Confession Time

I was a little drunk when I last posted.


It was in the wee hours, after our third date, and I needed a few minutes to chug some water before retiring for the evening. If I'd been more sober, or less tired, I might have mentioned. . .


When planning the evening, we had to have a talk about who would be buying dinner. I started the discussion by telling S that I wanted to buy him dinner, and he admitted that one of his favorite things is picking up the check. It makes him feel good to be generous. I think that's awesome, and I really appreciate that quality, but as it turns out, I feel the same way. I like to be the one to treat, too. I managed to convince him to let me take him to NoRTH before the hockey game, where I enjoyed some tasty pork chops and he ordered his own pizza. That's right--I avoided a garlic-y dinner in hopes of smooching later.


After dinner, on the way to the car, I started quizzing S about the hockey game. He's from the midwest; I grew up in Austin. The closest I've been to a hockey game was in high school when we played Juniors vs. Seniors broom ball at Northcross Mall. I wondered if the hockey arena would be cold, and he told me not to worry about it because he brought gloves for me. I misunderstood at first, thinking he might be loaning me his own gloves. Nope, he'd brought me my own pair.


The game ended pretty early. What to do at 9:30 on a Saturday night? Neither of us had been to a particular bar near my house, so the choice was made. And that bar? Best! Decision! Ever! Saturday night is karaoke night. Saturday night is also a freak show, thanks to an interesting cast of characters:


The Pink Lady: wore pink "camoflage," head to toe. She seemed to know all the regulars, and greeted one fella by licking the side of his face, from his chin to his temple. She walked past our table in the back several times, and after one pass-by, S leaned over to me and whispered "She keeps winking at us." I was amused to inform him that she wasn't winking at US.


Leather Man: wore leather pants, and a long leather coat. Later in the evening, he sang "Freebird." His mullet was scragglin' down to the middle of his back.


The Missing Link: Two mustached men in their 50's arrived, and sat down at a big table near us. Soon after their arrival, a lady came over and gave them each a hug. She danced with one of them. (Yes, to the karaoke songs.) She came back to the table and kissed the other dude full on the mouth. Then she danced with the dude she kissed. She came back to the table and played a little grab-ass with the second dude. Then they all left together. Someone at our table may have made a "free moustache rides" joke. I'm too much of a lady to name names.


The Dancer: One gal seemed to want to pick up the dude at the table in front of us. She brought him a drink, and talked to him for a while. I realized she'd had more than just the one drink when she decided to start dancing by herself next to his table. Her big move involved bending over to give the floor up close jazz hands. Her big move revealed an expanse of her back. . .and a good few inches of granny panties sticking up above the waistline of her jeans.


The Parisian: An older fella wearing a denim jacket with "Hard Rock Cafe Paris" stamped on the back. His toupee was sightly askew, and he was the recipient of the full face lick from the Pink Lady.


Every time we thought we'd seen all of the strange folks wandering around, someone new arrived. Like people watching? The bar near my house is the place to be on a Saturday night. I'm a little surprised we haven't been back since then.