Really, someone should invent a way to record your life as it’s happening, so that you can go back and revisit it, just in case, say… you were drinking. I could have SERIOUSLY used one of those imaginary life-recorders on Thursday night, because from what my beer-pickled brain can remember, I had a VERY interesting conversation with Pepé. It was one of those conversations that causes you to think to yourself, “This is important, self! Pay attention!” And no matter how much you TELL yourself to pay attention and save the information for processing later, it’s just too overwhelming.
This, of course, results in waking up the morning after and spending the rest of the day dealing with the little flashes of memory – many of which likely result in your smacking yourself on the forehead a lot and saying, “Ugghhhh… Gods! I can’t believe I did/said/drank that!” Well on Friday morning, I smacked myself in the forehead so much that I think I may have dented it. And what’s worse is that I’m not even sure I’m actually REMEMBERING stuff so much as making it up because it seems so very improbable. Ugh. Forehead smack!
Well, by now you’re all wondering what in Hell I’m talking about. Let’s see if I can get through this chronologically (warning: it will cease to make sense somewhere around the time that Pepé shows up. By that time, I was already WELL into my cups. Accidentally, of course!). I had spoken to my wee bro earlier in the evening and he had invited me out for a few drinks. I went, and arrived at the pub where he was holding court with a bunch of his friends – British Bob among them (remember him from last week’s episode of “As the Pub Turns”? Possibly the best compliment ever?). BB and I had a very nice conversation, which very quickly degenerated into insult-flinging yet once again. It all ended well though, because I found out that he likes some of the same authors as I do – instant ceasefire to talk about books. Hey man, I have priorities!
Eventually, more people showed up and sat with us, and I drank more and more. I DID actually try to stop, but my wee bro’s friend Mike insisted that I have another drink and bought one for me. Ack! At least I had the presence of mind to order water along with it, but by this time I was well into my “marinating” stage (when I drink a lot over a couple of hours, I can tell when I need to stop – I’m not drunk YET, but I know I WILL be. See, I marinate in the alcohol, becoming progressively drunker even though I may have stopped drinking by that point. Generally, I’ll stop or at least slow my drinking by the time I realize I’m tipped – I don’t really enjoy being drunk, or the inevitable hangover that comes with it. Not to mention the memory loss. Urg.).
Now, I know this will come as a great shock to everyone, but I’m told I can get kind of… confrontational when drunk. It seems that insulting British Bob and him allowing me to pinch him and whatnot sort of primed my “smack everyone in sight” drunken instincts, because I seem to remember hitting pretty much everyone – and the ones I didn’t hit got threatened. I have no idea how hilarious I look, but when I’m drunk I seem to think that I’m the scariest mofo’ on Earth and begin beckoning mouthy people to within my reach – and then threatening to make them bleed. Ahem. Ladylike, that’s me. And I WONDER why all guys see me as another guy. Crap.
So, as I have previously stated, I was drunk. One of my wee bro’s friends (we shall call him Art, since he teaches art in a high school) showed up and sat with us, where I made a complete ass out of myself. Originally, we were talking about diction and pronunciation, and the proper way to say “Toronto” (do YOU say that last “t”?) and I interjected into the conversation that Pepé (who is from Montreal) will occasionally over-pronounce his ‘t’s. Art looked at me, totally ignored what I’d said and said to me, “Oh, so you’re dating Pepé?” I stopped. “Um. No.” I was kind of thrown – where had that come from? A couple of minutes later, it was exactly the same conversation with Art – I was still trying to throw into the conversation the fact that their friend has odd pronunciation, and Art stopped me again with, “So, you WERE dating Pepé and you broke up?” Again, “Um. No.” Cue nervous laughter. Oh my GODS, is it that obvious that I like Pepé?! Crap on TOAST.
