"A quick drink" this weekend was the intention with another newish [redacted] friend. He suggested the bar downstairs from me, and its close proximity was key since Ziggy had a recent seizure and I didn't want to stray too far from home. I actually hadn't been to this bar yet (despite it opening two years ago), so a convenient outing somewhere new seemed emotionally and logistically doable.
I've grabbed dinner and drinks with [redacted] a good handful of times before, mostly when convenient for him, and less so now that he is officially back "on" with his girlfriend. I totally get how that works, but it's kind of annoying for me when I need to wait three days for a reply because she was in town. And all I'd asked was "Coffee?"
Anyway. It was apparent The Girlfriend wasn't in town when I got a text asking what I was up to for the night. I had planned to stay in and watch Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck, but figured it would be okay if I headed out for a couple of hours, and that a depressing documentary would be better watched after throwing a couple back.
Another text appeared on my phone just as I was about to leave. Want to grab a [redacted] cocktail from my [redacted] bar before heading down? I realized my one round of drinks quickly became two, and I walked over to his place, no-bake peanut butter and chocolate bars made earlier in hand. When let inside, I pointed out that I had wrapped the little treats in Tin Foil should he have forgotten to return a plate. (I was doing him a solid by eliminating any evidence that I had been in his apartment, bringing not-baked goods. The Girlfriend wouldn't have liked that very much.)
The lights in his place were dim, multiple candles lit, and [redacted] music was blaring through the speakers. "Listen to this first line!" he exclaimed. [Further musical reference also redacted.] I knew then what kind of night it would be--for him at least--and I playfully teased him about quite obviously being a few drinks deep. I was handed my [redacted] cocktail, a mix of gin and St-Germain (and something else?) in a chilled martini glass, muddled mint and lemon twist and all. It was an impressive presentation, especially with the presenter being drunk, and it was impressively smooth going down. When he excused himself to the bathroom, I found the reason behind said drink's goodness: [photo redacted, womp].
It wasn't long before we headed to the bar, as originally planned. [Redacted] ordered a Moscow Mule; I stuck with gin for consistency. He was in a talkative mood that night--maybe just plain drunk--and talked about his ex and current girlfriend and previous sexcapades, all in that order. I wondered if the bed conquests were told to impress me (they didn't), and he went back to talking about his current girlfriend being "The One." And in the next breath, mentioned how the adjacent bar was becoming his go-to for good drinks and bad choices. Naturally, that's where we went next.
[Redacted] immediately ordered us drinks (kudos to me for sticking with gin), and hardly blinked before pointing out a girl he wanted "to have sex with." I reminded him of his girlfriend, you know, The One, but he was already too far gone. We made our way over to the group of people that included the prospective Bad Choice, and he offered them a round of drinks (guys included). When he went off with the drink orders, I politely asked the group to not take advantage of my drunk friend's wallet, to which they obliged.
Turns out, this underground pub plays 90's hip-hop on weekends, which is most definitely a new thing. Or, it's been a thing and I wouldn't know, since I typically go there on weekdays around 5PM. Either way, I happily danced around by myself, thankful to be able to let loose a bit (and to Montell Jordan no less). [Redacted] tried to dance but mostly remained perched against a wall, too drunk to coordinate his limbs for much else. His attempt to take Bad Choice home wasn't going to work either, as her boyfriend put the kibosh on the idea before I could. It was then I was thankful for the round of drinks bought on [redacted's] dime, since liquor seemed to make the group more forgiving.
His drunken sights soon set on me though, and after declining numerous requests to kiss him, I managed to convince him it was time to go home. I was praying we'd get back to his apartment before he got sick (we did!), and feeling victorious, I put a glass of water on his nightstand and headed home.
The Morning After
[Redacted] sends me a text (typos included to enforce hangover). I hope you dropped me off at my door Luke a true gentlewomen. Please don't say I stayed down there after you left...
I knew he'd have absolutely no recollection of the night before. I took you home and rubbed your back while you threw up, got you water, and left. Andddd I tucked you into bed. Oh, I also declined your numerous requests to kiss you, lol.
He replied after a long pause. Thank you for being a very good friend. My kiss requests would be very sincere if I wasn't wifed up...but yeah, I am.
I had to tell She Who Eventually Shall Be Named (sooner than later), since I keep her current with most everything now. While she found the whole thing funny, she expressed her disappointment that there are no "good guys taking me out for a nice meal like I deserve." While that may be true, I honestly could care less about that right now. I'm just happy that despite all I have going on, I'm somehow keeping my shit together and not regretting my Saturday nights (and I'm single!). The only thing aside from me in my bed that night was Nellie. And Ziggy. Both who I did let on the bed because I had been drinking, but I mean, it could be so much worse.
PS- Drinking also evidenced by the dark and blurry 1AM selfie taken with Nellie, found later that morning.
PPS- The one not dark or blurry selfie I took to document that I was both wearing makeup and going out on a Saturday night was unfortunately taken squatting in front of a mirror, duck-faced, and emphasizing my gargantuan size hands. Sober.
Again, it could be worse.