If You Want Proof That I Still Can’t – Shouldn’t Ever – Talk To Women In Clubs …
Consider the hellish Voodoo spell cast upon me the Friday before last.
It happened just as All My Charming Idiosyncrasies stopped being Charming …
Which left my Idiosyncrasies alone, afraid and vulnerable to the bullying of Deep Regret.
SO, SOME LADY FRIENDS I KNOW
Got Their Hustle On And Decide They’re Going To … Hook Me Up … Because, Why Not?
Oh, this ought to be good, right? The thought of succumbing My Free Will to the Wicked Whims Of Pack Predators is not my idea of Monkey Guffaws.
genuine dubious intentions. This debacle can’t possibly end well. And, soon enough, is way too late.
… What I Tried To Say Moments Before I Had No Choice In The Matter.
A FINE SOIRÉE
As It Was, We’re Out At A Business Social Event …
Never the Ideal Sitch to mix Bad-To-The-Bone Intentions with Soon-To-Be-Curious Choices.
“Seven Minutes In And I’m ‘Mwha’d Out’ With Air Kisses.”
Mingling. Noshing. Getting Libations On.
DIGGING THE SHINDIG
The Joint Is Jacked – Everyone Knows Everyone – Hmmm, Not Always A Splendid Idea …
I huddled My Tribe Of Infidels reminding them to Stay Cool and let Frenemies be Frenemies. Smile when you cast shade. And, yes, Resting B!tch Face is also smiling, I concur.
There’s Friendlies Getting Friendlier – Selfie Flashes – Besties du Jour.
… Imagine Six Degrees of Separation riddled with incurable FOMO.
LIKE LINKEDIN MEETS TINDER
How I Saw It … Cranked Up …
Because I am Stealth-like. Unknowable. I Blend.
Until I don’t.
They don’t call me The Reverent Wallflower for nothing.
FOUR ‘GATORS OF THE APOCALYPSE
The Unusually Suspect Suspects … Accomplices On The Highway To Hell Night …
For their own Sh!ts & Giggles, I am bequeathed honorary status as One of The Girls – Cinderella Man – by the quartet of Femme Fatales:
The Instigator. The Alligator. The Termigator. The Agigator.
… Hardcore Divas is the preferred Nomenclature.
BEYOND THE OBVIOUS
Bumbled Attempts At Explaining …
“Thanks, But No Thanks, I’m Good.”
I’m left hanging. Without A Wing Woman. Flying Solo. The Lone Dude.
… Sans Gal Pals, to navigate through The Inevitable Train Wreck coming my way.
POSTURING DID NOTHING
Reluctance & Futility …
Yeah, we’re well acquainted. Old Chums. Makes no difference.
And, neither did ignoring the You Should Know Better Than To Get Corralled into this farce.
… My Faint Opposition turned into an Inquisition laced with Bravado.
#1. I DON’T REBOUND (MUCH)
Recent Relationship History (Minimalist Version): Volumes I, II and III …
Long, Longer, Longest One. Then, Shorter One. And, Now, I Don’t Want One.
I’m extraordinarily gifted at being alone. Solitude is an under appreciated Super Power Of Monks.
Amusing-Myself-All-By-Myself. Like Now. Tonight, I expect. Tomorrow, we’ll see? But, please check again with me next week because one never knows.
#2. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME, BUT PLEASE TRY
And, besides, My Walk Of Shame has developed an annoying limp …
It’s been awhile.
I should probably stretch. Find a quiet place to warm up.
… Before Regret Comes A Knock-Knock-Knocking …
#3. NOT-GOING-TO-HAPPEN, CAPISCE?
Not Interested – I Protest – Without Conviction … Like When I Say, “No Dessert For Me” then Mooch Through Three Servings Of Crème Brûlée …
This is Self Talk. Talking Back. Nonsense.
“… I Really Need To Focus On My Blog –
154157 Followers Depend On Me, Damn It – But, I Promise Whatever Happens Tonight Gets ‘Kuched’ On My Blog Tomorrow …”
… Plus, we all know that Non-Committal Casual Sex is a permanent cure for Writer’s Block. All in it for the sake of the Craft. All Y’all, Reading This, Owe Me.
#4. EXPLAIN “HOOK-UP”
I’ve been ‘Out-Of-The-Game’ long enough that I’m lost on The Nuances of Etiquette Purgatory And Sexual Colloquialisms … Like, exactly what does Hook-Up mean again?
Fun Fact Confession Digression: A stripper, sorry “Influencer of Happy Endings” … in South Beach once tried to explain it to a friend. (My lawyer has advised me to stop typing, but I swear the friend wasn’t me and the stripper was a hooker).
