You Have What Tattooed Where?
I know I've been on hiatus for a while, but let's just say a freight train went right through my heart and I just stood there and let it happen. The good news is that I'm back and better than ever. So, I guess I can just pick up where I left off.
Where to begin with this one? I really wonder if I wasn't the problem to begin with on this one. He was cute, in a very nerdy kind of way. He was kind of scruffy and dark and geeky at the same time. What a combination. We'll call him Payton because his real name was just as trendy and pretentious. He had a master's degree in accounting from UGA, and boy was he proud of it. There's a huge culture that surrounds UGA and football and machismo here and if you don't get it, then you just aren't part of the party. I never really got it.
He had a little boy, five, I think, who looked just like him. It seems like a wonderful idea to find someone else who is a single parent and can understand the way things have to be when your job is to place the needs of another person before yourself. We seemed like a great match, so I said I'd go out with him.
He totally nailed our first date. He was extremely clever with reading my likes and dislikes. We went for a hike at one of the myriad places on the Chattahochee and he took me straight over to the dam on the trail and we stood together, soaking up the roar of the water and the last rays of light filtering through the spray, making rainbows over us. It was perfect. It was so cold that I wore three layers of clothes and never got too warm.
Then he asked me if I liked Brazilian food. He had me at meat. He took me to this little place that he professed to love and we ate Brazilian buffet-style and laughed and talked. He was a perfect gentleman. Those are rare and it was refreshing. He walked me to my car and I kissed his cheek and thanked him for a wonderful evening. It really was a wonderful evening.
He almost immediately asked when he could see me again. I was all for it because I really did like him. He planned another night and this one was intended to be a night out. I was in for the date of my life that night and had no idea.
I had heard of Prohibition before, but it's all very hush hush and secret. It's a tiny bar, decorated in 1920's style, complete with a little humidor and bartenders all dressed up like this guy. There are two ways to get into this bar: have the password, or know someone. If you have the password, you climb into this phone booth, pick up the phone and say the password to the bouncer. If you know the bouncer, you just get walked right in like you're some kind of VIP. Payton knew the bouncer, a big, dark, happy man somewhere between Rasta and Pacific Islander. His name was Bali and he hugged me like I was his long-lost best friend. I'm used to that from barstaff, so it just made me feel like I was at home.
We sat at the bar and had a couple of cocktails and a Hemingway cigar so big it was hard to wrap my fingers around it. The place was packed to the gills and smoky. It was truly perfect. We then proceeded to barhop around Buckhead, drinking and dancing. Thank goodness, he had the forethought to make sure we had a cab home, because we were both pretty much plastered.
We got home and he asked me if I could stay and I said yes because I was far too drunk to drive home. I trusted him. He isn't the predatory type. He gave me an old tee shirt and tucked me into bed beside him. I rather unfortunately noticed while I was changing that his bathroom was a total mess. That's a turn-off dudes, clean up after yourself.
I had to be up for something the next morning, that's right, a friend's all day food party as a treat to himself for not eating junk for something like three months, so when my alarm went off, Payton slipped over to my side of the bed and slipped a hand up my bare thigh and just kept going. I peeled his hands off me and got out of bed, hauling ass for the bathroom in nothing but his tee and a tiny little lacy thong. That was my walk of shame for the day.
I didn't see him again for a while, but he would cross my mind from time to time and so when the weather started to improve, I agreed to see him again. I took him to a friend's birthday party (boy does that have a whole other story attached) and he drank because it was Lent and I'm an idiot and gave up alcohol for Lent this year. He was wearing flip-flops and when he got to my house, he propped his feet up on the coffee table, exposing his right inner ankle to me. The moment of truth occurred right then when I realized that his only tattoo was of his fraternity letters, tattooed on his inner ankle, because apparently, that's manly. He lost all chance of getting in my pants in that moment.
Well, we went on the party and he drank (and I didn't) all night long. He kept getting clingier and clingier, holding my hand, with one arm around me, playing footsie and trying to kiss me all at the same time. He was like a man-blanket and I was not feeling the love. I finally escaped to the bathroom for a few minutes of peace.
He eventually came back to my place and invited himself to stay over. I wish you all could see me shaking my head at this memory. I tossed and turned the whole night, disentangling myself from him at regular intervals, sweating my ass off and wishing he would roll over or go home. I only got about three hours of sleep and by the time it was light out, I was done with my own bed.
