. I do the obligatory long lost friend hug and "OMG OMG OMG!'s" and turn to my new found yacht-posse with the, "Hey, can me and my friends come in?"
Score one for cockblocking out of town tag-along guy.
Now immediately upon getting in something becomes blatantly apparent. I don't know a goddamn soul in here. And one of my most hated things in the world is being surrounded by people and not being able to interact with them. Yacht girl is running into friends, yacht dudes are making their way to wherever, I immediately find myself alone in a club of drunken revelers all waaay too far into their respective nights to just strike up a convo with. So I come to point #2 in the evening when I begin to think I should cut my losses, be happy with how I got here and bail. Then its awesomepoints score #2. I go to the bar, buy the boat owner a beer, thank him for the ride, turn around and run into an old co-worker from my bartending days, a guy who is at least as boisterous as I am, and due to the random nature of my arrival, he loses his freaking mind...just as yacht girl walk out of the restroom.
So to recap, random out of town bar dude gets everybody into the club and then is greeted like I'm he's back from spending a month trapped in a mine. Whaaat!?
This is literally the opposite of blurting out something inappropriate when out for dinner with people you just met.
Like making a bald joke when there's a bald guy you don't know at the table.
And hey, we can always use a little help in the impression Olympics right? I'd love to be so overwhelmingly awesome that any interaction with me made me look infallible, but I'm not.
SO here I am, I got yacht girl back, with more old friends, at a club. Not to shabby. Next up, lights come on and I'm back on the boat nuzzled up with yacht girl rocketing through the blackness at a million miles an hour. Happy as a clam.
Where to now? Not a clue. I was just enjoying the company of a sassy lady using me as a heating blanket when suddenly the engines cut and we're gliding along into the darkness. I don't see anything but city lights in the distance out the back of the boat. Then I feel a bump. I look over the side of the boat to notice we are docking, beside a shiny cigarette boat and a half a dozen Jet Ski's all hoisted out of the water on this super pier.
House party.
This house was bonkers. Like, Harley's in the foyer bonkers. It was night, but it was castle huge. Once again though, it was to a point of awkwardness as I sat in an enormous kitchen as everybody who was at least vaguely familiar with each other pranced about. Still, I had such a great effing day/night I didn't really care what happened. It was the closest that had ever been to zen I think. I don't do yoga, and at times can be the poster child for attention deficit disorder...but I felt really balanced, calm and...oh ya...drunk.
At this point, very large and at times scowl-y owner of the house looked at me from across the kitchen, stared at me for aboutfive solid seconds and said:"Wanna see my Man-Garage?"
Me: "Fuck Yeah."
Sooo, what's in a "man-garage" you ask?
A Ferrari elevator. Oh, and a Bellini machine. And a giant BBQ made out of a car engine. And a bunch more Harley's. And me.
For the rest of the evening I ended up crushing an entire Bellini machine of Grey Goose and Veuve Bellini's and talkin' shop with the fellas, who I managed to eventually beat into submission with my awesome. Me and yacht girl got along quite swimmingly, and I managed to partake in one of the best make-out nights I'd had in a long time.
My last memory of the night is my fondest: as the sun rose, me and the two ladies left casa de Ferrari and jumped into a cab back to my hotel, Yacht Girl and I embraced for a final goodnight neck before I departed, as she leaned back onto the cab and I kissed the hell out of her face, my eyes were drawn through the back window of the taxi where her friend sat, giving me the double thumbs up through the back window.
Awesomepoints moment number three.
Yacht Girl DID come back to the hotel to visit the next day for a few drinks. I introduced her to all my friends...who weren't sure she even existed...and I'll tell ya...she was freaking gorgeous. Like. Whoa.
But alas, I'm way more funny and better looking the drunker you are, so after a sober meet up, well, our magical spark fizzled away eventually and the mystery of the Yacht Girl remained the lore of that wedding weekend.
To this day it still feels like I got to make out with a unicorn.
For the last few months I have literally numbed my entire psyche with booze and other shiny objects I could find to help divert my attention.
The problem is when I became single I immediately lost the identity I had clung to for the past four and a half years. I wasn't a "couple" anymore.
