I went on my drinky date. With low expectations. Actually, with no expectations. Honestly, if I hadn't been talking to Ad Girl, I might have come close to blowing it off even as I was driving there.
I get there early. I have never in my life felt more like fresh meat that at that moment. I can walk into Slim's, and there will be a whole posse of tattoed, tough looking guys, and feel more comfortable.
But this bar - attached to a restaurant near the airport - had the craziest sort of all male, corporate, "boy is my life empty but I got money in the bank" vibe. It was a scratch the needle off the record moment when I walked in. Only ONE other woman there, and she was bartending.
I ordered a Maker's and ignored the stares. And I PRAYED that no one from my old company would come in, as they are but a mere mile away.
My date walks in, darker haired than his MySpace pic, nice skin. Smiley without being goofy.
My immediate thought is not: Ooh I can never hit that. (Good, good. I can move forward...)
However, my second thought is not: Ooh I can hit that. (Punk Boy was heavy, heavy on my brain.)
We talk IT and jobs for awhile - we have that in common. Obviously smart. Has started and sold 3 different companies. Traveled quite a bit. Been married, and is still friends with his ex. Said that's been a bone o'contention. Asks if my ex and I are friends - indeed - and he seems happy with that.
20 minutes in to the date, in the middle of talking work, computers, Bill Gates, advertising, he says:
Do you like Def Leppard?
Do I? Does Lindsay have a drug problem? Is Britney crazy?
I tell him yes, embarassingly, I do like them and have seen them. He then says, and this is an important moment kiddies:
I have front row seats to Def Leppard and would like to know if you'll go with me that night.
Would I?
Silly me for thinking this was a waste of time.
The rest of the date was uneventful, other than saying he had earplugs for me as he knew about my ear issue, and he was graciously checking the time for me (I had told him I needed to pick up a friend at the airport. And by friend, I meant mini-me and by airport I meant gymnastics...) so I wouldn't be late.
So. The rest of the evening.
I am driving downtown and get a call from N. Hey! What are you up to? Come down to Hibernian. Me and the boys are here.
So I do. Its okay. But his gf is calling him several times during the 1st hour we all hung out. He leaves us, to go take care of all that - I predict they are back together today- and me, Fun Girl and the other two boys (photographer we saw at Humble Pie and the big guy who has worked at the ad agency for forever) go to JP. Without N. In fact, we don't hear from or see N the rest of the evening. It was like he had a cameo at the beg. of my night and that's it.
We hang out for awhile. We go to leave, and I decide to stay and have one more beer with L. She and I haven't talked in a while. I need to tell her my dilemma.
Its' all good. She's in a similiar spot. She went on a crummy date with a lawyer the other night and just thought about her bartender/DJ guy all through it. Yeah. I know that feeling. As fun as front row seats are to Def Leppard, I keep thinking about Punk Boy. She says, you've got that whole oh the sex is so good thing going. It's like a drug fix. I said yeah, that is a big part of it. But we're good out of the sack too. He has gotten under my skin, in my head, whatever you want to call it.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Lots of attention from some guys I knew and she knew, but nothing funny or annoying.
I went home and downloaded Patty Smyth onto my iPod and thought about the someone who is NOT taking me to Def Leppard.
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