My first REAL "night out" after becoming single was an astonishing eye-opener. I hadn't gone out and put myself "out there" in years. I certainly wasn't looking for a GF but WAS looking for a bit of freaking attention.For me the most difficult part of a break up was convincing myself that I still had some awesome on the table. Not so much in the "Do I still got it?" kind of way, but more like the "Oh crap am I a hopeless, lonely, pathetic has-been?" sort of way.
Very different.So out I went. Boys night out. Half the guys are married. (What the hell am I doing?) But to my delight, some of the guys had literally never been out like this with me before. So after we crushed 30 gin and tonics (Lost the credit card roulette on that one...kept the bill...ugh) off to the club we were, and as the guys milled about, chatting and drinking some more, what came to be known as the "Secret Weapon
Its a funny thing if you can dance a bit. You not only stand out, but its refreshing to a lot of girls. "Oh, a dude that can ACTUALLY dance a bit? cool!" It also isn't too bad that most drunken dudes look like complete donkey's at the club...so show a bit of rhythm and you end up looking like M.J. to the rest of the place.
And depending on the night, and available stable of better looking guys around, you can actually ATTRACT girls!
I've mentioned, I'm no super model, so having women come up to ME is freaking rad.An extra side order of awesome to go with the night was the dudes I'm with LOSING their minds as my dance card filled. (Post traumatic break-up syndrome ego boost? Check.)
With my confidence and blood alcohol level at an all time high; I'm dancing, I'm impressing, I'm hammered...one of the boys decides its time to head to an Irish Pub down the street and proceeds to think I'd be the best wing man of the group. So off I go. From dancing super awesome attention time...to Irish freaking pub.
I like to always mention that I am a lucky guy. Especially in friends. I have a group of brothers that are like none other. This is awesome in so many ways, especially that they insist on taking care of me in my new found single-dom.
Their diagnosis of my condition? He's sad. Why? No girl. Solution? Get him another girl. Simple man-logic. Sincere, though slightly misguided.
Now I'm a polite guy. I genuinely like people. I am rarely rude and tend to find something I like about everybody I meet.
But on this particular occasion, what was paraded to me by my friend was a line-up of women that...how do I put this...were the only ones left still single at 2 in the morning at an Irish Pub?
I remained polite, but was now quite inebriated, no longer in my little dance utopia surrounded by people who thought I was awesome...and though I was not sure I wanted one, I was clearly not in a position where I was going to even have a good drunken conversation this evening at the least.
And then I saw her. She was small, wearing a floppy paper boy hat, (I'm a sucker for girls in hats) and talking to some dude...but...she was a looker! But dammit, how am I going to even get a chance to talk to her? My mind raced! Is that her boyfriend? If not do you think she has one? Do I just immediately ask her? I really want a Big Mac.And as I stood their gawking like a stalker, my window of opportunity opened, she said something, frustratingly picked up her coat and stormed away from the guy! Eureka! I exclaimed. (ok I didn't, but you get it) I cut her off and attempted to say something witty.
Now I'm normally quite the silver-tongued rapscallion, but at this point in the evening I was a blurred, slurring shell of my normal self. What I said I dont know, but she stopped, and started talking to me. In my drunken state of course I thought I'd NAILED it.
But the fact was, I was dealing with a bit of a pistol on this fine evening. This lil filly was a freaking Firecracker. I don't know if it was her "schtick" when meeting dudes (you know those girls that are kind overly vulgar and extra brash trying to come off a bit more like "one of the guys' in hopes she'll land "one of the guys"?) but she was a bit...annoying?
At this point, being a tad disappointed at how my night had ended up, instead of being my regular, polite self, I responded to her with about the same level of douche-ocity she was brangin' at me.
Now I dont know exactly how the entire conversation went, but I do remember one specific thing that I said to her which immediately ended the conversation...ahem..."I hate your face." Yup. Totally said that. Her reaction though, well that was the kicker.
She reached up, grabbed the back of my head and starting kissing the hell outta my face. Like I was a drowning victim. Keep in mind that even though I was relishing the attention I was getting this first ever time out, but c'mon, I was still a tad green behinfd the gills (anybody know what that means?)
It's like having your water wings off for the first time and then some kid pushes you off the high diving board. Exasperatingly terrifying.
So I did what any 30 year old newly single drunkenly confident lad would do. I fucking bolted.
Right out the door of the pub. No thanks. No goodbyes. Just ripped my head out of her makeout death grip and gone. If the door had been locked, you'd have seen my Wile E. Coyote cutout and a trail of smoke down the road.
It was an overwhelming feeling of terror. That was the first mouth that had touched my mouth since the last mouth. And that was the same mouth for 4 and a half years! It was a WEIRD mouth! And it felt like I was cheating on somebody. That was the essence of the moment. I was totally single. Very single. But it felt like I was cheating. And it was nuts.
When I spoke to the friend that had dragged me there later in the week he said I just looked up from my angry little makeout machine with a blank stare, did an about face and went straight out the front door. Like I'd just remembered I left the iron on and needed to race home to make sure my house wasn't on fire.
I do remember two things immediately after while I was walking alone up the street. One, I said to myself; "Welcome to single life. Holy crap." and Two, I went straight to McDonald's and ate a Big Mac.
We got this from the delightful mind of Regular Everyday Single Guy. You can follow RESG on twitter @EvrdaySingleGuy