Dateline: "I suggest we move the make-out session to the bedroom…"
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11:30 p.m. - It is snowing like hell and my friend Char and I have been blizzard-bar-hopping since 5:30. We’ve had five whiskeys, mac ’n cheese, onion rings and fries. My eyes are drooping, and I'm thinking of bed at this point, but I turn to Char and ask, “What now?”
“I want a shot of tequila,” she says. I suppose this will have to count as my second wind.
12:15 a.m. - Char’s off dancing with some boy. I go to the bar. I tell a very cute, very gay boy that he has beautiful hands. He buys me a pickleback.
12:30 - En route back to the dance floor, I stumble into a cute boy with a beard. He smiles and asks me what I'm drinking.
12:50 – He’s a computer programmer. Of course he’s a fucking computer programmer. How are they always computer programmers?
12:55 – He’s smart and funny, though seems a little sad about life. I encourage him to start making his electronic music again, which, in retrospect, was probably irritating of me.
1:15 – We are kissing. I am drunk. Whee!
1:17 - “I have an artificial leg. I hope that doesn’t freak you out,” he says. Like the classy lady my drunk-self is, I immediately ask, “What happened?” I am possibly rude, but not freaked out.
1:35 – “Want to get out of here?” he asks. I am not quite in the mood to have sex with a stranger. Maximizing awkwardness, I reply, “I do, but um. . .I’m trying to take things slow these days?”
“Me too! I’m just out of a relationship, so this is, uh, bad timing, but. . . .” Nervous shuffling all around.
1:36 – “OK, let’s make a clothes-on pact and go back to my place!” I say.
1:45 - I throw snowballs at him; he holds my hand to help me over the snowdrifts. This is kind of an adorable scene. Thanks, blizzard!
1:50 – The street is deserted, so I plop myself down in the middle of it and make a snow angel. I realize I may be Manic Pixie Dream Girl-ing this boy, but whatever. Can’t a girl make a snow angel without becoming a cliché?
1:55 - It occurs to me that another guy I’m seeing is a bearded computer programmer who has a colostomy bag. This means if I end up dating this guy, my type will have become “bearded computer programmer who is missing an organ or limb”.
2:00 - We pop some beers and I put on some music and we talk and make out. He asks a lot of questions about the art on the walls and the books on the coffee table, which I like.
2:30 – I suggest we move the make-out session to the bedroom.
2:45 – I had forgotten how great it can be to just make out forever. I lose myself in this experience more than I’ve been able to recently. Maybe it's because with clothes on you don’t have to think about how to communicate likes and dislikes and who has a condom and all of that, or maybe it's because I really feel a strong connection with him. Probably both.
4:00 - We snuggle. He says he should probably leave. He says this is such bad timing for him, and I’m so awesome, but “I don’t want to hurt you or myself” and he really feels like he should sleep in his own bed tonight. But he would like my phone number and email address. I present a series of counter-arguments, such as “You are so snuggly!” and “There could be yetis out there!”
5:00 - He leaves. I kiss him goodbye at the door. I don’t really expect to hear from him, but I’m glad we met either way. I guess we’ll see.
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