He Had Me At Lick My Face...

I spent New Year’s at my Cheers… my Central Perk… Cha Cha Cha. Even though I know what’s on the menu, I still look at every time. And their tapas have become my comfort food. And then, there’s the bartender I once couldn’t take my eyes off of. This time, however, he wasn’t my latest prey. Our Forearmed Tattooed waiter was a willing victim.

I’m always surprised when someone flirts with me (I’ll get to this more later). At midnight, Forearmed Tattoo boy came by and said, “what do say Miss Curious,” as he put his cheek out hoping for a kiss. I leaned over the bar and rather than my lips seductively pressing up against his cheek, my nose hit first… then lips, then chin. I was anything but smooth. I then put my cheek out and asked, “what about me?” Much to my surprise, he LICKED my cheek. And ahhh, he had me at Lick My Cheek. He suddenly became all the more appealing because I love the exchange of spit and even more I love to be surprised.

After we closed our tab, he asked if we’d like another round. I pointed out that we’d closed our tab, and he retorted, “I didn’t say anything about your tab.” Ha, I’d heard that one before from his counterpart… my past obsession. And hm, I suppose it’s something they learn in bartender school when they’re wooing some drunk chick. But anyway, why would I ever refuse free drinks? At the end of the evening, it was clear that there was some interest on both sides, but then I got all awkward. He noticed, retracted, and it was over. I should probably wait a while until I can show my face again… classic.

Now let’s get back to that past obsession, the other bartender/manager (Bartender Boy) there that night, and why exactly I was obsessed. But a quick side note of his actions this New Year's... he noticed that I was finishing my drink. I hadn't even realized he ever looked my way; he acted aloof to me. Next thing I know, I had a fresh Mojito in front of me. He walked by, set it down, not even looking at me, and walked on. I couldn’t even say thank you.

Okay – okay – okay, that part is beside the point. Let’s get back to obsession.

HERE'S MY BOO-HOO BACKDROP:

When you have a sister very close to your age, you’re constantly compared to the other. My sister and I couldn’t look any less alike. She was thin, beautiful tanned skin, full lips… I on the other hand was a pale, freckled face, ten pounds too many, frizzy haired dumpy girl. I was invisible to boys. My extended family would always tell me, “at least you’re smart.” My sister never missed an opportunity call me fat and ugly and that no guy would ever want me. All her friends did the same thing (we were young - she's very different now). When I was in sixth grade, I had all my classes with this boy, and we talked all the time about anything and everything. He was popular and all the girls loved him. Despite my ugliness, I was somewhat popular too at that time because as an ugly girl, I worked very hard on my sense of humor and people skills. Anyway, much to my surprise, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Being naive, I thought it was the best day of my life. At night he’d call me. We’d talk for a moment, and then he’d asked to talk my sister. When rumors started to fly around that he was only dating me to get to my sister, I put the pieces together, held my head up high, and I dumped him.

Years later, at a party while I was talking to some friends. I heard some people in the group next to me say that Nadia’s little sister was at the party. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone point me out. I also saw the look of disgust on the guy’s face when he saw me, and he said, “That’s Nadia’s sister!?!?” I tried to pretend I didn’t hear what he’d said. I just kept smiling and engaging myself in the conversation. It stung. That wasn’t the only time things like that happened.

So I grew up never forgetting that I was ugly, no one let me forget. And I grew up trying to make myself into this perfect person who was witty, charming, and had a long list of accomplishments in hopes that maybe one day some man would notice and would love me not for how I looked but for who I was.

Later in life, people have commented that I’ve veered toward shy men in the past. And it is very true. Shy men don’t pursue. They get pursued. I don't get pursued. I pursue. And that’s how I found them, and that's why they liked me.

Finally... yes, finally I’ve come to my point. The obsession with Bartender Boy. The first time I saw him I thought he was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. But of course, I was guilty of the thing I hate - being judged completely upon appearance. I admired him from afar, but in my head I knew he’d never look twice at me. He seemed to be one of those guys that just liked girls for their appearance, and he worked at bar, and I’m sure drunk girls threw themselves at him all the time… and that’s all he wanted. And I resented him. Resented him because he made my heart race, and I could never have him. Not someone like me.

But then one day he did notice me. I pulled the Molly Ringwald from Sixteen Candles where Jake Ryan is waiting for her at the chapel, and she can’t believe he’d be there for her, so she looks behind her, points at herself, and mouths, “who me?” He responds, “yeah you.”

Bartender Boy bought me and my friends a round of drinks and told them that their friend, me, was a character. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed. That he’d actually paid attention to my personality, that he thought I was attractive enough to even pay attention to.

Over the next couple of months, the flirting ensued until finally things came to a head. We had the classic drunken hook up and then a sober hook up the next afternoon. He told me I had beautiful womanly body. I was startled by the compliment, so I didn’t make some cynical, “you don’t mean that,” reply. He sounded and looked so sincere that I truly believed him.

For a long time afterward, I hoped something would happen again. He’d give me free drinks most of the time I went in, which I considered pay back for the great blow job. But nothing ever did happen again.

Although that part was very disappointing, and I felt like a fool half the time I saw him, I still remember that he simply and sweetly made me feel PRETTY.

ENOUGH WITH BOO-HOO STORY AND HERE'S SOME SHIT TALK FOR YOU:

Last Thursday I was in mass mailing hell. I used a glue stick so I wouldn’t have to lick nor wet my desk with some damp paper towel or contraption made by Office Depot… What I did suffer was a case of serious sticky hands. I went to the bathroom for 2 reasons:

1. I would first take a shit

2. I would not only wash my hands from the shit, but also from the nasty glue stick.

Because I’m SOOO NOT SMART, I hadn’t thought to wash my hands of glue before the toilet paper handling occurred. Instead, I was peeling shit covered toilet paper from each and every finger. Oh Miss Curious, get a brain already! (reminiscent of some self-wax jobs and paper towels?!!)

I’VE BEEN EXPOSED!!!!:

Some also NOT SO GOOD NEWS, my Lithuanian obsessed, republican (believes Bush is a good president) uncle Tony occasionally Googles my mother’s family name to see -- I don’t know what… but anyway, because I’m SOOO NOT SMART, I slipped in one of my blog posts and used my Grandmother’s last name. The Google search came up with a Miss Curious blog that had Grandma (insert last name) pop up. He proceeded to check out this new discovery.

Friday night I answered the phone to, “oh my god – oh my god – oh my god… I’m horrified… ahhhh… errrrgh.”

“Hello uncle Tony, what’s going on?”

He explained what he’d discovered… and proceeded to tell me that he couldn’t believe that chicks were taking their tits out in the bathroom for people (well, me) to touch. My first thought is, of course Uncle Tony clicked on THAT post titled, “Titty Talk,” and then the severity of the situation set in and my, “oh my god – oh my god – oh my god… I’m horrified” S’ came spilling out of my mouth. When he got home, he of course told his wife, who immediately checked the sight and would continuously call my uncle over, “Tony you gotta read this… get over here.”

Needless to say, I considered a million options – changing my blog’s name and site… but then what about any anonymous folks that aren’t on my email list to update. He promised not to tell my parents, thankfully… but he and his wife can check it any day of the week and read about my sexual exploits and excessive alcohol irresponsible stories.

So basically, I’ve decided that I will begin to harass my uncle, regularly, to ensure he stops reading this blog. Fuck – Fuck – Fuck. So Uncle Tony (or Aunt Apryle), if you’re reading this right now… you’re dead meat :) !!!