It Just Doesn't Matter

I never really know how I completely miss that point between buzzed and wasted... you know that place where you're supposed to stop. It seems like everyone else in the world knows where that point is, but I on the other hand, am still a bit lost. I must admit, however, that 2006 has been the best year as far as realizing that point, but of course, Friday night, reason was nowhere to be found.

Right after work, I went to a friend’s house for some spaghetti. She asked me to help her drink a bottle of white wine since she’s not really a fan. Well, who am I to deny a friend in need? And, I love white.

Then, we met up with some more folks at a bar for happy hour. Our idea was to drink as many cheap drinks as we could before heading to Café Du Nord since drinks there would be mucho expensive. But then, my judgment was completely impaired by the time we got there, and I kept drinking.

While the opening bands were on, I noticed my latest obsession Rykarda Parasol standing at the bar. Since I’ve never been a shy one, I went right over and initiated conversation… and bought her a drink. She didn't seem to be trying to get out of the conversation… she welcomed it. I was actually pretty surprised, pleasantly surprised. She’s this knock-out blond, talented woman, who told me she’s really a bitch, but I found her to be rather amiable… unpretentious. Let’s be honest here, women aren’t very nice to one another sometimes. I could expect her to be charmed by some man and want to talk for a while to him… so why was she so nice to me? I then assumed she must be a lesbian. How very awful of me to think. Oh well. Anyway, I was completely stoked.

Wasted swiftly approached. Some more friends from the previous bar decided to meet up with us. One of the guys beelined for me telling me that another friend of ours wasn't being allowed in since too was completely bbliterated... he begged me to go upstairs and flirt with the doorman to let him in... oddly, I had enough reason in my head to think:

Shit. Can I even make it up the stairs? Shit. If I go up there trying to get some drunk dude in, will they then realize how I'm probably more wasted than he, and then they'll kick me out? Shit. These are my friends... Miss Curious, get it together - get it together.

I focused on the stairs as best I could. When I got to the top, our friend had left. I decided not to mumble a word to the doorman and walked cautiously back downstairs to continue getting wasted upon wasted.

Later in the evening, I was onto my last drink. As I was standing in line, I noticed these two guys talking… I was being a little pushy to get myself to the bar, and they were nonchalant and entertained by one another… I kinda’ kept giving them the eye like, “hey, get in their boys… I’m nice enough to let you order first even though I’m closer… work it out.” But they were too slow on the draw, and I ordered. One of the guys noticed, and I noticed he noticed.

“I’m sorry… you were just chatting, and I was standing there needing one itty bitty drink.”

“Yeah, I noticed, but then I realized I was talking and not getting myself in there.”

“I don’t want to be that asshole who doesn’t care if others were there first… I was genuinely trying to give you guys the push to order… but in your hesitation, the bartender asked me, and I went for it.”

His friend bought his beer. Hefeweizen with lemon. Pulling the lemon off the side of the glass, he said, “my friend should know that I’m allergic to citrus fruits.”

“No way… really?!?”

“Yup.”

We keep chatting. He mumbles something to his friend, and he walks away. More citrus fruit chat.

I then offer to switch my Racer 5 for his Hefeweizen. He accepted my offer, and we continued chatting.

One of my friends comes up… wondering where I’d been (oops, I always disappear)… I introduce her.

We then realize that we don’t know one another’s names… I forget his… what a fucking surprise.

We toasted. I forget what we toasted to… again, what a fucking surprise.

And then I was all stupid… like, “find me later.”

He replied, “I will find you later.”

He didn’t find me later.

And he was handsome… I think… handsome in the rough around the edges way… and he was so tall… My neck hurt from looking up. I LOVE tall. I mean, I’ll do short, but I LOVE TALL.

So anyway, I enjoyed talking with him… but I felt silly the next day. Like that silly girl that the next day he’ll probably be like, “wow that girl was drunk, and she wanted me to find her later?!”


But then, it doesn’t matter.



Here's a picture just for picture's sake (since I'm word after word after word, bleh... nothin' to look at)... Miss Curious in London, Trafalgar Square (beginning of December)