So naturally I reverted back to where I was and what I was doing the last time I was single. Ya. Back then I was working as a bartender/waiter/club promoter. I naturally have a ton of energy, but how I managed to work all day, serve all night and be out at the club till 4 am blows my freakin' mind. I literally don't know how it was possible, but I'm certain that I took 10 - 15 years off of my life during my mid-twenties.
Above all else, I can only describe the feeling over the first few months as lost. Exactly like wandering through the woods searching for something that you know you have to find but no idea what it is and with no sense of direction after just waking up. Foggy oblivion.
Well I went into a fine Sept weekend heading out of town to a very close friends wedding. Packed in a car with some of the best people I know on this planet, and for the first time in months I felt like I was okay in my own skin.
It's a pretty crazy feeling, but since I have very little family myself, it helps me explain why people always go home for the holidays regardless of the craziness and infighting and blowups that seem to happen to every family over the holidays. Its a safety net. You know that no matter what...they'll love you (exceptions to every rule, all families have "that" uncle).
You just feel welcome and comfortable with everyone and everything.
That's kinda like what driving to and arriving at this wedding felt like. The entire wedding stayed in a lakeside boutique hotel together and I was surrounded by people who had known me for years and loved me to death.
It was an amazing feeling - one I hadn't had in literally forever - and I think it contributed to the amazing weekend I had, a weekend hi lighted by the appearance of Yacht Girl.
The first night before the wedding was an evening of cocktails where all the guests could hang out, mingle and get to know one another. It was so much fun. Reconnecting with people you hadn't seen in years but actually give a crap about. Needless to say at a point late in the evening I decide I have had such an amazing night, I'd like to head back to the hotel bar and have some scotch and smoke a stogie with one of my besties...one who is notorious for pulling the chute and escaping to bed unseen at the drop of a hat...and then go to sleep. I was sooo content.
The hotel bar happened to be packed, apparently it was kind of a "spot" for locals on the weekend, so it was packed. Packed with...people my age...all over the place! As my friend tended to the scotch, I sidled up to a table of two ladies, and without hesitation went right to the..."Heyyy, not from around here...you know what time this place closes?" I really wasn't expecting much, but I'd had enough liquid courage and such a great night that I didn't care what happened. I was feelin that rad. Well I happened to hit it off with a lovely young blonde girl. She was pretty funny, (Secret: A girl could be an 8...but make me actually laugh? You're a 20.)
This young lass began busting my chops a bit, which I kinda love. I mean among the guys, that's what I do, I talk smack. So when I meet somebody that can take it to me a bit...without being an obnoxious twit...its awesome.
This is how rad this girl was: Imagine gorgeous, blonde, looked me straight in the eye, and at the point it came for exchanging numbers, I gave her mine, she added it into her phone and sent me the following text right then and there: "Suck It".
Awesome.
I knew then I had to find out about this girl.
But as we continued to chat and hit it off I began noticing the sharks circling...dudes coming by that her and her friend knew...not unusual stuff, but I began setting myself up for a quick exit and bed (note: I introduced my Houdini like friend to these ladies right of the bat, but the next time I turned around....poof...he was gone.). It was at this point that a dude walked up to all of us and (addressing the ladies) said, hey, lets go on my boat. I was literally half way through my "Alrighty, have a sweet time, I'm outta here" speech when she turned to me and said, "Why don't you come with me?"
My mind raced..."AWESOME!" Also, "Can I afford to lose a kidney? Should I take my I.D. to identify the body? Is this girl awesome enough to risk her and her friends turning into vampires and feasting on this unsuspecting out-of-towner?:"
All answers came back the same: FUCK. YES.
So off to this boat I go, and as this monster pulls away from the dock in the middle of the night I realize Two things. One, nobody knows I'm gone...on a boat...in the middle of the night...and two...no matter what, this is gonna be awesome.
Keep in mind that I don't know anybody but bar girl and her friend...sorta. So I am officially "dude who tagged along with hot chick to intimate yacht party that was clearly intended to be more gals than guys". Yup, I am an aquatic cockblocker...completely unintentional. Not that I care so much normally, but I'm not at a club or a party, I can't just grab this girl and leave or sneak away to a corner and chat. So awkwardness aside, there still is the business of this young filly (As we get further from shore I keep looking back to land and calculating if I could make it to shore.)
