Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


After 26 years, she HAS learned something

Friday night, after a grueling work week, I did my best to drag my tired self out of bed and into the shower so I could go out. I’d sent out an e-mail to some pals telling them I wanted to go out and I wasn’t letting a 13-hour work day and plans to work all day Saturday keep me from a glass of Evolution No. 9. Not now. Not ever. I ditched the black dress I was planning to wear in favor of an outfit I love – jeans, my favorite boots and a silky maroon top with an empire seam right below my bust line. Topped with a cute shrug if it is cold. This is one of my favorite go-to outfits for a casual cute night out. An hour later, Prom Date picked me up and we headed to my favorite downtown wine bar. Love the wine and atmosphere, hate the pretentiousness of having to wait for a table or a couch or an ottoman. All of the tables are marked “reserved” and two men alternate stopping you at the door and keeping you from just sitting – they even went so far as to put a “Reserved” sign up as we were paying our tabs later that night, just to make sure no one took our table when we left. But the wine is good, the place is relaxing and kind of hip and it is smoke-free, which my recent throat surgery having self really appreciates. Prom Date and I caught up and were joined by his younger cousin. The three of us joked around and after two glasses of wine and a few chance meetings with a couple of friends and acquaintances from years ago, Prom Date and I headed to a cigar bar for another drink before bed. (This bar has a pretty good ventilation system for a cigar bar and the smoke doesn’t seem to stay in the bar for very long.) The cigar bar is a favorite of The Blackberry, who may or may not live in the attic of the bar, judging from how much he is there. I had seen him a few weeks before (didn’t write about it) and we’d actually had a normal conversation. He wasn’t terribly drunk as he’d been a few weeks prior and all was well. We’d messaged back and forth a few times later and that was that. I settled in on a leather couch with Prom Date, who gleefully lit a cigar and ordered a gin and tonic. I celebrated my long week with a cosmo. We were talking about work when the Blackberry came through the doorway of the back room where the band was playing and into the quieter room where we were drinking. He took one look in our direction and made a beeline to me. He barely grazed by Prom Date and slid in next to me on the couch. Kiss on the cheek, arm on the shoulder in less than a minute, clearly a record of some sort. He was in full flirting mode. Prom Date kept giggling and giving me these looks as the Blackberry teased me and checked me out and commented on how soft my hair was. (As it should have been, what with the deep conditioning, the pin straight mousse, the pin straight shine spray, the hair spray and the Brilliant Brunette shine cream. But I digress.) “You have to come dance with me,” he said. “You must.” I giggled and motioned to my full cosmo, which was clearly not dance floor appropriate. And I crossed my legs and The Blackberry looked down at my high heeled boots and was taken aback. He called them sexy and asked me to dance again. I declined again and he excused himself to the back to the listen to the band. Prom Date and I had barely had a chance to gossip about him when he returned, more persistent this time. He convinced Prom Date to watch my drink and me to join him for a dance. And even though I was clearly not in the mood, his earnestness was endearing and I took him up on the offer, wobbly sexy boots and all. I don’t remember the first song we danced to, but the second was “What’s going on” by Marvin Gaye. He was completely uninhibited on the dance floor and I still can’t decide if he was being silly or if he is equally earnest with his dancing style. He twirled me around and rested a hand on my hip. He was into me. Bad. A woman he introduced as his ex-girlfriend told me that he was a keeper. I smiled and tried not to break my ankle in my heels. After our second dance he leaned in and gave me a peck on the lips. And I led us back to the other room, unsure of how I felt. He introduced another female patron as an ex-girlfriend and I began to wonder if he’d dating every woman in the place and if he’d ever bothered to go to another bar in town. There are many. As the evening wore on, his flirtations continued. As I excused myself for yawning because I was tired and we paid our tab, he said, “So, your place?” “Excuse me?” “You’re place. Is right across the street, right?” “Yes.” “So, let’s go.” “I’m going to go. But alone. I need to get to bed because I have to work tomorrow.” “So?” “So, I’m going to sleep. Alone.” “I’ll wake you up nice and early.” “I’m sorry. I’m leaving alone.” He seemed playfully hurt. “You’re really rejecting me?” he asked. “I’m just saying that I’m going home alone,” I said, trying to be diplomatic. He gently argued a bit and I was firm in return. “I’m not going to randomly do that.” “You call this random?” He was referring to the months of missed connections. The Match.com. Seeing me out with Prom Date. Making an ass out of himself drunk. Being a gentleman the next time we hung out. “I’m going home alone. Because there is a process.” “A process.” “Yeah, like dinner,” Prom Date chimed in. He was ready to go home. I stood up and The Blackberry gave me a hug and tried to kiss me for real this time. I gave him a peck on the lips again. “You’re really leaving alone?” “Yes.” “Why?” I reached into my purse and fished out my business card. As I pressed it into his hand, I said, “Because there is a process.” And I turned on my heel and walked out.



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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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