Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks

Diving in

Note from CBS: Edited for grammar. Don't blog while running fever. I entered the weekend with some doubts about the status of things with The Nurse. He hadn’t asked me out for the weekend after our second date and I was questioning his intentions. I was psyching myself out and the best thing would have been to not think about it and go out and have dinner with a friend.

But when have I ever done the best thing?

So after dinner, I sent off a text message asking what he was doing. He was at work until 11 and then he was going out with friends he hadn’t seen in awhile.

I was crawled up in bed and, of course, took his response as a blow off since he didn’t invite me or suggest we hang out on Saturday. But my work week had been long, and before I could think of an appropriate response, I was fast asleep.

I shouldn’t have been so offended, but I was. Perhaps it is because of the flurry of e-mails exchanged and the time we’d spent together. Perhaps he hadn’t felt the chemistry I had. Perhaps had lulled me into a false sense of intimacy. (I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first to fall this way.)

Saturday I had plans to go out with Southern Belle and some friends. I relaxed all evening before pulling myself together to head to the bar with my friends. The Nurse had text messaged to find out how my car shopping was going that day. (I’d told him that I was looking.)

Around 9:30 p.m., as I brushed a golden shadow across my eyelids, The Nurse text messaged to announce that he got off of work at 11. We volleyed messages back and forth as I finished prepping for my evening out. I left things open, not promising to meet him, but not saying that I wouldn’t.

I had two beers with my friends, who quickly decided that they wanted to go dancing. I wasn’t in the mood and The Nurse had texted where he would be, so I decided to meet him. (My friends understood.)

As I pulled up to the bar where he was, I was underwhelmed. It was clearly not my scene at all. I took a deep breath, clipped back my long hair and applied a light layer of Clinque gloss to my lips and a thin layer of powder over my face. I stepped out of the car and balanced on my high heel, adjusted my shirt and headed into the bar.

As I reached for the door, it swung open and a guy I know from childhood came lumbering out in a black bowling-style shirt with some sort of motorcycle cross on the back of it. A big hoop hung from one ear and a stud was in the other – clearly his straight-laced mother had a heart attack when she saw that. I chuckled at that thought. But his face and his slightly curly hair were the same as when I knew him years ago, when we swam on the neighborhood swim team together.

We both stopped and smiled. He looked me down and said, with disbelief, “What are YOU doing here?” motioning to the bar with his eyes.

“Um, I’m here to meet a friend.”

“Oh, well, okay.”

We talked for a few minutes and he seemed weirded out by my presence.

I entered the bar, which seemed to have a relatively normal crowd, a little less polished than what I’m used to for sure. But no one bit me, although a few people did toss a glance my way. The bar was small and it was decorated with skull and crossbones that were more Pirate than Harley Motorcycle Gang. I figured that with that new Johnny Depp movie, pirates could possibly be the new black.

I found The Nurse, he gave me a hug and snagged us a booth. The fashion was still very much lacking (untucked polo and khaki shorts that were possibly a bit too small), but he had come from work, so I guess that I should be glad that he wasn’t in scrubs, right?

He was drinking PBR out of the can, but I settled for a microbrew I love that I don’t think can be legally sold where I live. We had a nice chat and bar regulars came by to say hello. The Nurse introduced me as his friend, but it was clear (to me, I think) that he was interested in me as a date. He was quick to include me in his conversations and explain things to me and I felt him rub my knee under the table when he flirted or thought I needed reassurance. We talked to another regular, The Waitress, and her boyfriend for at least a beer or so.

We paid out, I went to the surprisingly clean ladies’ room and joined him outside of the bar. He gave me a sweet kiss.

“You know, when you weren’t looking, [The Waitress] told me that she liked you,” he said and kissed me gently again.

“Really?” I said with surprise. I hadn’t thought the regulars would be impressed with my dressy shoes and taste for wine, especially since I’d joked that I normally order cosmopolitans at bars.

“Yeah, really.”

We kissed again.

“So, where are you headed?” I asked softly.

“Well, that depends,” he said. “On you.”

He rested a hand on my hip.

“Well, my place is just a few minutes away,” I said.

He pulled me to him and kissed me again.

And I just giggled and pulled away, swatting his hand away.

“Just a few minutes away,” I emphasized.

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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."

Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke

Associated Content Interview with Charming
The Hindu: Blog Sisters are here

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