Toxic

There ain’t no disputin’ I’m toxic like Rasputin.

Well, since I last updated you, dear readers, I had a fairly straight out boozy weekend. Luckily last Monday I decided to start to “clean up” and start exercising, reduce the smoking and the drinking, and all that. Luckily, because I made up for any conservation early in the week with my Friday night (the secret bar, drinking with some people who had been there since 2 in the afternoon for a post-funeral gathering), with my Saturday night (date night, woot woot!), and with my Sunday (the all afternoon and evening birthday party, featuring every toxic substance known to man including Jack Daniels and Camel regulars).

But, hey, today I’m back in “the new me” mode. Big time. Someone even invited me to this big “fundraiser” that involved lots of free booze this evening and I said “Thanks, but no fuckin’ way. I’m done” And luckily, because Wednesday begins the long Thanksgiving weekend. And I fear that four more nights are ahead of me at the secret bar.

Yes, it is still true that I can resist everything except temptation.

But, anyway, Saturday. I’ll start by saying that I think it went really really well. My date that is. We seemed to get along like, like, well, like two things that get along great. But, of course, I always have to make things difficult for myself…

WAY THE FIRST: Oh, first off, about two hours before we were supposed to meet up, I managed to scratch the top of my ear. Did you know that if you cut your ear it will bleed for more than two hours? Yeah. So when I met up with Ms. Hold ‘Em, the top of my ear was still all blood caked, with the final trickles still coming out. Luckily she was fifteen minutes late, because when I first got there it was still throbbing out a noticable amount.

WAY THE SECOND: I had spent much of the day waffling between different dining options. By the time I called the popular Italian restaurant I decided on, the only reservation I could get was for 8:30. We were meeting at 6, it had already been decided. I figured we could, after a drink at the bar, go up to the general area of the restaurant and find something to do. Play pool, whatever, then head to dinner. Wait–let me go to Way the Third in order to finish this part of the story.

WAY THE THIRD: Although my mind kept telling myself I wasn’t nervous, my body definitely was producing those “butterflies” and all that made me think that I was more on edge than my brain was letting on to itself. So, I’m thinking a drink or two before going out will relax me. you know, no problem. We’re having a drink before dinner, maybe a drink or two with dinner, then a few more over the course of the evening. I’ll be good. But, of course, when we met up at the bar, one became three. She had decided that we could hang out there the couple of hours before dinner.  And it was a nice time chatting. For the most part it went great. Maybe one or two brief, awkward silences, but nothing like I’m often capable of. And, hey, despite the bloody ear, things were going pretty well. Except of course that without dinner, the drinks were adding up pretty quickly.

Anyway, we headed up to the restaurant and, despite all the time spent at the bar, we suddenly found ourselves fifteen minutes early for our reservation. So, I foolishly suggested going to the martini bar across the street for a quick one. Well, we settled into those big leathery seats with our tasty drinks and, well, next thing you know we were fifteen minutes late for our reservation. Heh. And that much tipsier.

So, we had dinner and it was pretty good. We had both pretty much loosened up and the talk got around to family and dating and stuff. One moment that worried me came when she asked me how old I was. I figured she already knew from talking to mutual friends. My heart skipped a beat, but then when I told her (accompanied by several ums) she said she had already known approximately and that “Age doesn’t matter at all.” Psyched.

And she was pretty straight forward about a lot of things. She’s busy for the next few weeks so don’t expect much time together until then. Until then. She also said that she wants something real and meaningful and she’s not just out for a good time. In other words, ready to settle down with someone and, who knows, it might just be you, mister. There was also another moment when I was talking about how I enjoyed to cook and she said she liked to cook but enjoyed baking more. And then she said, “I guess you can do the cooking and I can do the baking.” And I know most guys would have run screaming from someone on a first date saying all those things. But, it all seemed good and right.

So, after that we stopped at a bar in E’ton where they have both pool and music.  Unfortunately, it was country music and though she had said she didn’t mind country, well, it just wasn’t doing it for us. At any rate, we got to play a couple of games of pool. I think she let me win one of them. And then we headed back to the bar to go down below to the secret bar.

There, swimming as we were in drinks, the details of what might’ve happened win are fairly vague. We spent time outside smoking and kissing and lots of time inside holding hands and she was snuggling against me a lot. This is me we’re talking about here. I’ve never done anything much like that. But, again, it all felt so good and right and when someone puts their head up against your shoulder and they seem to fit so well there and it seems like you’ve been doing that forever, well, that’s just a sweet sweet thing.

Let’s see, what else. Oh, JetBlue was down at the secret bar and when Ms. Hold ‘Em and I were playing the video game there she kept coming over and trying to play along too. Sorry, JetBlue. Time to go away. Oh, and we went upstairs at some point. Ms. Hold ‘Em decided she wanted to try to beat the guy on the table. It’s funny–he was there for a big birthday party and so he was dressed up in the finest clothes, looking very much like a 50s gangsta. Anyway, she played fairly poorly (she said) and ended up losing by a couple of balls.  But it was funny to watch he–and his friends watching him–as she made some pretty impressive shots.

But, anyway, it was all great. Of course, part of me is still worried that she’ll find something wrong with me suddenly or I’ll find out that her real boyfriend is now paying more attention to her because she found me and now she doesn’t need me anymore.

You know, etc. etc. etc.

I may still be the same self-doubter, but at least I’m finding it harder to come up with credible things to cast doubts upon…