........ like the corner of my mind..........
2 years ago today on Saturday, January 24, 2004, I convinced my best friend Danielle to go barhopping with me, which at the time, was actually a very difficult feat. Ok, barhopping is an understatement as we really only went to one bar and then later in the night hopped across the street, literally, to the only other bar in town (semantics). Long story short, it was the night when I first met Mike. I can still remember the first romantic words that he uttered to Danielle and I -“ Twins right? 21st birthday?”. To which I nodded and grinned, or was it a chagrin? After which, I politely walked past him to the bathroom with Danielle all the while uttering something that sounded very similar to the word “fork”.
Sloughing off the brief, initial contact that I had made with Mike, Danielle and I decided to try our chances out to the back patio. Much to my surprise, there was Mike with his buddy, Scott. Needless to say, Danielle makes a great wingman. While she chatted it up with his friend, I was able to find out a little more about Mike. Fortunately for my sake, a few short hours later, I barely remembered anything at all about the birthday twins (by “barely”, I mean only enough to bring up from time to time to embarrass the everloving piss out of him). Mike proved to be very funny, interesting and intelligent. We spent that entire night together - talking, and talking and talking and when the sun came up we slept for about an hour - give or take 50 minutes - and proceeded to look for somewhere nearby to get a nice breakfast.
After a very extensive search, we were able to find a seedy little place that had recently opened up for business. Unfortunatly they did not have the kinks yet worked out of their breakfast menu and lunch was the only available option. Now, some may say that coffee and a spicy chicken sandwich is not the best hangover food in the world, to which I say, you ain’t just whistling dixie. I do not know what I was thinking, or even if I was thinking at all when the little demented voice in my head convinced me that “yeah, spicy chicken and coffee sounds wonderful, especially on an already weakened stomach”. Somehow I managed to muddle through the meal, with only one extensive trip to the bathroom. Of course, my trip to the bathroom not only gave me the opportunity for some much needed “relaxation”, but it also gave me the unfortunate opportunity to glimpse at myself in the mirror. Dear God what a horrific sight - mascara down around my chin, flock of seagulls hair, pasty, dehydrated lips and flesh tones that could only be described as translucent or at best, flourescent - I could only hope that the lighting out in the dining area was a little more flattering. Needless to say, I made it through “breakfast” and drove Mike back to his friend’s house, where we had spent the night previously. On the drive home, I prayed that my insecurities were all in my head and that perchance, Mike didn’t see things as gravely as I did that morning. Alas, I dropped him off in the driveway and as he slowly made his way out of my car, he commenced our meeting with the immortal words that will forever be etched in my memory (right up there with “Twins…….)…. “Call me sometime”. Ummmm………….. yeah………….. ok…………… uh…….. sure.
The 20 minute drive back home felt more like 20 years, as I kept chanting over and over to myself “Call me sometime”. Ugh!! What the hell is that??? The very same question that I would later be asking of myself and friends a minimum of 1,000 times. By Monday morning, I had almost convinced myself that maybe I should in fact “call him sometime”. I was a modern woman, right, I knew how to operate a telephone key-pad, I could go out on a limb and take a chance for once. I convincingly tried to forget the fact that when I last saw him I looked like a poor excuse for a vampire and he specifically did not say “I will call….” The over-analysis of male-female , dating verbiage is enough to drive an insane girl even more nuts. Thank heaven for small favors, as I did not have to commit myself to a mental institution that day or even later that week, my salvation came in the form of a phone call from Mike. On Monday night, he was the one who took pity on my insecure soul and called me. The rest is history, or something like that. I do have more long and drawn-out stories to recount, which I believe I will, if only for posterity, but today I choose only to remember that particular day in my life. Give or take a few over/underexagerated details, that is what I was doing precisely two weeks ago today.
Tonight, we have discussed marking the occasion with a nice dinner out, perhaps the new French restaurant that opened up not too far from our house; maybe the Italian restaurant that his parents are always raving about that we’ve yet to sample. However, on my way into work this morning, I stumbled upon a slightly different idea. Instead of a quasi-formal dinner out, maybe it would be nice to do something more reminiscent of our meeting and head over to our neighborhood bar. We could have a few drinks, maybe some appetizers, shoot a game of pool and once we’re warmed up, move on to the real reason that I will have dragged him out - DARTS! You see, I love to play darts. While I am admittedly not very good, I rarely pass up the opportunity to play and I have a very, very difficult time coercing Mike to engage me in a game under normal circumstances ( I think that inherently, he must fear my natural dart playing talents). Tonight however, I think, that if I manage to get all dolled up, put on my most adorable face, smile up at him lovingly and utter the words…….. “Call me Sometime”, I might have the proper ammunition that I need to get my way.