As we set out on the open water, what most people don't realize that high speed, at night, on a boat...not so awesome. Its loud, blustery and although it was great weather, its still cold. Bonus here? Yacht girl is chilly.
I get excited around people. Because of this, I don't need drugs or to get completely bonkers wasted. I can cruise through most of the night on a solid beer high and make it through till quite late. I've just always kind of been that way. Never the sloppy drunk, but always ready to roll.
But for some odd reason this time around of being single I am periodically getting completely plastered.
I don't think you could ask any of my ex girlfriends if they've ever seen me really smashed more than once or twice through our entire relationship, yet over the last few months I have done this to myself multiple times.
Near the beginning of my breakup I had decided to move out of the former shared accommodation that I had with my ex. The apartment was nice but because of the circumstances it had been reduced to the "cave of doom" in my fragile mind. A change was needed, and it just so happened that a business partner had a brand new shiny investment property that was just completed, and with the economic Armageddon that the real estate market had been suffering through, it was apparent that he would have to eat the cost of the mortgage for a lot longer than anticipated. Perfect! I'll move in, we can cover the mortgage and I can escape any painful memories of my former relationship!
So I move in....and the place sells in a week. Crap.
So now I'm homeless. Well not exactly. I'm fortunate enough to have some options, and was put up by some friends in a giant house is a posh neighborhood, and also had the luxury of a close friend who lives right in the city for any late night excursions I might find myself embarking on.
This one particular occasion I was frequenting an establishment that I end up quite often on Saturday nights. A safe place that is often wrought with drunken ass dancing and Jaegermeister shots. This night was no different, and I ended up being way past my "Beer drunk cruise level of drunkenness".
And as my night wound down and I decided I needed to pull the chute, I grabbed my jacket and headed into a cab. Though I was beyond my normal, very comfortable level of beer-infused intoxication, I'd had a great night and was off to the other side of town to pass out at my friends.
Then my first problem occurred; as I tried to slip on my jacket in the back of the cab, it wouldn't go on. Now, I was drunk enough to not understand why my jacket wouldn't fit, but not too drunk to look at it and recognize it as a very similar black peacoat, pretty much identical to mine. Now my memory is obviously quite fuzzy, but I do remember repeatedly attempting to slip this jacket over my shoulders with absolutely no luck whatsoever.
I didn't figure it out until I was in front of my friends apartment that this wasn't my jacket. In fact, it was a very, very small version of my jacket. As I buzzed up and walked into the apartment, it occurred to me that not only was this not my jacket, but my keys, credit cards, ID, you name it was actually in my jacket, and the pockets of this one only contained a cell phone and a pack of smokes.
I just stood there in the living room of my friends pad, as him and his buddy - who were clearly both at least as drunk as I was - just stared at me as I explained what was going on. They tried the phone....but who do you call at 3:00 in the morning from a phonebook of random names? When you're drunk?
Then all of a sudden I just stopped and told them; "I have to go back".
I I know I was quite trashed, but I distinctly remember getting this weird panic-y feeling that I had to bring this jacket back to the bar. So ignoring the protests of my buddy ad his friend, I bolted back out into the blustery winter rain.
I should note that even though the venue was in the city, it was still a solid 25 minute walk from the apartment, and had been closed for 45 minutes, and I had no wallet or money to take a taxi.So with my logic, and drunken reasoning, I just started to run. In the middle of the night, in torrential rain, with no jacket on, just a tiny peacoat in one hand and a mystery cell phone in the other.
I ran the whole damn way there.
And as I rounded the final corner before arriving, I actually began thinking about what the hell I was going to do when I got there. I mean the place was closed, and though people are usually inside cashing out and having a nitecap, the actual patrons had been ushered out the door over an hour ago.
As I ran up the front door, there was a group of people still standing there, as I'm about to go pound on the entrance I see that one of the people in the crowd is a girl...wearing my friggin jacket. I'm so winded and soggy I cant even speak, I just walked up to her and held out her jacket and cell phone like I was seeking penance at a damn confessional.
