Category Archives: Wine

Screaming uncle or simple abuse of the “said red”?

Uncle, I say! UNCLE!!

After meeting face to face, smile to smile, and eye to eye, I sadly have to write that Mr. Perfect did not at all maintain his title of Mr. Perfect.  Nope.

I arrived late.  Of course I did…we’ve been through that obnoxious quirk of mine already, remember?!  I received a text as I was parking, but was feeling guilty about my typical tardiness and chose to ignore the text.  This particular restaurant/bar/café has three separate entrances to each “section” of the establishment.

Here I was...

I entered the middle one, the Theater Bar, the quaint, narrow little section which boasts local artist’s work on the walls, a beautiful long wooden bar that nearly goes the actual length and almost width of this section, and charming light fixtures, all creating a casually eclectic, yet ,romantic cozy little area.

Other than the bartender, there are only four other people in the place – all males.  I coasted past them, glancing casually to see if any look like Mr. Perfect.  Nope.  None did.  And I’m thinking, What the hell?  Here I was worried about being late as usual and Mr. Perfect isn’t even here yet!  That, OR he he’s one of those guys sitting at the bar and not only looks nothing like his pictures, but brought three friends with him!

I sat down at a small table and ordered a red wine I’d never tried before.  While waiting those few moments for it to arrive, I decide to look at my text.  Oh lookie there!! …. a text from Mr. P himself.  It says, “ I’m on the aquarium side; it seemed quieter over here.”

Mr. P's "aquarium side"

Ohhhhhh……hmmm…ok…..  yeah… ok…. The aquarium side of this terrific place is the oh-so-lovely,  timelessly classy, exceedingly romantic, and  scrumptiously delicious restaurant area.  Okay, okay, okay….I get it.  You are on time,  in contrast to my lateness,  after all; you’re just over there..through that doorway only a few feet from where I was sitting.

So, now is when I walk over there then, right?  Yeahhhh…no.  I can’t.  I just can’t.  I’m nervous and I’m not walking over there with my glass of unknown red and risk demonstrating immediately upon his first vision of me being that nasty tumble/trip/clutzy maneuver which is going to dump said red all over me, the floor, or worst of all, HIM!  Nope…not gonna happen right at this moment. Can’t go.  Can’t do it.  We’ll just have to sit on either sides of the old brick wall from each other then, at least til I’ve finished my dangerously red glass of wine in its dangerously breakable glass.

So, I text back that I’m in the bar area and I’ve already ordered a drink.   A minute later, around the corner comes this guy… In hindsight, I have to guess my instant and unavoidable facial expression had to have been much like those online daters who go to meet someone in person and  they discover at first sight that the profile photo of their date was from at least  10 years and 30 pounds ago.  I mean, yeah, I knew instantly it was in fact Mr. P, which was clear.  However, with brutal honesty, Mr. P’s profile pics, as attractive as they were (and they certainly were quite appealing), had nothing on Mr. P himself! …and I mean nothing!

OMG…are you kiddin’ me??  BETTER looking in person? WTF?  Is this for real?!

Oh it was.  he was undoubtedly far more handsome in person.  Once I cleared the shock from my system at this incredulous surprise, words cannot convey how very fortunate I felt that I did let Mr. P come around the corner to me rather than Queen Clumsiness herself with her boisterously dangerous glass of said red in hand, sailing around the corner of this quaint little bar and into the elegant, romantic ambience of the attached restaurant…only to come face to face with an unexpected and nerve wracking surprise such as this.  It really could have been one horrific scene for the comical archives of online dating first- meets!

All of this is a bonus though, right?  A surprise of the pleasant variety without a doubt.  Much preferable to its counter-part of possibility at first-meets.  Yes, yes, yes…and so it was a bonus.  Except for adding to my nervous state of fear of his seeming perfection.  What the hell?  Good Lord in heaven, he was charmingly handsome, terrific physique, perfect height…..and those eyes!  Those eyes…those eyes…they…those eyes…yeah…they….his eyes…ummm…..yeahhhhh…so the eyes…they… ummm….are entitled to….I mean they require…ummmm…a….yeah…they require and demand…

A  paragraph all of their own!  Ahem….  How to describe these eyes?  Start with the basics, Kay.  Mr. P’s eyes were a rich green, bordering on hazel green-gold-brown, but with so much green opulence, you almost couldn’t call them hazel with a clear conscience.  And I’m fairly certain these were not colored contacts …the color was so rare and unique.  These eyes weren’t super small or buggy big, they weren’t too close together or spaced too far..they weren’t too high or too low on his face.  They were framed with lush, long, darkish-golden brown lashes.   But quite frankly, although yup,  I AM a sucker for green eyes anyway (guilty as charged) and no, NO photo could have ever accurately or adequately captured the stunning appearance of these eyes(well, mayyybeeee perhaps with some high tech photo-shopping), none of this was precisely WHY these eyes were so irresistibly captivating, warm, lovely, and compelling all on their own.  What was it?

