Because how embarrassing would it be to bring up Beer Man's time in Brazil? Oh that's not right...my bad. And honestly it feels like cheating. I do not like cheaters. In many ways I'm an extremely non-judgmental person. But once I discover someone is a cheater, it leaves a certain distaste in my mouth. Yes, I understand that people change, but it's like a stain on their foreheads sometimes.
All of that aside, I have to go with the assumption in these men's profiles that they are indeed single and unattached. Can we get a Single Ladies reference in here?
That's better.
Alas, before my date with Beer Man the other night, I was getting dolled up after a long conversation with Indy. I was pretty over the moon about talking to him, but had minimal expectations for Beer Man. Obviously, I gave him a horrible nickname.
My survival instincts were on high alert. I let my friends know where I was. My emergency text was at the ready. I stayed close to home. I kept my appearance realistic and low on sex appeal. I knew how to hold my keys intertwined in my fingers in case I needed to be defensive.
Jax Single Girl was more prepared than an Eagle Scout.
So I walked out of my door late at night, and headed toward the bar that we were supposed to meet. This is one dating rule I broke. I understand it's pretty normal to meet at a bar on the first date. However, I like to keep my mind alert and ready when meeting someone new. After texting him what I was wearing I met eyes with him, smiled, and said hello as we walked into the bar.
This is the kind of bar the cool kids talk about. And by cool kids, I mean hipsters. Black-rimmed glasses, flannel, men-in-girl-pant hipsters. There is a bathtub in the bar when you first walk in, and most drinks are served in mason jars, a subtle ironic failure and jab against the redneck heart of Jacksonville.
He looked better than his pictures. Don't get me wrong here. Looks aren't everything, but when you're dating someone based on an online profile, they better be presentable. Beer Man is a tall brunette with a baby face.
Somehow the conversation came easily. I know I've said that about other dates, but it was different this time. I jumped right in as if I was talking to my best of friends. When you are with your true friends, you don't hold back who you are. There is no surface to scratch. I'm pretty positive I said one or two four-letter words in my first few sentences to Beer Man. Luckily he didn't mind.
It also turned out that one of my best friends from high school happened to be there with her husband. I ran up to her right after we ordered our drinks, and gave her a hug. She awkwardly pulled back and with her inquisitive face started to ask if I was on a date. Through clenched teeth and a forced smile I told her that this was a first date and that we had just walked in. She locked her eyes to mine as if to say "Good luck and vaya con dios." She later told me that I looked happy, which was good to know.
I don't know if it was because I wanted to force the time to go faster in case this was a bust, or if I had a brief moment of bravado, but I started to ask the standard first date questions about himself one right after the other: where do you work, do you like it, where did you go to school, do you like this bar, etc.
I think I'll blame the supermoon for the fastidious speed dating interview I gave him...
But he ran with it, and it seemed to work well. As we were keeping the conversation flowing, we noticed the bar patrons next to us laughing as the sound of metal was dinging against the bar shelves. There is a ring toss game where you take rings of mason jars, throw them at the shelves, and if you get a ring around the bottle of liquor, you get a free shot of it.
Here's how I knew he was an adventurer much like me. (Ed. Note: change his nickname from Beer Man to The Adventurer...not to be confused with Indy). With a charming, mischievous smile, he proclaimed that we should do it. Before I could complain about my short stature and T-Rex arms, he was already asking the bartender for the rings. We both failed miserably, but were laughing the entire time. After the round of Redneck Ring Toss, we started to talk about if we'd be happy with the shots we could have won.
I explained I was a whiskey girl, and told him about Fireball: a cinnamon cup of goodness. He explained that he used to be a liquor salesman and tried that, and is also a fan of red wine. That was one of many things we had in common, I would find out. I told him that my drink of choice lately was a Fireball shot dropped in a glass of cider. His eyes got big and another tight-lipped smile grew on his face.
"The night is young. I don't have anything to do and I imagine you don't either. Let's go to your bar and try some Fireball with cider there."
Is this what it's like to date me?
CSB was an adventurer too, but I was just along for the ride. There was a sense of confidence with The Adventurer that he could be trusted with my sense of risk and abandonment...at least for that night. Like a willing Bonnie to his Clyde, I said it sounded like a good idea. His charisma and machismo weren't offensive. It truly came off as genuine confidence.
So we walked the busy streets a few blocks down to "my bar." That's how quickly conversation flowed. I told him that my usual bar is a hole-in-the-wall, dank, dirty, smoke-filled space. He seemed okay with that. I also had a sense of guilt because I wondered if it was bad that I "had" a bar. I didn't want to come off as a daily drunk, but at the same time I remembered what I told myself earlier: I'm here for fun. This is just a date.
