Monday, December 18, 2006

Dancing, Assult and a Jumbo Slice

Well to make a very loooong night’s story short – Saturday evening I went out with VT, her brother and Argyle (so called because of the argyle sweater he was sporting – it was actually kind of cute…but just too easy to make fun of and me being, well, me …I did!) to Adams Morgan.

I had met argle and VT’s brother (VTB) on Halloween. They came over to my apartment for a pregaming party I was throwing for Barbie #1 as she was moving the next day. Because Barbie #1 has been my best friend my first year as a DC resident – I went all out: bought bottles of Champaign, cooked. Ok, I didn’t technically ‘cook’ – I chopped up vegetables, mixed up some low fat dip, put some salsa in a bowl and cut up cheese. Anytime the food preparatory process is more complicated than open, microwave and eat - I consider it cooking.

And so I opened the door in my oh so cute costume – took a deep breath and assumed the role of hostess with the mostest J I served, refilled, shuffled and smiled and since I did not end up going out with the bigger party – I hope I did my part to give Barbie a proper sendoff (this IS relavent information...keep reading). Apparently it made quite an impression on these young gentlemen (you'd think they'd never seen cubed cheese before) and they though I was the most charming, calm, sedated and accomidating gal they'd ever met. (snicker)

So imagine VTB and Argyle’s surprise when they saw me out in true Saturday Scarlett form – buying rounds of Jell-O shots, going drink for drink with the boys, cracking jokes, making the bitchiest of observations and dancing like Fergie’s London Bridge was a comin’ down.

Half way through the evening, they expressed their surprise – their very pleasant surprise that I was not, in fact Martha-F*cking-Stewart which VT and I thought was the most hilarious thing we’d ever heard (and I’ll bet it will give many of you a chuckle as well).

Anyhoo… we started out the evening at the ever popular Reef, followed by the afore mentioned Jell-O shots at Millie & Al’s, a trip to the ever div-y and fabulous Dan’s Café and ending the evening at Nola's.

I was a Nola’s virgin at the start of the evening, now I feel like ….well….like I’ve been around the twist and back.

As I walked in…a cute guy started staring and smiling – being a bottle of wine, 2 jellow shooters and lord knows how many miller lites in, I smiled back and a few minutes later he came over and full on GRABBED MY CHEST. I’m sorry, is there a culture in which people say hello in this fashion? I was so shocked, my involuntary, knee-jerk reaction was, in fact just that: an involuntary knee-jerk reaction.

I kneed him ('where it counts') so hard that…well…he doubled over and I thought he was going to cry. Did I mention that my therapist says I have anger management issues? Well, I walked away without apologizing and felt…very un-sorry. And kind of good.
The evening perked up when the cutest guy I had seen in a very long time walked into the bar. He wasn’t good looking ala Brad Pitt or Clive Owen…but more along the lines of adorable ala Chris O’Donnell and looked just like Michael Ball (for those who are theatrically non in-the-know, please see the attached picture). The cute, teddy bear type you just want to curl up with forever.


He smiled. I smiled. He came over – there was no uninvited gropage, and he said, “I’m sorry, but you are so cute”

(blush…big, Scarlett smile)
“Thanks, I was just thinking the same thing about you”

Friendly banter,blah blah blah, I live here, I live there, I do this, I do that, and then... he kissed me – soft, sweet…weak in the knees kind of kiss.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt right”

“Yes it did”

Blah blah blah – and he asked for my number. And I gave it to him and kissed him good bye.
I doubt he’ll call. Boys never call. Right? It's been 24 hours already and I suppose if he were going to call...he would have by now.

Ugh – this is why the giving out of numbers is never good – because they never call and you wonder why and then you’re disappointed, and it all culminates in one big therapy bill and a year's supply of anti-depressents. No. No. Much better to just cut and run.

So to recap: There was drinking, shattered images of domestic goddess status, physical assult, romance and a jumbo slice. Frankly, it was just the recipe for a wonderful Saturday evening.

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