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:: Saturday, July 25, 2009 ::

:: Disappointment ::
An afternoon playing my guitar or reading a good book is more fulfilling than most dates I've been on. Any women with substance in Miami? - Recent Twitter Update.

I've been flirting with a hostess that works at a restaurant nearby. I ask her to join me at a nearby bar after work one evening, and she eagerly agrees.

Cool, right? (If you think this has a happy ending, you don't know my life.)

We meet outside the bar and she greets me with a big smile and a kiss. "I hope you don't mind, some of the my friends are here." No worries. I've seen a few of her friends and many of them are, umm, hot. Except the first one she introduces me to is a bald guy wearing a ridiculous belt buckle the size of my head. As we shake hands, any concerns about him being competition is allayed by his flacid, almost delicate handshake. I'm thinking he's gay. Or so I thought. This guy has a thing for her but she's apparently undecided.

We have drinks, we dance (or at least, she danced and I tried to play along). "What's with you and that guy?"

"Oh, he's just a guy I work with."

I have misgivings about the night at this point. "So why is he staring at me like I fucked his wife?"

"Honestly, we're just friends but he gets like that." Wait, this has happened before?

I'm not looking for anything serious. I don't care if she's dating someone else. But don't let him tag along when we're going out, or did you skip that part in dating etiquette class?

"Really? I thought he's gay." She laughs. "You have a firmer handshake than this guy." "He's very Metro, but not gay." (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Whatever. "Next time, it's just the two of us." If there is a next time. "I promise."

We dance. We have fun. My plan was to go to a beer and wine lounge afterwards but I learn that Belt Buckle was allowed to tag along was because he knew the doorman at some hip new club on Collins. I thought I had to compete with guys who own Ferraris, live in hi-rise condos, or talk with a foreign accent. Apparently, that category now includes dudes who know bouncers.

She goes to the bathroom so I walk back to the bar to order a drink. I try to be the better man and get to know this guy but it's a pointless gesture as all he does is talk about himself and what a great chef he is (despite the fact that his main duty is the fry station.) I excuse myself go talk to her other friends, one of whom has such spectacular cleavage that I strain my neck trying to maintain eye contact. The Hostess (I'm thinking I need to date women in another line of work) returns and puts her arms around my waist, but I question if there's any sincerity to her gesture. "Can you come with us?"

"I had other plans." I tell her. My reply is accompanied by a dispassionate look. She looks back with a pouty, puppy-dog look and coos, "but I really want you to come."

Yeah, I caved.

We walk out and she tells the Belt Buckle that I'll be accompanying them. He sneers at me yet again and says that they'll never let me in because of my shoes. At this point, I decide I'm going home and let them fight it out. However, I can't just leave without giving this guy some shit.

"Why don't you use your culinary prowess and help me get in?"

"My what?"

"I thought you knew the guy at the door. Or are you just full of shit?"

"He won't like your shoes."

This was bullshit. I know this club and I had friends that got in wearing T-shirts and Vans. I had no intention of going but I wasn't about to let this guy off easy. I take a few steps towards him. "Why don't you just say that you don't want me to come?" The Hostess, fortunately, intercedes and also asks him to talk the doorman into letting us all through.

He weakly repeated," they won't like his shoes." I stare at him impassively but he's looking at the ground. I turn to her and ask "you really want to go with this guy?"

She pouts again. "I just want to go to this club."

"Have fun." I turn and walk away. "Can I call you when I leave?" "Night."

I head over to The Abby since I knew a friend from work would be there. I sit down next to him and order a stout. "How'd your date go?"

"Well, I'm here talking to you." He didn't press for details. I get home feeling a little too sober. As I'm pouring some bourbon, I get a text.

"Im goin home. Can i c u again latr?"

I don't feel like dealing with her. Besides, I have Woodford Reserve in front of me now.

"Ill think about it."

A moment later my phone rings. It's her. She wants talk. Women always want to talk. She tells me the club turned out to be a dud. I can't help but chuckle silently. She wants to hang again and asks for another chance. You had your chance I almost say, but instead, "whatever is going on between you two, you need to get that worked out."

"There's nothing going on, I just work with him."

Aww, hell. Given my dry spell, one more chance probably won't kill me. We meet for lunch a few days later. She redeems herself somewhat over sandwiches. She is animated and fun. Unlike many women, she asks me questions. Conversation is easy but I feel like something is missing.

Yeah, she's cute, intelligent, and has a nice ass but... I couldn't let go of the fact that she invited another guy to our date. Intentions don't matter, you don't do that. Our interaction over lunch lacked our usual playful flirting. Maybe she's nervous? I certain had my guard up. She did apologize and now we're enjoying lunch together. Maybe the onus is on me to let it go. Perhaps I should just enjoy the moment.

I can't. I have standards but at the same time I don't ask for much. I'm tired of disappointment.

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:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 12:35 AM [+] :: | 0 comments

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