I couldn’t stop looking into them until I solved this beautiful enigma.  I mean GOSH, I’ve a creative mind, rather deep comprehension of things real and spiritutal, as well as a fairly extensive vocabulary.  Surely I can look at these and pin-point what was doing that!?  C’MON!!?? What it was about them.  Hell, I’m looking RIGHT at ‘em for crying out loud!  What?  What IS it about them?  I HAD to put my finger on it damnit!  There they were – right there– looking intently at me, smiling at me, laughing with me…  For Pete’s sake!  What’s the matter with me?  Could not figure it.  Nope.  Also could not stop looking at them.  And couldn’t stop trying to figure it.

So, the date is beyond lovely.  It was a healthy balance of sharing, laughing, listening, and connecting.  Ahhh yes, just more perfection it’s to be then, huh Mr. P? You wanna play hardball, do ya?  Yea?  Huh?  Do ya? Well…Uncle, I say, Uncle already!!

This all was so perfect and so ideal in fact that after a while, even his “perfection” itself faded into the background and seemed normal….and with that subtle happening, my extreme nervousness faded back as well.  Okay, so I’m sure the second glass of said red helped that latter part some, but regardless…   It was easy and charming and comfortable and stimulating and intriguing and delightful and…… OMG!  Is this for real?

We talked of so much:  kids (he has a son), relationships, college, high school, dreams, goals, some life challenges, some happy and blessed life events.  It was just fun!

Around 10 PM (it was a Sunday night after all!), I had to go (let’s hear the collective, “awwwwwww…”).  I didn’t want to, but…..gotta do what ya gotta do…  I knew he had enjoyed himself.  I just couldn’t be certain if he’d enjoyed himself or felt attracted enough to want to see me again.  I sure hoped so, but what do ya do?

Well I’ll tell you exactly what my giggly, adoring, captivated inner adolescent wanted to do:  I wanted to  slip him a napkin note which asked, “You’re so cute! I like you. Do you like me?  Mark the box Yes or No”.

 

The scared woman in me wanted to smoothly thank him for a lovely time, give him a warm, genuine hug which lasted just a few moments too long: not long enough to be provocative or sexy, but not short enough to imply, “Thanks pal….was fun!”. You know, just a wee bit longer than necessary just to be briefly closer to him (yup, I confess, I was a bit googly) and subtly convey my interest, but not so long as to “put myself out there” like, HEY!?  GUESS WHAT?  YOU’RE HOT MR. PERFECT (please do note the absence of the quotations here) AND I WANT YOU!  The dreamer in me wanted to escape quickly in order to not face the possibility that he did NOT find me interesting or attractive enough to want to see again and leave the result of the evening entirely in question, in order to sustain the possibility as long as possible.

Here’s when he says with a big happy smile on his face (and I love this part!), “Yeah, I should go too.  Have we really been here four hours?  We have!  It doesn’t seem like it.  Time went by too fast! Not too bad for a first date I’d say!”  And guess what?  While I’m looking at him saying those words and allowing myself to slowly drink in the positive connotations of that little statement, I finally figure it out!!

His eyes….. yeah, back to that eye-thing… His eyes…  (Okay, this definitely requires a cheesy cliché disclaimer and I’m truly sorry, but GOSH, what am I to do?  I simply have to call it like it was or my blog is just a load of bullshit.)

His eyes danced.  Yes, that was it!  The light in his eyes or the restaurant lighting or the I don’t freaking know WHAT…but his. eyes.  danced. with. light. Or joy…or geesh, I just dunno……

They danced.  It was as if his eyes had their own inner strand of twinkle-lights parading off a body of soft green water!  Sparkling and dancing about… And I’m not kidding!  It hit me upside the head so hard when I finally realized this, that my don’t-you-dare- be-a-cheesy-idiot-girl filter wasn’t at prepared. Nope, it wasn’t at all prepared and I quite literally exclaimed (yes, exclaimed), “Oh my GOSH…your eyes DANCE!”    …felt stupid the minute it rushed outta my mouth.  But he was graceful and grinned and said, “Thank you”. Somehow making me not feel like it was nearly as ridiculously foolish as it sounds…and most likely was!   Yup, Cheesy Kay burst forth with the girlish exuberance of figuring out this 8th wonder of the world.

They danced…danced as if they had a little giggle/smile all of their own…danced like a teenage crush at their first prom…danced as if he adored me….danced as if his zest for life might become tangible and burst from the depths of his soul…danced as if he was a ravenous sexy beast waiting to deliciously and slowly devour me…all of the above…all at ONCE!  They just DANCED!!!!!!!!!!!

add eyelashes and imagine in motion!

