Puke Party for One

Something happens to me when enough alcohol is consumed.  Ugh.  I become...gulp, friendly.  I'm less hateful towards the opposite sex, always to my detriment.  Makes for an interesting story though...

I met a man.  He was one of many trying to sit at my table of eight chairs.  They could choose any chair from the eight.  Guess which one is chosen?  If I wanted to talk to you, I would.  I don't enjoy feeing obligated to converse with a stranger in a loud bar.  At least the second one asked.  The first one did too but he was weird about it and reeked of old cigarettes.  I politely asked him to move the fuck away from me.  He obliged without much fuss.

So second one sits, after politely asking if he could.  I clearly stated when he asked that I was not interested in chitchat.  He looked bald and appeared boring in his ugly sweater.  So ugly.  Orange is not a good color for most.  Anyway, judgement aside, I tuned in to the music when he set his focus upon me with his words.  It was rude, but I had enough of dudes trying to get with this.  Can't a lady go out on her own and have it stay that way?  I don't go out looking for a lay, unless I am and then I'll let Ya know.  Why is the expectation that I want your company?  Ladies out on their own don't wander around the bar, scoping out who's alone and then inconvenience them with their presence and transparent tactics.  I go out alone because I want autonomy surrounded by people I don't have to talk to.  Hence my cold reaction to dudes doing it.

I digress...

Drinks flowing, a couple sits at two of the eight, respectfully distanced I might add.  Ugly Sweater becomes distracted by them and I seek refuge in the tunes and an interesting article on narcissism.  The night wears on and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I attract the attention of US.  He cracks a pretty funny joke about my earlier reaction to his sitting beside me.  I can laugh at my walls.  After all, words aren't so scary.  I engage and we start to have a pretty good time.  The other couple came aboard to chats, she had a beautiful sweater on.  Really into sweaters right now.  More drinks were had and conversations carried on.  The band ended, the music was off, lights on and hideousness of how much I imbibed became all too fuzzy-clear.

The room begins to empty and he tells me that he's in a long distance open relationship.  After flirting for a couple of hours and asking me to go to his high school reunion, he pulls that shit out.  I don't understand and I think my face showed signs of my confusion because he quickly asked if I were in a relationship.  I don't understand open relationships.  They've been on my radar for some time.  I struggle with understanding how they operate and if they are plausible.  To have a future with someone, do you not need a unit working towards the same goal?  I mean our 'same goal' is death but while we distract ourselves from that, do we not need that unit to be solid and reliable and two? 

Maybe three heads are better than one. 

Or is it just there are so few decent men out there that we've now been reduced to sharing.  Do I need to share a man to find a good one?  Are all the good ones married or gay?  Did I somehow miss the relationship boat where everyone choo-choo chose a drowning buddy and I was in the bathroom peeing for the ninetieth time?  Or is it simply that men are going to fuck everything anyways so women have to be 'open' to this?  Better to be honest about being a monster than hiding your truth, I suppose.

Our conversation couple had found each other four years ago.  I of course asked a great many question about how it happened and how it's working.  She said the most heartbreaking thing: "When you find your person, you know."
How?  How is it known?  Where in my person will I feel it?  What if my person is an asshole and I hate him?

So US springs this shit on me as we're set to depart.  I wanted to ask him more, but I was really feeling the effects of that last tequila shot.  Hurtling towards warp 9, I said a quick good-bye and bolted.  US grabbed my arm, said my name a couple times and leaned in to kiss me.  It was fucking bizarre.  Lucky for me, the day before I had done a kick-ass boxing workout so my instincts were primed for some ducking and weaving.  So I ducked.  I weaved.  Told him no and left.  So weird.  Was there a connection.  For sure.  Was it a result of a lot of time and alcohol?  Probs.  Was I going to kiss this fucking guy after he told me about his current gf?  Fuck no.  Do I want to explore further the concept of polyamory?  Kinda.  I got home at two, bewildered and curious, vomited my guts out until four then passed out til nine.  Productive evening.  Am I gonna see US again?  I would like to research his life choices.  So we'll see.