INTernational NIght

singledom is a blessing& curse-for me being singular is like slipping into a old pair of jeans, they fit no matter how long you have had them. i have a pair nearly a decade ago old, life& love has created a massive whole on my butt. i don’t wear them out-i have taken needle trying to fix it but the fabric has gotten too weak; a few years back patched them with red string, it didn’t last a day. but it was a worthy attempt..these jeans, have soo many stories, attempts@ love, latenight bar hopping, college, springflings that came right before finals, neatly right before 90degree humidity, and smog. they where the pair i would throw on when everything was dirty, when i was on a date i didn’t think would go anywhere.

in college, in my first apartment i didn’t have a telly and began asking guys over to tea, because neighborhood bars where page6 in the villagevoice. i also didn’t have much furniture, so we usually ended up sitting on my throw pillows on the floor talking(not always. the idea of talking without pesky bartenders, nosy friends and the obscure date saboteur was minimized.) a few years back when a boy ilusted after had our first serious fun it was throwpillows. irony is weird like that. he had them all over his living room, with a few cool things i didn’t have in my 500square feet of bliss.

so, lastnight i did the eastcoast singlething and went out, in seattle singlewomen are misperceived all the time, it’s the redpart of town in the cities free papers and the predatory women& saboteurs, even in candlelit restaurants. anyway, so i comeback to my place, change into something somewhat sexy and head out the door before i lose motivation, i nearly did. last night i started with a hefty dose of ouzo and ended with the same, after a few martini’s inbetween; i had some descent lamb skewers but have eaten better greek. growingup with greek diners 5minutes from my house as a kid; and coffee that could take skin off your back. back to the original idea. i sat reading, quietly in corner of the bar, hardly paying attention.

i clear my tab, and headedout the door for my next destination, a german ale house that makes fantastic drinks, the staff rules and where i met the soon to be med student. i walked in and was greeted, started reading my political influenced, was good journalism magazine. i wasn’t there for anyone but me, i ordered my first of 3martini’s last night, kicked back and started to people watch, something that is actually more fun than going out on designated dates, friends out. i met comrade in arms, a proalcoholic that had attended whiteschools all his life, and claimed to be rejecting his inheritance-i feel oprah comingon-enough. said.

he and i began discussing people around us, who was with who, which couple was bored, fighting, no longer in love, et al. the guys scoping, the guys taken. he and i both agreed that if we had been tied down by friends and or dates we wouldn’t be able to sit and watch the soapboxes. last night there was remnants of relationships strewn like confetti all over the bar. back tobeing singular& the proalcoholic, he was honest, evenwith his over consumption. i came there with no other intent but to be singular, catch a few drinks, people watch and just have fun.

i was clear with the proalcoholic that i was not interested in sex, as a drunkguy said to me the night before, who wanted to have sex with me from the heart all night of course; he makes for a fantastic story. anyway, i call this the shrug-i practice it often. i have learned not to falter, the minute a scoper, or beergoggled idiot approaches me after 5beers, saying No is automatic. i began counting beer consumption by men that scoped in bars when i was college, from the first glance to when they would approach. slurred speech, posture or glazed eyes are never a good sign, having a stoned guy convince you he is sober is also not very sexy.

so, i count what they consume-if they don’t hear my clear rejection the first time i refer to what i have seen them consume, it has to be part of the shrug or i can’t shake them. i refer to how much they have drunk-if i am not interested will ask if they are driving, if they say they’re not, i let it slide if they tell me otherwise i have approached bouncers, and bartenders and have cabs called. it’s still a clear shrug, i also don’t have to worry who he will takedown on the way home in his car.

back to the shrug, rejection hurts, in any setting. i am speaking from experience here, it’s not easy from either side of the equation. i have had sex i didn’t want to sit frontrow for, and going out singular also means going home the same way. if i go out to scope and to score i usually am more open, however, since i consider myself off the radar in regards to dating i am in shrug mode. i am not interested in sugarcoated pickup lines and the ideas of something. i am enjoying sitting with my martini in a corner, watching others lives. when i am ready to score i will grab, my comefukmeboots, a short skirt, a bright smile, carrying amartini, i will play to score...till then i will shrug.