Her and her friends just looked at me and started shrieking. "It's HIM!"
What they were still doing outside the club this late and how they seemingly recognized me I had no idea, but there they were, and she was wearing my jacket.
So as we returned each other our respective outerwear, I noticed that my pockets were bare. I went from elation to utter disappointment, and though we were all joyously (and drunkedly) talking through the mind grenade that was this overcoat reunion, I had to stop the party to say; "Guys, thanks a ton for not stealing my jacket, but where's all my stuff?"
At that exact moment the doors to the bar opened and a girl walked out, looked right at me, reached in the pocket of her jeans and handed me all my crap. Huh?
Well in my inebriation I hadn't worked out the logic that they'd also had my ID and knew exactly what I looked like. In fact, these wonderful people had already sent me a facebook message letting me know I grabbed the wrong jacket and they had all my stuff.
Needless to say the reunion was joyous, so naturally, instead of hiking back to my buddy's apartment, they hosted me in a very late night condo party in one of their' beautiful homes just around the corner, where I proceeded to become BFF's with my new found jacket-keepers.
Now why I insisted on running through the rain in the middle of the night to a closed nightclub miles away from a warm, cozy bed I will never know. I just know I had to go.
I'm still in touch with a few of these folks, and its always great to see them, But tho it was a great adventure it only leads my to question why I'm so damn lucky in life, but so unlucky in love?
I've always been so intrigued when girl friends of mine tell stories of getting creeped on facebook.
I mean, its pretty blatant in the actual design of the damn website that it is reserved for "friends" to keep in contact. And even though a "friend" on facebook is the loosest sense of the word, there is still somewhat of an unwritten rule saying "Hey, I KNOW you in some way, let's stay in contact".
I can't for the life of me figure out how dudes would think its cool to just try to add a girl based on a picture they saw on another friends profile. For starters, unless you're in the picture yourself, you are obviously creeping...which is essentially what facebook is for, but as long as we all continue to do it without openly talking about it, it can remain our dirty little secret. All of ours.
Secondly, reaching out and contacting somebody without actually "knowing" them is desperate and weird on a whole different level, and takes a whole lot of self UN-awareness to go through with it. I mean there are legit reasons sometimes, but I hear stories all the time where random people just ask to be a friend. Boggles my little mind it does.
That being said. It only is weird for boys, because I got facestalked by a girl. And. It. Was. Awesome. One of the most flattering things that has ever happened to me. The story goes like this:
My business partner and myself were attending an industry event at a reasonably posh lounge. One of the typical schmooze-fests that tech industry folk love to throw together. Now I'm as social a guy as any, but meeting people so unnaturally makes my skin crawl. There's nothing organic or natural about the interactions at these things. I like to meet people, not their business representatives. Opening a conversation with "What do you do?" and handing a person a card is the social equivalent of a coffee vending machine.
So as I slog through this event, I spend most of the time sidled up to the bar minding my own, making polite conversation with the bartending staff. I feel comfortable doing that most times because I can often identify with the sheer boredom or exhaustion or half-assed attempts to remain charismatic that comes with the job.
Now I don't remember being extraordinarily funny or witty or anything, but I'd like to believe that I was a refreshing distraction from the revolving door of "I'm so awesome" business professionals barking their martini orders at the staff. I did speak a tad more with one of the ladies behind the bar, who - since I was drinking water - opted to make me a special flavor and fruit filled non-alcoholic beverage. I thought that was quite nice. But that's it.
As the event ended, I politely said my goodbyes and hit the ol' dusty road.
The next morning I get a facebook message with the subject line: "We didnt exchange numbers..."
HMMMMMMM....?????
The message body continued..."So I had to resort to finding you via facebook, which feels creepy and exciting at the same time."
I check the person who sent it, I don't recognize the name. I race through the profile pictures...and then it hits me...special flavor and fruit filled non-alcoholic beverage girl!
Well, well... I chortled as I stroke my beard...
And I immediately start thinking...is this creepy? Like how did she know how to find me? Did I say my last name? No way she remembered. Did I mention where I work? Should I be scared of this person?
