I spent an enjoyable evening just drinking pint after pint of Wellington's SPA, laughing a lot, and fending off an amorous man. I had no plans in mind when I set out after work, but I did happen to walk by the martini bar that I frequent quite regularly while working nights. I met up with the best girl in town and talked for a bit, headed next door to my regular haunt and spent some time there with a girl who is definitely the right girl for a good friend of mine. After he closed his bar, and she went home, we went back over to have more beer and to hang with the boys.
Spending time with a group of guys is interesting, to say the least. There's weird homosexual jokes floating around mixed up with obvious relish of manhood companionship. Topics can range from movie debates over the finer features of Joe Dirt, to impromptu mixed wrestling on the floor, justlikethat. And drinking with men who serve drinks on a regular basis is a generally a more relaxed event. No one tries to outdrink each other, but the introduction of new alcoholic combinations is appreciated and admired. And high-fiving never goes out of style, either.
And I talked with a guy who never remembers my name, but probably will from here on after. Talking with him makes me realize that I haven't the faintest idea about numbers, and probably never will. Talking with him makes me remember the friends we have in common. I find that I search to see what my friends sees in him. And everyone once in awhile, when he cracks a joke, I am reminded why they have that relationship. Good stuff to see.
And then an old acqaintance showed up, and of course, he hit on me again. Seems like we meet up every 6 months or so, have deep yet superficial conversations and then he casually asks to continue the conversation at my place. "Some other time, maybe," I said with a laugh over my shoulder as I hopped into the cab. And as we drove past him I caught the same look on his face that was obvious on mine, that knowing look that understood rejection, elicited from a half-assed attempt to score. There were no hard feelings on either part, of course.
End result is a mild headache that will surely disappear after a hearty breakfast and a cuppa joe. After that, I'm ready for whatever comes my way.