Alright so tonight after work I decided I wanted a fancy drink because I’m looking at working 34 days straight an’ shit. So I went out after working at FOHjob. Hit up [fancy basement bar] and had a couple of fancy drinks and was feeling good but they have a 0100 bar close. Closed out my tab, then went up the block to [breakfast to beer] joint cos why not?
I get there, sit down, and order a Tito’s and soda. Then strike a conversation with the gal next to me. She bides me to sit next to her, I oblige. Start drinking, she immediately wants to make out.
I’m all for making out but at least let me get yer bloody name, girl. She’s not that young, I’m thinking she’s in her 50s so she’s been around the block a few times. Yet here she is, hitting up a perfect stranger for some hot PDA.
So we make out until bar close (which at 0200 is okay-ish. I’m thinking MN should move to 0300).
During this entire exchange of salivary gland fluids I didn’t volunteer my name, nor did she. I got called adorable, cute, smart, intelligent, adorable (again) and what was it I did again? (server bitch at FOHjob). Every time I’d try to answer she’d try to shut me up with her lips.
I’m okay with that. I love making out. But I also like knowing who I am making out with. Kept trying to make conversation, to no avail; she would not have it. I close our tab (I paid for her drinks too, thankfully she hadn’t drunk that much) and start walking to her place, with frequent stops for warming up, as it were. She kept saying she lived three blocks from the bar and did not try to get an Uber right from the get go so I thought we were good.
We get to her place and then she says “I’m not comfortable with you.”
I’m confused. You’re giving me all the signals but… fine, whatever. Yes, I am disappointed because I would like to touch someone and I would like to be touched. Fine. FINE. FINE.
So I bid her goodnight as she’s walking up the stairs to her door. Then she realizes she’s too drunk to find her keys, walks down the stairs and opens her garage. Last I saw of her was her smile as the garage door closed.
Well, okay. That was… disappointing, to say the least.
I made my way back to my bike, biked to my place and now here I am typing this up at three in the bloody morning as a lesson to myself to not trust any random women hitting me up at the bar:
Maybe she’s right. I just didn’t want to spend the night alone, is all.