Then I realized, if this was a dude doing this to a girl....that's a 99 on the creep-o-meter...but a girl doing it to a boy? An attractive girl? RAD!
She suggested I call, ummm...fuck ya.
Aaaand she turned out to be pretty awesome, if not somewhat eccentric, but in a totally awesome kind of way. Even showed up with a bottle of bubbly, what girl does that?
The kind that has the cojones to reach out to a random dude on facebook and drop them a line. Fucking fearless.
I always mention that I spent most of my young adult years in the hospitality industry and continue to have many friends and even the odd business opportunity in the "industry".
Because of this I have pretty good perspective into both worlds, the one where you work/live/party, and the other where you are just a purveyor of the services provided.
What I have found by speaking to friends who have never been in the industry, is that they have an odd perception of what its like, and more importantly how they are viewed as just customers.
It had been years since I'd actually worked at a bar or club by the time I became single, and I'll have to say I was a tad rusty as I hung out with more and more friends that I didn't have the chance to when I was all hitched and stuff. And during this "transition" period, one event transpired that illustrated how much of an outsider I had become.
The benefit of having amigo's in the bar industry is that you get an automatic "in" with all of the pleasant looking staff that generally populate most bars and restaurants. Normally picking up bartenders and waitresses is effing hard, they get hit on for a living, but if you can crack the barrier between "dude that comes in all the time" and "so-and-so's buddy" then you can actually get a good shot at hanging out with some of the delightful people that work in these places.
On one occasion I happened to be hitting it off with a pretty young lass who happened to bartend at a friends restaurant. So, arrangements were made to spend an evening watching a game, having some pints and exposing this lovely young lady to the "me and my friends" version of me while she worked. Perfect.
Well, a few pints turned into many many pints, some vodka and some Jack Daniels. I went from Zero to DANCING ON THE BAR TO MICHAEL JACKSON AS A CROWD FORMED OUT ON THE SIDEWALK in about 4 jaegerbombs.
Yup. I became THAT guy. But it gets worse.
As the night dwindled down and people filed out of the restaurant, the "party" became a few staff hanging around, me, and this nice young lady. Who was not only sober, but trying to clean up her bar to close down.
This is where many of you non-industry gentlemen need to pay close attention.
Leave. Right then. Unless you have a dated and notarized "you're coming home with me" signed affidavit, you need to bail.
Why? Well let me tell you what happens next.
Everybody leaves. And you're left there as the guy who nobody reeeally knows, pestering a girl trying to close her bar. You will forever be known as "Oh, that's the guy that was still at the bar at 3 AM last week?"
You do not want to be that guy. Because that guy happens more than you know. And nobody likes that guy. It doesn't matter how nice you are, you will transition from charming dude to a biiiit of a weirdo really, really fast.
And nothing feels or looks worse than having to get up and leave, by yourself, as the staff watch you exit alone. Drunk.
Here's the truth, it will always be better to be forgotten forever than to be remembered for a minute as "That Guy"
My first REAL "night out" after becoming single was an astonishing eye-opener. I hadn't gone out and put myself "out there" in years. I certainly wasn't looking for a GF but WAS looking for a bit of freaking attention.
For me the most difficult part of a break up was convincing myself that I still had some awesome on the table. Not so much in the "Do I still got it?" kind of way, but more like the "Oh crap am I a hopeless, lonely, pathetic has-been?" sort of way.
Very different.
So out I went. Boys night out. Half the guys are married. (What the hell am I doing?) But to my delight, some of the guys had literally never been out like this with me before. So after we crushed 30 gin and tonics (Lost the credit card roulette on that one...kept the bill...ugh) off to the club we were, and as the guys milled about, chatting and drinking some more, what came to be known as the "Secret Weapon" unleashed.
Its a funny thing if you can dance a bit. You not only stand out, but its refreshing to a lot of girls. "Oh, a dude that can ACTUALLY dance a bit? cool!" It also isn't too bad that most drunken dudes look like complete donkey's at the club...so show a bit of rhythm and you end up looking like M.J. to the rest of the place.
