A true-life dating/drinking tale from After Dark reader Luxx Fontaine.
I got to the bar and rolled right up to the bartender: “I would like a shot of your cheapest tequila and a vodka/soda please.”
He looked at me funny and said, “Really? You sure?”
Yes, I was sure – I had catching up to do. As the night went on, I got DRUNK. Like, really really drunk.
I was at the bar getting my third shot of the “cheapest tequila” and the bartender asked if one of the dudes I was with was my boyfriend.
I confirmed, “No,” and he asked for my number with a smile.
I got home in one piece (not really sure how), passed out in my clothes, and was woken up by a text around 2 a.m.
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
We texted for the next hour or so, but the only thing I remember was that it was VERY difficult to type and the letters were moving on the phone.
It was a fun flirtatious texting conversation and he asked me if I wanted to go out and get a drink. Cute – a date!
Friday night rolled around and I decided to text him. He was at work but invited me to come out to the bar to see him. I had plans, but said I might, knowing full well I wouldn't.
I wanted him to look for me, to wait for me.
The next night, I was out with a friend and we visited the bartender. I was buzzed, but not trashed. I wanted to get the “friend approval,” and since I was so drunk when we first met, I wanted to remember what he looked like.
He fed us drinks and as the night wore on, I proceeded to get heavily intoxicated.
After our date was set, I immediately Googled him and found out the truth. He was an actor. Great. I go from musicians to actors. Typical.
Date night rolled around and I received a text around 6 p.m. saying, “This is your last chance to back out.” Cute. We met at my favorite bar in West Hollywood.
He was sweet and handsome, despite the khaki pants. We went to a few different bars and not only did he buy me beer, but also several shots of Patron.
We proceeded to get drunk (surprise?) and had an amazing in-car make-out session. He was a dirty talker – VERY hot. He also shared his appreciation for red lingerie.
Unfortunately, due to forces of nature, I couldn't sleep with him or else I would have. I added a trip to Victoria's Secret on my To Do List.
Some girlfriends and I visited the bartender the next night. They left early after just one drink, but I wanted to go home with the bartender.
But it was only 10:30 p.m. I had a few hours to kill.
So I proceeded to get DRUNK DRUNK DRUNK. (Are we noticing a pattern here?) [EDITOR'S NOTE: Yes.]
He was leaving the next day for a film festival, so we went to his place and had another crazy make-out session. I was still out of commission and couldn't sleep with him.
When he got back into town, he invited me to a work party, and though I hadn't made it to Victoria's Secret, I put on my hot black lacy panties and was ready to go.
Then I got a text:
“I'm exhausted and not feeling great, but I'm not blowing you off. Let's shoot again for next week.”
I know a blow-off when I see/read one. You don't text someone, “I'm not blowing you off,” and NOT blow them off. [EDITOR'S NOTE: It's science.]
When recapping this *ahem* “relationship” with a friend, I came to an unpleasant realization:
I was sober around the bartender for MAYBE an hour. All the other hours? WASTED. He only knew me drunk.
Maybe I don't have a dating problem, I have a drinking problem.
Image: Maggie Smith.
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