I haven't seen him since, but I wish him all the best. I'm sure he'll find a musical-loving girl who wants to be physically smothered on a regular basis, I'm just not her.
Where to begin with this one? I really wonder if I wasn't the problem to begin with on this one. He was cute, in a very nerdy kind of way. He was kind of scruffy and dark and geeky at the same time. What a combination. We'll call him Payton because his real name was just as trendy and pretentious. He had a master's degree in accounting from UGA, and boy was he proud of it. There's a huge culture that surrounds UGA and football and machismo here and if you don't get it, then you just aren't part of the party. I never really got it.
He had a little boy, five, I think, who looked just like him. It seems like a wonderful idea to find someone else who is a single parent and can understand the way things have to be when your job is to place the needs of another person before yourself. We seemed like a great match, so I said I'd go out with him.
He totally nailed our first date. He was extremely clever with reading my likes and dislikes. We went for a hike at one of the myriad places on the Chattahochee and he took me straight over to the dam on the trail and we stood together, soaking up the roar of the water and the last rays of light filtering through the spray, making rainbows over us. It was perfect. It was so cold that I wore three layers of clothes and never got too warm.
Then he asked me if I liked Brazilian food. He had me at meat. He took me to this little place that he professed to love and we ate Brazilian buffet-style and laughed and talked. He was a perfect gentleman. Those are rare and it was refreshing. He walked me to my car and I kissed his cheek and thanked him for a wonderful evening. It really was a wonderful evening.
He almost immediately asked when he could see me again. I was all for it because I really did like him. He planned another night and this one was intended to be a night out. I was in for the date of my life that night and had no idea.
I had heard of Prohibition before, but it's all very hush hush and secret. It's a tiny bar, decorated in 1920's style, complete with a little humidor and bartenders all dressed up like this guy. There are two ways to get into this bar: have the password, or know someone. If you have the password, you climb into this phone booth, pick up the phone and say the password to the bouncer. If you know the bouncer, you just get walked right in like you're some kind of VIP. Payton knew the bouncer, a big, dark, happy man somewhere between Rasta and Pacific Islander. His name was Bali and he hugged me like I was his long-lost best friend. I'm used to that from barstaff, so it just made me feel like I was at home.
We sat at the bar and had a couple of cocktails and a Hemingway cigar so big it was hard to wrap my fingers around it. The place was packed to the gills and smoky. It was truly perfect. We then proceeded to barhop around Buckhead, drinking and dancing. Thank goodness, he had the forethought to make sure we had a cab home, because we were both pretty much plastered.
We got home and he asked me if I could stay and I said yes because I was far too drunk to drive home. I trusted him. He isn't the predatory type. He gave me an old tee shirt and tucked me into bed beside him. I rather unfortunately noticed while I was changing that his bathroom was a total mess. That's a turn-off dudes, clean up after yourself.
I had to be up for something the next morning, that's right, a friend's all day food party as a treat to himself for not eating junk for something like three months, so when my alarm went off, Payton slipped over to my side of the bed and slipped a hand up my bare thigh and just kept going. I peeled his hands off me and got out of bed, hauling ass for the bathroom in nothing but his tee and a tiny little lacy thong. That was my walk of shame for the day.
I didn't see him again for a while, but he would cross my mind from time to time and so when the weather started to improve, I agreed to see him again. I took him to a friend's birthday party (boy does that have a whole other story attached) and he drank because it was Lent and I'm an idiot and gave up alcohol for Lent this year. He was wearing flip-flops and when he got to my house, he propped his feet up on the coffee table, exposing his right inner ankle to me. The moment of truth occurred right then when I realized that his only tattoo was of his fraternity letters, tattooed on his inner ankle, because apparently, that's manly. He lost all chance of getting in my pants in that moment.
Well, we went on the party and he drank (and I didn't) all night long. He kept getting clingier and clingier, holding my hand, with one arm around me, playing footsie and trying to kiss me all at the same time. He was like a man-blanket and I was not feeling the love. I finally escaped to the bathroom for a few minutes of peace.
He eventually came back to my place and invited himself to stay over. I wish you all could see me shaking my head at this memory. I tossed and turned the whole night, disentangling myself from him at regular intervals, sweating my ass off and wishing he would roll over or go home. I only got about three hours of sleep and by the time it was light out, I was done with my own bed.
I haven't seen him since, but I wish him all the best. I'm sure he'll find a musical-loving girl who wants to be physically smothered on a regular basis, I'm just not her.
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