Okay, it’s official. The universe is f*cking with me. Case in point: Wednesday night (April 23). I went out for a beer with a friend of mine right after work, which was nice, since I barely ever see this friend. It was all good, we drank a pitcher and a pint each… and I got slightly tipped (in my defense, I hadn’t eaten since 11.30 that morning).
Well, I didn’t want to go home while I was feeling all sociable, so I called my wee bro and asked him what he was doing. Apparently (and this will be a shock to you ALL, I’m sure), he was at the pub, drinking on the patio. Oddly for me (and this might have been the demon liquor), I informed him that I would be joining him, rather than fishing unsuccessfully for an invitation.
So, I took the trolley across town with my friend, we parted ways and I walked up to my brother’s pub. When I got there, I found that he was with his friend (whom we shall call Pepe and who is 25. Ack!), whom I’ve met before and is so decidedly flirty and fun to argue with that I may have developed a slight crush on him. Anyway, I sat down and ordered a drink, and a few more of my wee bro’s friends showed up. Happily, they were all male. YAY!
After they all ate dinner (I was saving my money for beer and I’m such a chick that I didn’t want to eat in front of the cute boys. Ack.), we headed over to one of the friends’ houses, to listen to his newest “track”. Apparently, he’s a musician (and a good one, at that) and possibly the nicest and funniest man on Earth. We ended up talking for QUITE some time, and then when we all went to a new bar, we continued to talk.
At this new bar (which is right beside the usual bar that my wee bro drinks at), we ran into a bunch of his friends, who joined us, which was great fun. Mostly though, it ended up being Ducky (the musician) and I alone at our table, as the others mingled. I think it might have been the lure of the ONLY person in the bar older than I am that made me talk to him for so long – we were talking about childhood TV that all the little 20-year-olds in the bar had NO idea about (heathens!).
Either way, we were outside at one point, standing in a circle with a bunch of wee bro’s friends (Ducky was having a smoke), and one of the guys in the circle that I’ve never met looked at me and said, “Oh my god, I HAVE to do your hair.” I sort of goggled a little bit and then asked, “What exactly does “do” entail?” It turns out that the guy is a hairdresser (and straight – do those exist?!). Of course, he followed up his earlier comment with a short speech that went something like this: “Sweetheart (me), you’re a gorgeous girl – great eyes, great hair colour, great tits. I’d love to take you home and ride you till the sun comes up, but your HAIR. Your hair does NOT say ‘Mount me’!”
I was kind of dumbfounded, but then he kept telling me how beautiful I was, so I felt that I really needed to stand closer to him. 
He kept telling me I was gorgeous but that my hair was ‘unmountable’ and was my problem with men. I tried to tell him that I’d just (well, a year ago, now) had a bunch of hair chopped off, but that wasn’t enough for him. I asked him what, exactly, ‘mountable’ hair was – he said he wasn’t sure yet, but it wasn’t THIS. Then he reiterated his desire to take me home and show me how ‘mountable’ I was (wink, wink), but he’s married and that wouldn’t be right… but he could make my hair show OTHER men just how ‘mountable’ I am, by cutting my hair. Too funny!
Eventually, he wandered away and I felt the need to needle Pepe, so I made my way over to him (he’d been sitting at a table, not talking to me since we got to the new bar). He has this habit of making me talk about my pathetic-ass love life whenever we talk, and I told him earlier in the night that the only men who find me irresistible are the married ones (honestly, I have proof. I’m never more attractive as I am to a married man. To single men, I’m all but invisible). Just to prove the point, I pointed at the hairdresser, his wedding ring and told Pepe that I’d just had yet another married man proposition me (okay, I know it wasn’t a proper proposition, but I needed an excuse to whisper in Pepe’s ear, dammit). Pepe looked at the guy that was at the table with him and said something like, “I could prove that theory wrong.” I think. Bear in mind that I had been drinking for several hours by this point. Anyway, I had been on my way out the door with Ducky again, so I didn’t REALLY catch what Pepe said… and I was too chicken to ask him to repeat it. See what I meant, though? Flirty with a capital F.
Later, I went to the bar to order a beer, and nabbed the last Keith’s. Just as the bartender was pulling that bottle out of the cooler, a guy down the bar called to the bartender to ask for a Keith’s. The bartender opened the bottle in front of the guy and then turned and put it down in front of me. Ack. So, I looked at the other guy who’d ordered and told him, “Sorry, I think I got the last Keith’s. It’s the cleavage – it helps with bartenders.” and turned to go. The guy climbed past his friend, stuck his hand out to shake and said, “I don’t know about that, I was just looking at those eyes. I’m Peter.” I stood there like a fool for a second, then recovered enough to introduce myself, shake his hand and scurry back to my seat. Ye Gods, I’m 31 and still the world’s worst flirt!
Fast forward to about an hour later – my wee bro had long since deserted, as he had to get up at the crack of stupid the next morning (so did I, but I like to live dangerously, don’t you know). I was sitting at the table alone (I guess everyone else was mingling or had gone for a smoke) and one of my wee bro’s friends came running up to me. “You’re a cop, right?” he asked. I corrected him and told him I WORKED for the cops. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the booth, telling me that he had someone for me to meet, then re-introduced me to the Peter guy.
