Here in fancy Binghamton, NY you really don't have many choices as to where to meet people. You could for example, meet someone at your job- restaurants are notorious for their incestuous- and often times debacherous- relationship formations. You may try the bars/clubs/pubs although that is more of a one-night stand option than an actual dating option, face it: you probably don't want to start a serious relationship with someone who frequents a bar period, but a bar is probably the best place to meet someone. You might meet someone in a fairy tale like moment at the grocery or getting coffee in the morning (or you might meet someone you were dating with their- unbeknownst to you- betrothed there: it is a small town.) It is unlikely however you will meet someone to your liking in a town this size and with the general population make up here. Either I am really intimidating (one reason another single friend and I like to pin to our lack of dates) to what I would consider "normal" people, or I am really destined to end up with a complete lunatic/bore/idiot not to mention drug addicts/alcoholics/needy people because they are the only people that seem to take interest in me. I'll explain:
Specimen One: You and your friends go out dancing. First, as we sit down our wine in hand and look out at the crowd. To ease the dissatisfaction on the eyes, I take off my glasses because then, I can't see as clearly that everyone looks at least 5 years too young or 20 years too old to be in the bar. With the blurry vision, they just look like people. A friend says to me,"Why is it every time we go out I am further compelled to never date again?" Point taken. We watch everyone dance for a while, only having 2 drinks ourselves and then decide we need to get out of there. So much for dancing...
Specimen Two: Meeting a group of friends for one's going away party. Immediately upon entering what some might describe as a "seedy" bar, we notice there is karaoke. As an obviously intoxicated angry boy screams "Give it Away" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers into the microphone, I attempt to order drinks for my friends. Standing, and by that I mean swaying, next to us is a 50+ man who has obviously outdone himself in the drink department. Think fast Megan... Don't make eye contact. I purchase several drinks, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes keep closing and he starts dancing to the music with them shut, swaying around. I keep praying I won't get crushed when he finally tips. I scan the bar population. Too young, too loud, too drunk. Next up: a girl wearing pajamas starts singing Mariah Carey's "Hero". At first I thought it had to be a joke. Nope. She actually tried to hit those notes. (My ears are still bleeding.) My friends and I decide maybe we don't belong there. We notice that there is an inquisitive looking deer head mounted on the wall wondering what it did in it's lifetime to deserve it; sorry friend, we aren't going to be able to take you... and to think you have to spend your entire afterlife here.
Specimen Three: Our next stop is our regular bar if there is one... it's not crazy there although a very large man decided to stand on a bar stool and yell. He was wearing a shirt that said "Hot" and I was actually for a brief moment, concerned he might take out a semi-automatic weapon and do us all in. I know that is morbid but the news lately leaves much to be desired and I have an overactive imagination. There aren't many things I ask in life but one is that my drink never gets served to me in a plastic cup... particularly if my drink is guinness. There's nothing worse than a guinness in a plastic cup. So I hold onto my cup for dear life. When I try to get another one I tell them to pour it in the same glass. This takes some work and requires me to be apologetic for any inconvenience as well as carry on what appears to have been a misleading conversation I never wanted to have with the bartender. The bartender keeps asking me if I will do shots with her. No. It's not that I don't do shots but I have learned to stop doing them so much in my older age. I keep repeating this obviously to deaf ears,"Thank you very much but I really am not into shots." I turn to look at my friends who are having a strange conversation with a man who put his suede coat (it took him months to pay for it) on the bar and is criticizing us for having potentially spilled drinks on it. What? You put your coat on a bar buddy, get over yourself. Apparently he just recorded a song with Alicia Keys and wants us to go to his studio. Uhm? Don't worry reader, I'm thinking the same thing.
Specimen Four: Any place I go, I attract the largest lunatic there. I could be getting coffee, at a home improvement store, just walking down the street- it doesn't matter. If there is a crazy person within 2 blocks of me they have some sort of radar that goes off and sends them in direct contact with me.
Strange Man (SM) 1: "You seem like a nice girl"
Me: "Thanks but I haven't even spoken to you"
SM1: "Yes but I can tell that God has touched you"
Me: "Okay..."
SM1: "God tells me things. He told me I could find a wife today"
Me: "Oh then he probably told you he burned his fingers when he touched me and that you should keep on looking"
SM1: "You're being modest"
Me: "I'm sorry I need to take this call"
So I run away to talk to myself on my phone pretending it is a dire situation. I feel a sense of guilt for faking dire situations. I think in terms of karma it is a flawed way to divert yourself from a situation. However, what else can I do? I have had plenty of interactions with crazy people. Remember that line," Your eyes are like wheelbarrows full of salt in the moonlight?" I think I'll avoid that in the future. Just cut the talk out immediately.
Specimen Five: In the not too too distant past I was dating someone who seemed nice enough but obviously was not nice at all. I don't know if it makes someone a lunatic to carry on two lives but it does make them untrustworthy. Bare in mind, not a serious relationship, just dating, but I've learned to wave that red flag like it's no body's business when I see it first come up. Things seemed to be going well enough when one day I walked into a coffeehouse for my morning caffeine dosing when I see the lady I was dating. I start to walk up to her to say hello when I realize she looks horrified. Apparently this "minor detail" AKA her husband had not been disclosed to me. I did the right thing by suppressing the urge to tell him the truth via spewing any number of profanities I could think of right in that moment. After all, I pitied him but it isn't really my place to clear up the matter which he was obviously oblivious to. I've been in his shoes and sometimes, if say, the relationship has any potential of being salvaged (and in my opinion, it doesn't once someone has decided to go about dating other people or even thinks they want to) it is best to just not know of your significant others' indiscretions as then you are faced with the task of truly forgiving them, which sounds good in theory but never really works. Not only that but the thought of my role in that whole bundle of chaos frankly made me sick. I think of cheaters as complete cowards. I also think of the other person- if they know they are- as tactless and foul. I didn't return any phone calls, and didn't even listen to the voice mails. The bull fighter's flag had been waved and there's not a second chance once that happens.
Posts
1 comment:
Interesting, although I hope you weren't trying to make any of those people stereotypes, because frankly I don't run across too many of those. Get out of Hammytown, babe.
P.S. who were you dating that was married?
Post a Comment