Sunday, June 04, 2006

Maybe It's Time to Move

When you hang out at a neighborhood bar, there's a really good argument for never picking up another local there -- if things go pear-shaped, as they inevitably do, you're going to run into that person again there, and your favorite bar is going to suddenly be rendered uncomfortable. And when I say "you," I mean "me."

I've already ruined one bar -- one that's basically right behind my house -- by dating too many regulars. You'd think I'd know better than to make that mistake again, but no.

Last night after work, I planned to have a glass of wine at my favorite place, head home and read. Soon as I walked in, the manager said "hey! Why don't you drink with us, at this end of the bar?" I'm rarely given geographic instruction on where to sit, so that was a bit odd. Then the bartender said, sotto voce, "to warn you -- she's down at the other end of the bar."

Now a word of background. This is all about a fling that lasted less than a month. (for longtime readers, we're talking about Hamas girl.) She ended up blowing me off, and vanishing off the face of the earth, the same way I've acted toward many girls, so I can't really complain. But she also indicated to mutual contacts that she'd like to see me again. But in any case, there shouldn't be any drama, right? Especially since I'm a well-adjusted adult?

Right. Well, I couldn't just have one glass of wine and then leave -- she'd win then. So much for well-adjusted. I'd occasionally glance down at the other end of the bar, and dammit, she really is cute. No fair. Once things terminate, can't girls I've dated shave their head, or start doing heroin, or start dressing in trash bags? At one point I looked down there, and she was all alone, and studiously staring straight ahead at some point in the distance -- just as I do. Maybe it's good that it flopped, as we're too much alike, apparently (in silly, passive-aggressive ways).

To end the suspense, we never did speak. She ended up talking to some guy, and it's a testament to self-absorption, insecurity, or both that I didn't consider until this morning that maybe she actually liked him, and that it wasn't a performance for my benefit.

I'm not sure, exactly, why it hovers over me so -- I don't have any desire to get together with her again, cute and sexy though she is. Maybe it is a foolish 14-year-old competitive instinct, that because she blew me off rather than vice versa, I feel like I lack "closure" (a stupid word at the best of times, stupider when you're talking about something this brief). Mostly, though, I think I just want to be able to drink without complications.

2 comments:

gsdgsd13 said...

As an addendum, I should mention that I have a hangover you could sell to science, in Bill Bryson's words. So I apologize profusely for any errors in grammar, spelling, or coherence, but I ain't gonna go back and check.

Anonymous said...

You think you got trouble? Try being part of a group of women out just trying to talk and have a few drinks. I wish they made drunk repellant spray. Or maybe bars could have some tables protected by electrified deer fencing. That could be entertaining.

Sorry 'bout your hangover. Didn't have a hangover, but I had the most monstrous heartburn this morning after all that Rose's lime juice last night. ugh.
L.P.