Yesterday was a long day -- full-day meeting downtown, so by the end I was ready to head home and just chill out. That is...until I got a call from "Princess." She had been invited out to join group of people from work at happy hour at a downtown bar, and she wanted to see if I was up for going as well.
R has been sick all week, so I left him a message telling him that I'd be grabbing drinks with some coworkers and that I'd call him when I got home. Of course, assuming that it would be one or two drinks and it'd be an early night.
I fed the dog and promptly drove over to meet Princess who was waiting in a taxi to take us *back* downtown. At this point I began to realize this plan was quite nutty -- having just come from downtown in rush hour traffic, we were literally getting right back in the car to head over to where we had been, but only this time sit through gobs and gobs of traffic. Brilliant. And not only that, we were going to spend $50 to have one drink. But why not, it's not like I had anything else going on anyway? :)
So we finally found the pub crawlers at a N'Awlins-inspired bar in the old downtown area -- literally door-to-door bars. We walked in to find a group standing there, happily drinking and who had been drinking long before we ever arrived. Princess knew one of the gals there and everyone else was new to us. Somewhat refreshing to meet new people who don't know you from Adam. The folks that we usually hang out with -- well, let's just say everyone knows everyone else's business, so it was a relief to just have a good time and not have to watch our P's and Q's as diligently as we would otherwise.
South Africa must have a different way of serving up wine, because Princess was asking for her's in a tall glass with ice. Hey, whatever works. And knowing my tolerance for wine, I stuck to that pretty much all night.
At the first pub, we started chatting it up with group and next thing I know, we're off to the next bar. And then the next bar, and then the next bar, until we end up at an Irish pub with a live band. Ironically, the same bar that R and I ended up at the first night I met him on our blind date.
I was pleasantly buzzed and was a site to behold -- dancing as if I owned the dance floor. It's amazing how much more uninhibited you become after a few glasses of wine, and I couldn't care less if I was making an absolute ass of myself.
The lead guitar guy was having a great time high-fiving me after each song and I kept trying to convince him to sing "Sweet Caroline," but to no avail.
I'm not even sure what time it was at this point, but I certainly hadn't called R back, and it was well beyond a reasonable hour. So much so, that we ended up closing the bar down at 2 am.
I was ready to go home, but had also found myself in somewhat of a precarious situation with one of the guys in the group that I had been talking to and dancing with. I could tell was enjoying my company, and toward the end of the evening had asked if he could see me. I had told him several pub stops earlier that I had a boyfriend, which apparently didn't phase him in the least.
My new, drunk and apparently enamored friend (celebrating his birthday, nonetheless), was clearly having a great time flirting with me. (I think it was all of the talk of British bands that I listen to and traveling around the world that intrigued him.) It was sweet and I was very flattered, but was so glad to have enough time to sober up and try to deflect his flirtation. ...All the while I'm thinking..."holy crap, how on earth did I end up in this situation."
And so I continued to reiterate that I had a boyfriend and that I'm sure he understood the situation. As the cab pulled up, and this guy was starting to get more clingy and desperate for a good night kiss, I opened the door to the cab, and as I slid in, he asked me if he would see me again.
"Savor the memory," I told him and then Princess and I disappeared into the wee-dawn hours.
And so when I woke up this morning I called R, feeling like a complete cad that I hadn't called him at all last night. I got his voicemail again, and so thinking that his phone might have been off all night, I left him a message.
He called me back while I was in the shower and said that he had turned his phone off at 11pm when he went to bed. So when I finally spoke to him on the phone, he asked me what time I had called him.
"Oh, I think it was around 11:30 pm. Are you feeling better, sweetie?" And then quickly moved the conversation right along.
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