Anyway, eventually Pepé came in from work (therefore, totally sober) and sat down beside me. This is where things get a little fuzzy. Okay, a LOT fuzzy. At some point, he brought up having kissed me on the neck the other week, to which I (think) replied, “Ya, I was going to ask you about that. What was that about?” and he told me I had a “good neck”. Oooh, shivers (of course, I ruined it by saying, “Thanks, all 14 chins?)! 
Yikes, I need to get out more. Then I told him that he wasn’t allowed to kiss my neck in public again, and he was confused so I continued, “Remember I told you about my friend Mike, who would make like he was going to kiss me hello on the cheek, but then would kiss my neck instead? And how he had to catch me?” More (adorable) confused looks from Pepé then, “Oh, because you would fall?” I nodded and told him, “Being kissed on the neck isn’t so good for my knees – especially in public.” Cue fuzziness: he said something about being willing to do it in private, if I wanted to go home with him. Awkward! Didn’t know what to say, so I sort of laughed and changed the subject.
Apparently, Pepé wasn’t having that, because the conversation between the two of us for the rest of the evening was sort of… speculative. It was certainly as flirty as it had been (except for those two weeks when he inexplicably stopped talking to me), but it was as little more… promising, this time. At some point, he told me that he found it difficult to hit on me in front of my brother (who was sitting across the table from us, his right ankle on his left knee, watching us talk) and I, the SPAZZ that I am, said, “You’ve been hitting on me?!” He laughed at me and was like, “Um, YA.” And once again made some comment about my wee bro never leaving me alone so Pepé could work his charm. He also said something about wanting to take me home and… ahem! You know (insert eyebrow waggle here). It didn’t actually sound so smarmy when he said it… or maybe I was just drunk and highly susceptible to charm. Actually, I’m ALWAYS highly susceptible to charm. And he’s DRIPPING with it. Short, adorable, charming, French Lothario!
Either way, he told me that he wanted to take me home with him, and I’m such a drunken a**hole that I had to clarify the already-stated obvious: “You want to sleep with me?” He said, “Um, I think that’s the point I’ve been trying to make, yes.” And I said, “Why?!” I could have happily stapled my own lips shut at that point, so I turned back to my pint (which I obviously didn’t need) and tried to become invisible. He laughed at me and said, “Oh come on, you can’t possibly think that badly of yourself.”
Now, remember that my memory is hazy, at best. HE was completely sober, because the Gods HATE me and wanted to watch me make an ass of myself with him, and then have HIM remember it in his sober brain, while my pickled brain chose to forget. Typical. So, we’ve just had this strange, flirty, suggestive conversation, and I’m DRUNK and reeling because I’ve just heard that the boy I’ve had a crush on for months is “interested” in me. Granted, it doesn’t actually sound like the kind of interested I’d LIKE (a.k.a. boyfriend. He’s pretty open about his “I’m not into a relationship right now” attitude), but still… it’s something. Anyway, I have NO idea what happened, or what I said… but I do have some random memories:
- I think he slapped me. Lightly; before you all freak out! I’d been hitting him all night long and likely (can’t remember) taunting him (remember the whole neck-kissing thing?). I got a light slap of his fingertips on my jaw and was so surprised that he actually did it, I think I sat in silence for a while. I SHOULD have played it up more, dammit. Made him kiss it better and all that. I’m a tool, not deserving of the name ‘woman’.
- I seem to recall some conversation about the “other girls”; the women he does his Lothario act with. He’s always talking about a different woman (though I’ve only ever seen him with one) and it kind of sounds like maybe he’s a bit of a player (but then again, I’m getting this information from my wee bro, who also tried to convince me that Pepé is gay). I wonder if I called him on that, because I seem to recall him saying, “I don’t care about them”, in response to something I’d asked about the women. No idea, which is driving me NUTS because I don’t know if he’s a cad, or if he was trying to impart some sort of secret to me. Crap.
- There was no touching. Am I nuts, or is it normal for people to touch people they’re interested in? Dunno… then again, he was sober and the whole neck-kissing thing happened after many, many hours of drinking. Ugh. I need to stop thinking about this.