And depending on the night, and available stable of better looking guys around, you can actually ATTRACT girls!
I've mentioned, I'm no super model, so having women come up to ME is freaking rad.
An extra side order of awesome to go with the night was the dudes I'm with LOSING their minds as my dance card filled. (Post traumatic break-up syndrome ego boost? Check.)
With my confidence and blood alcohol level at an all time high; I'm dancing, I'm impressing, I'm hammered...one of the boys decides its time to head to an Irish Pub down the street and proceeds to think I'd be the best wing man of the group. So off I go. From dancing super awesome attention time...to Irish freaking pub.
I like to always mention that I am a lucky guy. Especially in friends. I have a group of brothers that are like none other. This is awesome in so many ways, especially that they insist on taking care of me in my new found single-dom.
Their diagnosis of my condition? He's sad. Why? No girl. Solution? Get him another girl. Simple man-logic. Sincere, though slightly misguided.
Now I'm a polite guy. I genuinely like people. I am rarely rude and tend to find something I like about everybody I meet.
But on this particular occasion, what was paraded to me by my friend was a line-up of women that...how do I put this...were the only ones left still single at 2 in the morning at an Irish Pub?
I remained polite, but was now quite inebriated, no longer in my little dance utopia surrounded by people who thought I was awesome...and though I was not sure I wanted one, I was clearly not in a position where I was going to even have a good drunken conversation this evening at the least.
And then I saw her. She was small, wearing a floppy paper boy hat, (I'm a sucker for girls in hats) and talking to some dude...but...she was a looker! But dammit, how am I going to even get a chance to talk to her? My mind raced! Is that her boyfriend? If not do you think she has one? Do I just immediately ask her? I really want a Big Mac.
And as I stood their gawking like a stalker, my window of opportunity opened, she said something, frustratingly picked up her coat and stormed away from the guy! Eureka! I exclaimed. (ok I didn't, but you get it) I cut her off and attempted to say something witty.
Now I'm normally quite the silver-tongued rapscallion, but at this point in the evening I was a blurred, slurring shell of my normal self. What I said I dont know, but she stopped, and started talking to me. In my drunken state of course I thought I'd NAILED it.
But the fact was, I was dealing with a bit of a pistol on this fine evening. This lil filly was a freaking Firecracker. I don't know if it was her "schtick" when meeting dudes (you know those girls that are kind overly vulgar and extra brash trying to come off a bit more like "one of the guys' in hopes she'll land "one of the guys"?) but she was a bit...annoying?
At this point, being a tad disappointed at how my night had ended up, instead of being my regular, polite self, I responded to her with about the same level of douche-ocity she was brangin' at me.
Now I dont know exactly how the entire conversation went, but I do remember one specific thing that I said to her which immediately ended the conversation...ahem..."I hate your face." Yup. Totally said that. Her reaction though, well that was the kicker.
She reached up, grabbed the back of my head and starting kissing the hell outta my face. Like I was a drowning victim. Keep in mind that even though I was relishing the attention I was getting this first ever time out, but c'mon, I was still a tad green behinfd the gills (anybody know what that means?)
It's like having your water wings off for the first time and then some kid pushes you off the high diving board. Exasperatingly terrifying.
So I did what any 30 year old newly single drunkenly confident lad would do. I fucking bolted.
Right out the door of the pub. No thanks. No goodbyes. Just ripped my head out of her makeout death grip and gone. If the door had been locked, you'd have seen my Wile E. Coyote cutout and a trail of smoke down the road.
It was an overwhelming feeling of terror. That was the first mouth that had touched my mouth since the last mouth. And that was the same mouth for 4 and a half years! It was a WEIRD mouth! And it felt like I was cheating on somebody. That was the essence of the moment. I was totally single. Very single. But it felt like I was cheating. And it was nuts.
When I spoke to the friend that had dragged me there later in the week he said I just looked up from my angry little makeout machine with a blank stare, did an about face and went straight out the front door. Like I'd just remembered I left the iron on and needed to race home to make sure my house wasn't on fire.
I do remember two things immediately after while I was walking alone up the street. One, I said to myself; "Welcome to single life. Holy crap." and Two, I went straight to McDonald's and ate a Big Mac.