It turned out that Peter’s a cop, who works at HQ exactly 6 floors away. Typical. So, my wee bro’s friends sort of melted away, and I stayed to talk to this Peter guy. Apparently he’s been on the job 19 years – I asked if they hired him when he was 12 (I stalked him when I got to work the next morning – he’s only 38, so they hired him pretty damn young). He laughed… not really a typical copper. Strange.
Anyway, I mostly forget the conversation, except we discussed my neighbourhood (apparently it’s bad for knifings. Good to know) and the fact that I live on the ground floor, alone (which drew a groan and a face-covering from him). At the end of it, he’d said, “We should get a coffee or something.” a couple of times. By the third time, I said, “Ya, sure.” (oh, so smooth). Mostly, I just couldn’t believe this night was actually HAPPENING. To ME. So I went over to the table to get some paper to write our phone numbers on (a first!). He wrote his work number, as did I, then we sort of went our separate ways.
I went back to the table where Pepe and Ducky were sitting, and sat between them. Ducky & I talked for a bit, mostly (I think) about how surreal it was that I’d just gotten a copper’s phone number, when (I think) Ducky said, “You can call me anytime.” I assumed he’d said this because we were having fun and I’d told him about a thousand times by then that he could be my best friend and didn’t respond. But he said, “Did you hear that? I said you could call me anytime.” I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, so I think I made a bit of a joke out of it. Gods, I’m such a SPAZZ!
Then Pepe decided to join the conversation (which had switched by this time) to which I replied, “Oh, you’re talking to me now? You haven’t talked to me all night.” (I know how it sounds, now. I didn’t sound half as whiney when I was drunk.) He said something about how *I* could have talked to him. Okay, fair enough. Eventually we fell into our strange flirty-bickering pattern and he started grinning at me and telling me that I was infuriating, which I took as a compliment. He’d laugh, shake his head and threaten to choke me. So, I leaned forward, opened the collar of my jacket and pointed to my throat saying, “Go ahead.” More laughter.
Then he told me (this is all after I’ve been smart with him and he doesn’t have a comeback – if I’d been a dude, he’d have slugged me in the shoulder) that I was so infuriating that he’d punch me (or something). So, I leaned forward, stuck my chin out and pointed to it. “Go ahead.” His response was that he wouldn’t hit a girl. Pfft.
More flirting, more smiling and throwing shredded beer mats at each other (SO junior high!) and again came the strangling threat. Once again, I bared my throat and leaned forward and told him to do his worst. Again, he laughed and didn’t. I told him to stop threatening if he was never going to follow through, and sat back. He was silent for about 5 seconds and then told me to do it again. I leaned over the corner of the table, pulled back my collar and exposed my neck to him. He told me I was too far and that he didn’t want to reach over the table – scootch over. Okay, so I scooted a little closer to his end of the table, and did the throat baring again. He leaned forward, brushed my hair back and laid a super-hot kiss on the side of my throat. ACK!
Now, I don’t know if this will be too much information (although it’s no secret), but my neck is EXTRA sensitive. In fact, I told Pepe this the last time I saw him: I used to have a friend that would make like he was going to kiss me hello on the cheek (he would promise to be good, and I’d foolishly trust him), but at the last minute, he’d kiss my neck and my knees would buckle. Honestly. It’s so retarded and embarassing, but if someone kisses my neck, I start to tremble and find it really hard to stand up. So, it’s a good thing I was sitting in a booth (with Ducky right there – awkward). So, Pepe kissed my neck (tingle, tingle) and I sat up, stunned and said, “That wasn’t fair.” I don’t remember much after that – I think I sat for a minute and talked to Ducky and then we went outside.
While outside, I decided that I needed to go home (they’d already called last call at the bar). I said goodbye to all my new best friends (apparently, I was passing that honour all over the place that night) and stood with Pepe for a bit, while he grilled me (again) on my pathetic-ass love life. I completely shot myself in the foot… I should really learn to NOT talk when I’m drinking. Ugh. Eventually, his friend came out to tell him that they were taking beers away from the tables, and he ran in to save his. I hailed a cab and went home. There was no real goodbye. Gods, have I pointed out already that I’m a SPAZZ?! Yeesh.
April 27 – 4am.
Just got home from my wee bro’s birthday party. He’s out of his HEAD drunk. Yeesh. Because of the TTC strike (bastards!), I had to take cabs all over hell’s half-acre. Anyway, of course, I saw Pepe. But… did he see me? I was sitting at a table inside, talking to the two people over 25 when I saw him come in. He looked around, didn’t see me (or just didn’t make eye contact, who knows) and went out to the patio out back.
Eventually, we headed out to the patio, where I ended up in a conversation with a couple of my wee bro’s friends. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pepe, talking to another friend of mine. Hrm. Okay, whatever. I decided not to run over to him (and there were a bunch of people in between us, so I couldn’t have, if I’d wanted to), but ‘let it happen naturally’.
Well, ‘naturally’ apparently meant that he brushed past me to say goodbye to my wee bro, before leaving with some tiny little Asian girl. He said hello to me, I asked, “When did you get here?” and he said, “A while ago.” and that was it. No talking. No flirting. Certainly no kissing on the neck. Craptastic. Hello, low self-esteem. We said goodbye about 48 hours ago. Welcome back!
