All it ever takes is one spark. One tiny little glimmer of fire, hope, thought, irritation, change, or decision to ignite something. That spark for me and this blog? The last guy, and my friend telling me that my single stories were comical (gee thanks) and I should write a blog. I am going to warn everyone now, that way if legally I ever need to (HA, like people are gonna get upset at me or actually read this!), I can say that I warned people. Posts will be raunchy, things will be inappropriate, words may come off as bitchy, anecdotes may go too far. I promise to be as respectful as I can, but this is all for fun and hopefully entertainment or support for others out there going through the same thing or going through something completely different. Secondly, no person will be named, not even myself. There are going to be some things that I have never divulged to anyone, so I hope you take it with a grain of salt and don’t judge me too harshly. Lastly, I will try to keep them short, so some stories will inevitably be continued, because of course my OCD feels that you need to know every stinkin’ detail of the story!
The last guy… let’s call him Mr. Z starts the story on New Years Eve 2017, and is as all single girls New Years should start!
I decided last minute to return to the Carolina’s to spend NYE with friends. Turns out, basically all my friends were staying in with kids or parents or significant others. I literally spent half my day texting friends with this sad tag line for my single life: Hey girl! Wanna go out for NYE, I am in desperate need of sex! Fortunately for me, and my now wounded ego, I had one friend (single of course too) that had a huge desire to drink the night away as well. I pulled on my big girl panties, after tucking away at Pure Barre, and threw everything out of my closet to settle on the only outfit that currently seemed to fit. I felt cute and I wasn’t even wearing heels! Tangent, NY resolution is always to lose weight.
Fast forward through a horrible dinner at Kickback Jack’s (#nastyassKB), ugh no offense but worst dinner ever! My friend and I made it out to the bar at 8 pm. Yes, you read that correctly, 8 pm. And our goal for the evening, at that point, was to make it until 10 pm. We decided we would do our own count down and everything #oldladystatus seriously! We get our drinks, moscow mule for me because they were out of the margarita they always had on tap. As we are sitting at the bar, people watching and taking cute pics, are eyes are always on the time. 9:45 rolls around, and I am thinking: thank god, I can go home – take off my bra – drink some wine and watch Bones (love that show!).
Then time stops… Mr. Z strides in with his brother, Just J, and casually takes a seat next to us. Ha, who am I kidding, time didn’t stop, just two guys came and sat next to us. Just J sat down next to my friend and started chatting her up. I could tell immediately, he was a greenie (youngin’, baby, child, not a real adult) and I had no interest in that; a cute greenie, but a greenie none the less. After quickly deciding I had no real interest in a conversation with him, I made my way over to Mr. Z with the only intention of being nice. I should have never taken those steps. Then I wouldn’t be telling this story, starting a blog, or wondering yet again if there is a decent man left in this twisted world.
Mr. Z was charming, gorgeous, honest, suave, and older. My type to a T… The only problem, he was military. Living in a military town, I make a habit of not getting involved with military men beyond a tryst (I am trying to make one night stand sound classier). But I was taken by Mr. Z, and the fact that he made sure my hand was never empty of a drink didn’t hurt either. He was funny, and seemed to like the way I looked. The night went on, drinks flowing and conversation leading to giggles. I was fading into my drunk element, flirty with a hint of class. Slowly the bar started to fill up as midnight loomed, forcing our bodies closer and drinking quicker. Then midnight struck, and like a true girlfriend, I turned to my friend to wish her a happy new year with a hug. Then I turned, Mr. Z behind me, and I decided: fuck it, go for it M! I started 2017 with a very pleasant and hot kiss, which then turned into making out, which was reciprocated to my excitement. Do I have no shame?!? Obviously not should be my answer, making out in bars totally sloshed (drunk, wasted, inebriated, intoxicated) seems to be a common occurrence for me.
I hate to say it, but I have to go. My computer is dying and I desperately need to study (ugh why am I getting a grad degree?) before I tuck away, this wine I am drinking, at Pure Barre.
Until next time…
XOXO – M