Posts Tagged ‘snogging

09
Apr
09

He looked good on the dancefloor, but….

I ventured out on Saturday night to go to a club here in Halifax for the first time, the Paragon (which used to be the Marquee) where Skratch Bastid was playing. It was a fun night, Skratch Bastid played an incredible set and I danced for hours. There were lots of hot boys, and one in particular kept dancing near me and eventually we locked lips and made out. Thrilling! He was super cute, but it turned out he was only 26. He thought it was no big deal, and we kept hanging out together. I had an overwhelming urge to drop the ‘I have a kid’ bomb to save wasting my time, or his, and when I did he responded with interested questions. I liked him.

So, he and his roomie were having a little party after the club closed and my posse of six decided we’d go. More beer? For sure! I fully took advantage of the fact that my neighbor who was babysitting said to stay out a late as I wanted, although I was feeling a little guilty every time I saw a clock. I held hands with the boy in the cab on the way home and everything was going well, until we got to his place.

We walked in to his sparsely furnished bachelor pit and I realized that his lifestyle was so far from mine that nothing was ever going to happen between us. We’re talking a framed picture of dogs playing poker (I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be ironic, but maybe not) above a thrift-store sofa, and very little else in the room. The floor was bare tiles. There were four garbage bags full of empty beer-cans on the balcony. It was like student digs, but he wasn’t a student. It wasn’t just his place that was shocking; once in the cold harsh light of his apartment, the appeal of him had worn off.

I sat there for half an hour, but I just wanted to get home to bed. Suddenly I felt too wasted to even pretend to be interested in the drunken conversations going on, and I was feeling REALLY guilty about my neighbor there waiting for me to get home (who I assumed was asleep, but it was 3am now, what if she wasn’t?)

I made for the door. The boy got up and asked if we could exchange numbers. I said with as much sincerity as I could muster, “Sure, give me your number and I’ll call you,” and he asked if we could go out next Saturday. I said yes, then I felt really guilty, but there was no way I could cope with seeing him again (but being in Halifax I believe the likelihood of this happening is pretty much 90% going to happen). I wrote his number on my hand and went downstairs to wait for a cab in the lobby. Horror of horrors, I was waiting an hour for a cab, and didn’t make it home until 4.30 am. It was the latest I’ve been up in years and years.

Once home, I had a bath and sat there scrubbing his number off the back of my hand. In my drunken state I started thinking that I missed my ex-husband. But then I remembered seeing him recently and that ridiculous “Dumb and Dumber” haircut he has now, and it made me smile, and I realized that no matter how lonely I feel, or how much I want a man in my life, I don’t want my ex-husband any more than I want the interior design challenged 26 year-old. Better off alone than in another crummy relationship.

26
Feb
08

Sheep thievery? Yes this is what we’ve come to.

Friday night I had a random walkabout w/some folks in my neighborhood, played piano duets and made out with a random guy. Saturday I met up with dear friends and tried–unsuccessfully–to steal a sheep. The sheep-thieving was way more entertaining.

Probably because the sheep was not alive, per se, nor had it ever been. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction possessed of surprising authenticity and charm. Its wool was woolly, its legs were stocky, its eyelids were heavy in a way that suggested it was thinking deep thoughts and was perhaps a little world-weary.

 It was one of a family (a herd? a pod?) of many fake sheep that hung out in the lobby bar of the new Custom Hotel in Westchester, which may be the most surreal property I’ve ever seen. Think Berlin decor, random West LA clientele (not Venice, nor yet Santa Monica, and certainly not Hollywood) mixed with business dudes on layover and the occasional suspected “working girl.” Then add in a pretty bomb-ass DJ and a few live puppies, wandering amidst the sheep. There. Now you’re getting me. This place was weird. But you know, I like weird places much more than normal ones, so I had a good time.

The entirety of our time in the bar was spent in huddle mode, trying to figure out how we could sneak out one of the fake sheep. We had become strangely enamored of it, and even took turns throwing our coats over it, tucking it underarmed like a large football (with legs), and doing dry runs around the bar. We even tried to stuff it inside Jenna’s oversize handbag. Sadly, it was not oversized enough. And there were security guards and cameras EVERYwhere. So we left the sheep behind, with promises to return.

“That sheep will haunt your dreams,” I told Alex, a scrappy young Jewish man who had even, for a moment, been ready to to use his wife’s bosom as a diversion while he sprinted out the door. (His wife, mind you, was at the bar at the time… the idea died on the vine once she returned.)

 Anyway. Fake sheep = fun. Random neighbors = not. Two of ’em saw me eating alone in a sushi bar…which is not too unusual on weeks when I’ve worked 80+ hours and gone out almost every night. They immediately took misguided pity on me and insisted that I come out drinking. So I did, to the lamest bar, where I met the lamest guy, proceeded to go back to the lamest house party, made out with him at some point just because I was bored, and then took a taxi back home vowing never to hang out with strangers again.

“I don’t like smart women. Actually, I don’t believe they exist,” he told me, mid-snog.

“Hmmm…” I said. “That’s…repulsive.”

“I was just kidding,” he said, looking wounded. “Don’t you know it’s a joke?”

Don’t you know I will never speak to you again? I wondered as we wandered back inside.

Apparently he didn’t know, for he texted me and asked me for a date the very next day.

Silly Neanderthal. When a woolly, football-shaped piece of wood with legs has more charm than you…well, that’s when you know you have a problem. Sadly, there is nothing I can see that you will ever be able to do about it.

Stay tuned for pics from the Custom Hotel.




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