I figured out at an early age that if you're funny, everybody will like you.
Don't be the class clown, be the class comedian. I sometimes think that I might just know what people like to hear, but in my heart I think I actually give a crap. About people. And love to make them feel good.
Put it this way, I couldn't roll up to a group of plasticy night club bottle rats and have any hope of them giving me the time of day in the middle of a loud, crowded night club.
But, put me at a table with the same group, at a party with an hour at my disposal, and they have no chance. Not that I'm going home with any of them, but I'll be contending for BFF status within the hour.
For the better part of four years this wonderful chunk of my personality has been stuffed in a garbage bag, duct taped, chained inside of a trunk and sunk to the bottom of the ocean with Dexter-like anonymity. And when I realized I could still be like that. Well jeeezus...it was on.
Its an interesting feeling when you have unwavering confidence in your abilities. Don't think for one second my ego isn't held in check by numerous painful and humiliating failures...but I think true confidence isn't blind and nonobjective, its knowing that you CAN do something while having enough perspective to realize that sometimes you might not.
This was me when I was corralled from the pits of pseudo depression by my amigo's, and sent out into the big bad world of single-dom.
Like being shot out of an awesomecannon with two six-shooters full of "Fuck-yeah!"
Needless to say, these stories are all as true as they can be while protecting everybody involved. The essence remains intact but they're simply the ramblings of a dude that looks around sometimes and thinks that he is the only one in here.
In reality, I'm just single, struggling and like to meet people. That's it.
One thing I need to mention is that I can dance. Kinda well. I'm not "formally" trained but have a lot of practice. If I'm in a club full of white dudes, I can generally get the "Where the hell did THAT come from!??!" reaction from people. None of my siblings can dance, not sure about my parents, and I am as anglo-saxon as they come...and for some ridiculous reason I can just move.
If there's one single piece of advice I can offer to any Dads that want to give their little dudes a leg up in their future social lives...especially with the opposite sex...drag their assess to a hip hop class. Trust me. You could be ugly, shy, overweight... but if you can shake it, you'll do ok.
Guaranteed.
Many people who have known me in my past know this about me; a couple beers and a good song, and I'm off. One of the most amazing experiences you can have with a person is to dance with them. Like lose yourself dance with somebody. So many of my friends can't relate to this and unfortunately I'm not inviting the dudes over to my pad to show them what its like to grind to a Lucy Pearl song...so they'll never know.
Girls on the other hand, well, the vast majority of girls can shake it...so many of them know this feeling...and really like to find it. Let me explain:
A fresh haircut, a new shirt (T-Shirt time!!) some friends at my apartment pre-drinking, laughing our faces off, go to a lounge, half-cut, appy's, a few more drinks. Feeling POPPIN' and head out to a club.bar. Its dark and hot and sweaty and you're faded and having an amazing time, feeling good & looking good and then....then your song comes on. BAM! You're in a goddamn music video.
THATS the feeling I chase. Like a freaking drug.
THAT 3 minutes where you and whoever are with are literally on another planet completely lost in that moment. You can't buy that feeling. Thats is why I started dancing, and thats why you need to learn. Also. Girls really like it.
I have only ever had a relationship with one person that could keep up with me on the dance floor. And I'll tell you, that's a way to keep the spark alive. You've had a long work week, you're grumpy and tired.
Get faded and go dance. Dance your asses off. And if somebody can really feel it with you...holy shit people. That is an attraction you can't fake.
So, this little adventure of mine began with the realization that I haven't danced in over four years.
The girl I was with couldn't dance well, and wasn't keen on me seeking out that type of connection with anybody else. Fair enough. Result; No dancing.
Could I call this a regret? I think a Fuck ya is in order.
Soo...is there a lesson learned here?
Relationships are about compromise, communication and sacrifice, but if somebody is making you sacrifice a fundamental part of your personal identity...shit ain't good. Change it.
I dance now. As much as I can. One of the best parts of being single. I chase those moments and it keeps me going through all of the crap.
They say you should dance like nobody's watching...screw that...put on a frickin show, and sell tickets