I took him to the back entrance, which I playfully chimed was where the regulars go. We walked up to the bar, and I was greeted with my first name, followed by one of the bartenders yelling, with her emphysema-riddled voice "YA BACK AGAIN, HUH?!" I may or may not have been there twice earlier that week. I stuttered a laugh and sheepishly met eyes with The Adventurer. This was the first of many times this night where he had hungry eyes. Yes, Patrick Swayze-type, jump-in-my-arms-in-the-lake-Baby, Dirty Dancing hungry eyes. He likes this about me. And guilt again. I don't want to be that girl who he thinks he can always take to the bar, get drunk, and get lucky. In his defense, he was a total gentleman that night.
After explaining the Fireball concoction to another bartender, I took out my card to offer to pay. The Adventurer stopped me and said he'll get it. Promising, I thought. So I handed him his glass and asked if we should raise them for anything.
"Here's to an already awesome night!"
He was right. We locked eyes with sincere ear-to-ear grins.. I probably could have broken that glass out of sheer excitement. I really was having a blast.
We sat at a high-top, chatting about movies we liked and the music from the jukebox. We really had a lot in common. He then recalled in a message I sent that day that I loved this bar because of Big Buck Hunt. There is nothing more satisfying than releasing rage after a day of dealing with absolute nonsense and stress, and shooting Bambi's dad...and his little critter friends too. He got up, got some cash, and put money in the machine. It's very important that I emphasize that none of this was asked. He just did it. He left me with no choice but to completely own him at this game.
To me this was a bit of a test: I get mouthy and angry if I don't get all three bucks each game. Even as I was swearing and getting jumpy with this neon-orange rifle, he was amused and enjoying it. That was so telling because I kept thinking I was out with my closest friends. I wasn't hiding. I wasn't trying to be this demure vision on an online profile. I wasn't forcing intelligent conversation about philosophy and reason.
I was having a good time being myself around someone who was pretty damn fine with it. Bless it.
After that round, he asked if I wanted another drink. Playing it safe, I said a beer was fine. Again, I didn't want to get too drunk and lose all inhibition. He came back, and proceeded to put money in the bowling video game. I'm horrible at bowling in real life, so this was not going to be my name. He won fair and square. And laughed about how bad we did at Redneck Ring Toss. Clearly, we were finding our niche in both bar games and in the dating game.
As we made our way back to the bar, we sat facing each other. I had another Cher Horowitz moment as I did many moons ago. "Look at that body language. Legs crossed towards each other. That is an unequivocal sex invite!" It was approaching last call somehow, and there was a lot of space at the bar. But my knees touched his, and I didn't budge. He didn't either. As we finished another beer (he keeps surprising me with his ninja skills), he was listening me narrate a story of sorts. But those eyes...they're not the kind of eyes that you first notice when you look at someone who has nice eyes. But they were intense. He would lean on the bar, elbow bent, hand cupping his head, staring at me with those hungry eyes. I wasn't feeling uncomfortable, but like everything else about him, it kept surprising me.
When Emphysema Emily yelled last call, we peeled ourselves off the barstools and started to walk closer to our homes. I don't remember what we were talking about (another reason I'm hesitant to drink on a first date), but the next thing I know, he grabbed my hand and held it. Did he understand that quickly that hand holding is a big deal for me? I didn't mind. In fact, it was a nice gesture. Instead of protecting me from monsters under the bed, he was protecting me from surly bar patrons at an ungodly hour.
As we approached the bar I brazenly asked if he was going to walk me home or if it was time to say good-bye. It would be a gentlemanly thing to do, he explained, to walk a lady home.
In the sea of pubs and hipster bars, there is a gay bar on the corner. I heard an effeminate voice drunkenly scream my name. My eyes widened to see my darling queen in his glitterbearded glory reaching out for a "hey girl."
I hugged him and greeted him while his partner, also in drag, pulled me close and drunkenly told me he loved me and fawned over me for a few moments. All the while, The Adventurer standing by, amused with hands in his pockets.
"AY! WHO IS THAT MAN RIGHT THERE GIRL?!"
Sheepishly again, I told him I was on a date. My queen is a mama bear who looks out for me and anyone he loves. To my surprise, as he has been good at all night, he walked up to my darling glitterbeard and introduced himself. I could see in my periphery, Glitterbeard sizing him up. I didn't want to keep them from whatever after party they had, so I said that The Adventurer was walking me home.
"YEAH, WALK MY GIRL HOME AND TAKE CARE OF HER! LOOK AT THEM HOLDING HANDS BEING CUTE AND SHIT! GO ON, GIRL!"
Paraphrasing, but that's really the gist of it. This date, was an adventure for sure.
He walked me up to my doorstep, and I gave him a long, awkward drunken hug (fine two) goodbye.
As I lay in bed, reflecting on this crazy journey of juggling multiple men, I grinned. This could be a good thing. I have always been a risk taker, and that night wasn't any different. I'm glad I gave him a chance, booze and all.
Date #2 is coming in a couple of days.
The journey continues....
