chalk it up to saturday 2

On the storied and highly anticipated Saturday 2, Megan and I headed to the local for what was meant to be brunch but turned into a late lunch and then really, for all intents and purposes, was dinner followed by several beers. We ended up hanging out with The Broz and a bunch of other random regulars, plus (of course) a bunch of Irish dudes with names like Johnnie and Dickie and Seamus. (Yes, Seamus.)

Now what you need to know about Seamus was that he loved me, deeply, and that he's 42 and has a lot of opinions. Two of those qualities obviously immediately endeared him to me, since I'm typically always a big fan of people who love me AND I love a good argument. Turned out, though, that one of Seamus's many opinions was that texting is, and I quote, "savagely rude," and he told me that if I texted one more time he was going to stop talking to me. Now, this was after he recited to me the exact number of times I'd opened my phone since we started conversing. Creepertown? Population Seamus.

What Seamus did not know is that I was texting Mr. Risky Business. So clearly I kept on. And Seamus kept good on his promise. Whoops.

So after all this texting, Mr. Risky Business ends up joining us. We finish up our drinks there and decide to head to a different bar down the street that we think might be a little more conducive to conversation. Somewhere between the local and the next bar we realize that Megan is completely, hysterically, sloppy ass drunk. And for the life of me I don't know how she got that way, because we've been drinking at the same pace and typically if anyone's going to go all lightweight on the other, it's going to be me on her. She was just a-giggling and stumbling and I'd say she hit her peak when we walked out of the women's bathroom and the door to the men's room was wide open, as it notoriously always is, and Megan stood in the doorway staring at a guy taking a whiz at the urinal. I had to grab her and pull her back into the hallway and she just looked at me like, "What? The door was open!"

So Megan heads out shortly thereafter, leaving me and Mr. Risky Business by ourselves. And not long after that, we head back to my place. I wanted to introduce him to my record collection, and I also decided that the tour I'd given him the day before was incomplete and completely unsatisfactory, mostly because I'd been all nervous and mouth vomit-y. And apparently I felt that the tipsy tour may be better than the nervous and awkward tour.

Somewhere around the end of this very official tour, I was yammering on about my sorority and I decided to pull off my shoe (and my St. Paddy's themed socks) and show him my tattoo. Super hot. And then we start talking about tattoos, and he shows me his tattoo, and then I mentioned that I want a tattoo on the hairline on the back of my neck, and then there's neck showing which leads to neck touching which leads to face touching which leads to kissing and THANK GOD because I think the mutual exhale that took place directly afterward could be heard across the tristate area.

He didn't stay long after that, and though the friend zone has been chucked out the window and isn't even visible in the rear-view anymore, things are moving slowly. And I'm very thankful for it, to be honest. After all the Misters who came and went through my life at the end of 2009, I'm ready to take my time. It feels healthier. It feels better for the soul. Moving slowly.

Of course, that doesn't make it easy.


cheers,
elizabeth