When I drink, there are three things that I really like: lipstick, speaking in a British (awful) accent and making out with strangers (or friends).
Last week I got a call from a number I didn't recognize and they didn't text or leave a voicemail, so I didn't think anything of it. Then they called again a couple days later. I texted back to see who it was. The poor boy, he was a stranger that I kissed right after the part where I kissed my friend and drove uptown two weekends ago.
This boy's name is Stephane. He's a beautiful French-African dude. I know this because he sent me his picture, which I will now use to avoid him just in case I happen to be at that bar on a Saturday night ever again. That was a fluke though. That is still the only weekend I have ever gone out to the bars on my block. I intend to keep it that way.
So Stephane keeps texting me and wants to hang out. I did make plans that I was happily able to break this past Tuesday, I would feel bad about it, but...oh, no there are no reasons to feel bad about it.
This past Sunday a couple of friends of mine came down from DC to see another friend's band play here, coincidentally at the same bar I made out with Stephane in. Anyway, my friends were kind enough to buy me several shots of whiskey, among other things.
After our friend's set was over we walked to the bar that I live above and continued the party there, where I met Daniel.
I'm sure he's a lovely fellow, really, but he called me the next day. Before noon. Even if I get up before noon, there are few circumstances when I will answer my phone before then. Anyway, my friend passed me my phone and told me it was "Daniel" - I had programmed his number into my phone this time. Progress!
He first commented on how I wasn't actually British. Nope. Not a lick. I'm from Drunk.
Then he continued to text me incesssantly with emoticons and improper grammar. Neither of those are preferred qualities.
This past Tuesday I went to a party followed by dinner, followed by filling out an application at a bar (I'm not really sure how that happened, but please call me back!) and then karaoke. All of it was "fantastic." I used that word almost all of my tweets that night, and can only imagine that I said it, in my British accent, even more.
It was at the karaoke joint that I made out with and exchanged numbers with Evan, who after a text the next day, has a girlfriend. Sorry, Girlfriend, 1) for making out with your boyfriend and 2) that you're dating a dude who makes out with other people, unless you're into that, then great for you!
The lesson learned here is that boys are silly, and don't understand that a girl really can just kiss you and absolutely not ever want to hear from you again, but give you her card to be polite.
P.S. Related, if someone gives me their card, I always email first, as should you, though if someone is giving you their card and not just their number, they are probably okay with never seeing you again and just being polite.