Saturday, June 22, 2013

Night Out pt 2

As mentioned in the previous post, I rarely go out to bars or clubs.  They're typically loud, filled with annoying people, playing bad music, and the drinks cost too much.  They're like all of my pet-peeves rolled into one place.  The only up side is that there are usually some attractive women there, though they are usually vastly out numbered by the drooling men, so the odds of a happy ending to the night are pretty low.

So, Shelly and her boyfriend picked me up and we headed to the bar to meet up with everyone else.  Did I mention that it was a country bar?  And that I hate country music?  Yeah, just one more reason to be super excited about my night out.

You know what makes country music playing loud and crowds of people tolerable?  Lots of alcohol.  As soon as I walked in the door I was making myself very well acquainted with the scantily clad cowgirl waitresses.  There was this one that had a rose bush tattoo that started mid-thigh and went under her blue jean short-shorts to the bare skin of her abs up under her tied up flannel top.  Made a Yankee want to cry out Giddy-up!

We all started pounding beers, cowboy fashion (bud light), except for Shelly of course.  We tried to win a table of pool, which probably wasn't a good idea with the hustlers that were there playing.  I was tempted to ask Shelly to dance, there were surprisingly few guys that were willing to dance.  While I might not be an expert, I can manage a decent two-step without tripping too much.  But for some reason I didn't want ask her in front of her boyfriend.  Go figure.

Everybody drifted away to the bar except for Shelly and me.  My half-drunk self thought it would be a good idea to try my hand at winning the pool table.  Let's just say that wasn't a good idea.  The guy I played was way, way better than me on my best day let alone when I'm half tanked.  It would have been an embarrassing display if I'd been sober enough to revel in it.  Had I been sober I would remember every painful detail of the pity on Shelly's face.  Or at least that's what I think I remember being on her face.  I don't think I made a single shot, probably the shortest game of the night.

After a shameful display on the pool table I convinced her to play some bar checkers.  Yes, I continued to drink constantly.  Apparently I'm better at drunk checkers than I am at pool, mental ability over physical ability at that point.  I managed to win at least 50% of those games.

I was still sorely tempted to ask Shelly to dance and yet the moment never seemed to come up.

A few more guys from work showed up, we all BSed for a while.  Then it seemed like another five minutes went by and it was time to start heading back.  Luckily, I had a DD because by that point I was pretty wasted.  I get a ride home from Shelly and her boyfriend.

All good, right?

This is where things get a little confusing.  I wake up this morning and I look back at the evening and it get's harder and harder to figure out whether I made an ass of myself or not.  Was Shelly laughing along at my jokes or laughing at my inane attempt at humor?  Was I as graceful walking out the door as I thought I was or was it more of a stumbling-bumbling exit?

It was one of those nights where the recollections are a lot more slide show and guess work than would be preferred.  I don't think I did anything too stupid, said anything too stupid, but then how can I really know?  About the only way to tell would be to look into the faces of the coworkers the next morning but I figure they're all in the same situation except for Shelly.

And I haven't see Shelly since that night out.

No comments:

Post a Comment