Anyway, the music was loud – The Air Rank With The Scent of Cheap Coconut Body Spray & Every-Other-Man-In-Miami-Lighting-Up-His-Expense-Account and Cleavage Glitter – flashes of neon lights distracted my senses casting shadows over what was left of my good judgement …
What with the husky accent – Hey, Dude, You Trapped Inside? – it sounded like I’d have to pay for something I always get for free, and also, didn’t particularly want to play ‘The Crying Game’ … call me picky, fussy even, but like the majority of Heterosexual Men I don’t find Adam’s Apples attractive – Memories of Antoine.
#5. WHAT’RE WE THINKING?
I Lighten My Inquisition – Feel The Noose Loosening – Toss Out An Olive Branch For “Das Fräulein Hyänen” To Nibble On …
I’m greeted with ravenous assurance. Blinded By Curiosity of What’s In Store For Me.
“Alright, I’m In.”
Here We Go … Hey, Hey, Hey …
WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?
Asks Alligator …
I Wasn’t Aware I Had A Type.
“Barbies. He Likes Barbies.”
Instigator answers for me. Because, of course, she’s all knowing. And, its on my Wikipedia page.
NOD & SHRUG
So, you like Barbies?
Uh, yeah. Is this a trick question? Call me Ken, if it helps. To clarify, I add, not the dolls – I’m strictly a G.I. Joe Guy – Real Life Barbies.
“Also, I’m A Devout And Practicing (Wishful) Sapiosexual.”
Which Goes Nowhere. Crickets with Arched Eyebrows.
I Interject With Some Defiant Uppity To It …
I’m attracted to Intellect. Sapiophile.
Think Smart Barbies. Smoking Hot, Smart Barbies. My delusion is only half Shallow Hal-ish.
And, My Mortal Fear of Botox and Silicone is just a skin deep façade. Therapy is helping.
I TAKE MY FRESHLY PRINTED HALL PASS
To Roam The Bar While GATOR NATION Plots Their Diabolical Plan Of “Hook Uppery” …
Fourteen Steps Later … The Limp Is Gone … I Shuffle Dance through a Gaggle of Gagglers Gaggling.
Now, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Down my back. Rubbing my arm.
… Wait, What?
AM I MISSING SOMETHING?
The Same Hand …
Is attached to a woman.
We’ve met before. Before being Monday. Same week. At a business meeting.
The Other Hand – one finger in particular – sports a sparkling diamond mounted on a gold ring. And, there you go.
Get Me Out Of Here … I’m Not Comfortable With This …
Some Friendlies Join Us. Relief. Company.
Drinks passed around. Grey Goose. Soda. Lime.
… One Drink Too Many … Because I Don’t Drink Hard Liquor …
MOVING ON OVER
Another 8 Steps – BOOM – Busted!
About. This. Close. Little Closer. Closer. That’s Close Enough.
“Oh, Please, Mick … What’s Her Name?”
You’ve Got This … No, I Don’t.
OH, WOW, IT’S YOU!
I Know, Right?
The Hair Is Throwing Me – Off – But, The Good Kind Of Off. In the Most Borrowed Blonde voice:
Alright, I Know Who Sent Her.
DANIEL CRAIG, REALLY?
I Didn’t See That Coming. You’re Far Too Kind. Possibly, Drunk. Myopic, Too.
She opens with the DC reference – Really, Who Does That – Dame Judy Dench? Kudo Points for Big Originality. I was hoping for a Jason Bateman. Viggo Mortensen. Johnny Depp. Not James Bond.
And, the perfume you’re wearing – subtle but familiar – Delusion by Hugo Wish?
Also, No. But, I bite. Nibble, actually. This could be the most fun I’ve had since lunch. A welcomed reprieve from the Henna Hyenas from Hades laughing at my poor form from across the room.
I ASK (AFTER I REMEMBER HER NAME)
Is It The Tuxedo?
The Glock in My Holster?
The Aston Martin I ubered in?
DAMN THIS DEJA VU DOO
I’ve Over Played The Mystery Card …
We’d Met Before. In Daylight. So, I was reasonably certain she wasn’t a vampire. Wasn’t taking any chances so I, uh, said a silent prayer into the Pellegrino & Lime I was nursing. You know, in case she went full on From Dusk To Dawn and I had to douse her with Mineral Water.
Also, I’m pretty sure it was A Good Hair Day … Because, Aren’t They All?
And, I wasn’t bloated.
AN OUT-OF-MOUTH EXPERIENCE
What She Said, Verbatim …
“Do You Mind If I Flirt With You?”
And, here I thought she was coming on to me. Disappointed, I asked, “What Do You Mean By Flirting?”
She giggled while I squinted for an Adam’s Apple …
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