Sloughing off the brief, initial contact that I had made with Mike, Danielle and I decided to try our chances out to the back patio. Much to my surprise, there was Mike with his buddy, Scott. Needless to say, Danielle makes a great wingman. While she chatted it up with his friend, I was able to find out a little more about Mike. Fortunately for my sake, a few short hours later, I barely remembered anything at all about the birthday twins (by “barely”, I mean only enough to bring up from time to time to embarrass the everloving piss out of him). Mike proved to be very funny, interesting and intelligent. We spent that entire night together - talking, and talking and talking and when the sun came up we slept for about an hour - give or take 50 minutes - and proceeded to look for somewhere nearby to get a nice breakfast.
After a very extensive search, we were able to find a seedy little place that had recently opened up for business. Unfortunatly they did not have the kinks yet worked out of their breakfast menu and lunch was the only available option. Now, some may say that coffee and a spicy chicken sandwich is not the best hangover food in the world, to which I say, you ain’t just whistling dixie. I do not know what I was thinking, or even if I was thinking at all when the little demented voice in my head convinced me that “yeah, spicy chicken and coffee sounds wonderful, especially on an already weakened stomach”. Somehow I managed to muddle through the meal, with only one extensive trip to the bathroom. Of course, my trip to the bathroom not only gave me the opportunity for some much needed “relaxation”, but it also gave me the unfortunate opportunity to glimpse at myself in the mirror. Dear God what a horrific sight - mascara down around my chin, flock of seagulls hair, pasty, dehydrated lips and flesh tones that could only be described as translucent or at best, flourescent - I could only hope that the lighting out in the dining area was a little more flattering. Needless to say, I made it through “breakfast” and drove Mike back to his friend’s house, where we had spent the night previously. On the drive home, I prayed that my insecurities were all in my head and that perchance, Mike didn’t see things as gravely as I did that morning. Alas, I dropped him off in the driveway and as he slowly made his way out of my car, he commenced our meeting with the immortal words that will forever be etched in my memory (right up there with “Twins…….)…. “Call me sometime”. Ummmm………….. yeah………….. ok…………… uh…….. sure.
The 20 minute drive back home felt more like 20 years, as I kept chanting over and over to myself “Call me sometime”. Ugh!! What the hell is that??? The very same question that I would later be asking of myself and friends a minimum of 1,000 times. By Monday morning, I had almost convinced myself that maybe I should in fact “call him sometime”. I was a modern woman, right, I knew how to operate a telephone key-pad, I could go out on a limb and take a chance for once. I convincingly tried to forget the fact that when I last saw him I looked like a poor excuse for a vampire and he specifically did not say “I will call….” The over-analysis of male-female , dating verbiage is enough to drive an insane girl even more nuts. Thank heaven for small favors, as I did not have to commit myself to a mental institution that day or even later that week, my salvation came in the form of a phone call from Mike. On Monday night, he was the one who took pity on my insecure soul and called me. The rest is history, or something like that. I do have more long and drawn-out stories to recount, which I believe I will, if only for posterity, but today I choose only to remember that particular day in my life. Give or take a few over/underexagerated details, that is what I was doing precisely two weeks ago today.
Tonight, we have discussed marking the occasion with a nice dinner out, perhaps the new French restaurant that opened up not too far from our house; maybe the Italian restaurant that his parents are always raving about that we’ve yet to sample. However, on my way into work this morning, I stumbled upon a slightly different idea. Instead of a quasi-formal dinner out, maybe it would be nice to do something more reminiscent of our meeting and head over to our neighborhood bar. We could have a few drinks, maybe some appetizers, shoot a game of pool and once we’re warmed up, move on to the real reason that I will have dragged him out - DARTS! You see, I love to play darts. While I am admittedly not very good, I rarely pass up the opportunity to play and I have a very, very difficult time coercing Mike to engage me in a game under normal circumstances ( I think that inherently, he must fear my natural dart playing talents). Tonight however, I think, that if I manage to get all dolled up, put on my most adorable face, smile up at him lovingly and utter the words…….. “Call me Sometime”, I might have the proper ammunition that I need to get my way.