There was also another woman that joined our table, Audrey. She had been back and forth between our table and the bar for most of the night, as she’d been speaking to one of the guys from our table when he was at the bar. Apparently, she’d gone out with her girlfriend for a girls’ night, and then the girl’s boyfriend had shown up, effectively making Audrey the third wheel. I know what that’s like, so I welcomed her to our table with open arms (even gave her my email address, so she could add me to her Facebook. Um… can’t remember why. Yes, I was THAT drunk).
After a bit, she started to sort of grate on my nerves because she’s the kind of person you can’t talk OVER. So, even if I HAD wanted to continue the strange conversation with Pepé, I wouldn’t have been able to because she was kind of dominating the conversation. So really, she didn’t bother me so much as the idea that I couldn’t continue my conversation with Pepé. By this time, it was 2am and we were being herded from the bar. Audrey didn’t want to go home yet, she wanted to continue drinking (and had a bottle in her purse, no less), and began asking whose house we could go to.
My wee bro and I both said no thanks, as we both had to be up at the crack of stupid to go to work (and should have gone home much, MUCH earlier) but Pepé and Mike (who had insisted that I have that last beer – the one that I’m pretty sure put me over the edge) both work unusual hours, so they could go stay out. Apparently, Audrey’s house was out (not quite sure why – she might have said, but there’s no way I’d rememeber) and Pepé offered his apartment but then told her to be prepared for it to be a ‘mess’ (I sincerely hope it’s not that bad – he puts himself together well… and always smells good… why are men such terrible housekeepers?!), but she was just so eager to avoid having to go home that she was all good with it.
Outside the bar, the end of the night. I was a hugging demon and hugged everyone in sight. I hugged Pepé (and had to almost bend over to do it – if he’s 5’5”, I’d be impressed. I’m 5’10”. Do the math.) and realized, as I was hugging him that he was bringing this strange (almost stranger – she’d been out before and sort of knew them from the bar) woman back to his place, after having expressed “interest” in me. Um. Did I fail the test? CRAP. I need to rewind and find out what was said! 
At that point, I didn’t realize that Mike was going with them, and spent the rest of the night at home, trying to stop the spins, get some sleep and stop thinking that Pepé inviting Audrey to go to his house after the bar was him picking her up. I’m such a CHICK.
Of course, true to my luck (and just to drive me a little bit more nuts), wouldn’t you know it but the next day Audrey popped up on my Facebook. Until that moment, I had NO memory of giving her my information. I still don’t know WHY I did it. Either way, she sent me a message on Facebook, telling me it was nice to meet me and whatnot, so I responded with an apology for any possible belligerence on my part from Thursday night (hey man, I was three sheets to the wind – you can’t be too careful!). She wrote back that I was “charming” (I know – I snorted at that, too) and that Pepé and Mike had been “singing my praises”.
Being the nosy bitch that Iam, I wrote back and asked exactly what that meant (mostly I wanted to know exactly what they’d said about me. I’m sure she wrote it just to be polite, but still… I’m a nosy bitch like that). The question remains unanswered, although apparently we’re going to see each other on this Thursday night, so maybe I can ‘girl-bond’ it out of her. 
Pepé seems to work until at least 1am on Thursdays, so if I’m a responsible girl, I might be home and in bed (alone. Sigh.) by the time he shows. I wonder how responsible I’ll be after that conversation last week?
Christ. No more drinking for me. Even as I’ve been writing this post, trying to recall Thursday, my face is scarlet! It’s almost too embarrassing to remember – the shame of being THAT drunk almost eclipses the joy at hearing that the boy I like is “interested” in me. Almost. And then, of course, there’s the fear that I f&cked things up because I was too drunk to have a conversation like an adult. Crap! I’m almost afraid to show my face there again this week… with my luck, Likely I’,ll hang around the pub until 1am, and Pepé either won’t show, or he’ll show and not talk to me or he’ll show and act like we never talked. Boys! Pfft.