Mr. P walked me to my car and I hurried in to it…purposely avoiding that good night kiss moment.

Why?  I’m not exactly sure. I did get that sense of his hesitating as in he was hoping for a kiss good night. And I really wanted to kiss him too.  But, I think mostly I just wanted to leave perfection at perfection and wait for what might (or might not) be to come…and not push my luck.

Driving home, I regretted my obviously hasty departure, realizing that if he has any intuitive sense, that my haste definitely sent the wrong message.  After all, this is my famous move when I want to AVOID the good night kiss  because I don’t want someone I’m not interested in to put me in a situation to reject him or falsely lead him on: so very much NOT the case here!!  So, I ran through my mind how to counter act my misleading behavior.

I texted him when I got home.  “I had a really great time tonight.  Thank you so much for dinner.  I really like you:)”

Yeah, I said it.  Outright and with zero subtlety.  And thus, I sat on pins and needles awaiting his response. Nervous, scared…feeling utterly ridiculous…waiting for about three minutes til I get a text from him which says, “I had such a great time with you.  I really like you too:)  Could we bake cookies together sometime?”

Can we bake cookies together sometime?  Can we bake cookies together sometime???  CAN WE BAKE COOKIES TOGETHER SOMETIME?????!!

Ummm, yeah, sooooo Mr. P is coming over this evening (tonight!) for our second date.  We are baking cookies!

Beautiful.

Dammit Steve…

It occurred to me last night that in my blog mission of sharing my online dating experiences, I’ve neglected to share much of any of my real-life, more traditional, experiences of meeting people since I’ve moved to the city of U-turns and Vanity Plates.  I’m focused if nothing, but I realize my amazing focus leaves out a great deal of interesting experience.  I did share of the near violation of my no-no square, and  hot-as-HELL bartender, and drunken groping surfer dude, but other than that, nothing of this variety.  And ironically, I’ve had almost as many real-life occasions meeting men as online; not anything overly intriguing or exciting as to dating potential, noooo….but certainly interesting experiences in their own right. 

Neighborhood bar

I was blessed (or cursed?) location-wise, to live within walking distance of a fun little restaurant/bar.  It’s not a tacky little dive (although I confess I ADORE tacky little dive bars!!).  It has a nice restaurant I’ve not yet eaten in and above the restaurant is a lovely massive deck with a bar/lounge/club-like atmosphere. It has twinkle lights  scattered all over (ahhh the ambiance), huge fans and misters everywhere for the hottest nights (so cozy n comfortable  ), and a divine view of the Sin City skyline

Ambiance
Romantic

 (geesh so romantic!).  The crowd is a little on the young side, but overall there is a decent mix of crazy college kids through some middle age patrons… all the way to a coupe of old geezer “regulars” (one of whom believes every lady over the age of 30 who comes in the place, is a “cougar-for-Jared”).   Yeah, Jared is an undoubtedly (OMG!) hot bartender, but I’m still undecided on the cougar thing unless of course it’s for my precious Hottie McHotstuff over in Denver.  I do, however, like to be around people, socialize, and have a few drinks close to home occasionally…so I have been to this little “neighborhood place” three or four times since moving here. 

My last visit to the place got very interesting.  Old geezer (cougars-for-Jared guy) was there and Jared was bartending (bonus!).  I sat one of the little high-top tables alone(obviously).  I don’t like this much and can’t wait to make friends in the area, but there I was on this night.  Enter Steve (I’m sure no relation to my big-single-mother-blog-fan “Steve“). 

Steve is a fairly handsome guy around my age who on this evening asks to sit next to me.  I’m sitting alone in the midst of yet another frustrating text-servation with The Lingerer, so I’m more than happy for company, both to get my head away from the desperately annoying texts from Lingerer and to just have some company while sitting there.  He sits.  We commence to have a great discussion about various topics like careers, moving to Vegas, relationships, kids, education, politics, etc, etc…   It’s nice. I’m almost digging this guy.  Seriously. I. Am. Right. There. Hovering on the maybe this guy’s pretty cool ledge.  He’s attractive and can hold an interesting and intelligent conversation…  I’m definitely in for further investigation here.  I even moved tables with Steve at his suggestion that we move somewhere on the deck with 

is this better?

an unobstructed and more “romantic” view of the city. He bought me three (which is one too many for me!) drinks while we chatted.  Nice guy Steve.  As I’m slowly drinking my third glass of wine, Steve asks me if I’d like to go to the Rush concert with him Saturday night.  I’m a huge fan of 70’s music and this is a fabulous offer!  In fact, I’d heard of the concert on the radio just that very day and had wished I could go see them…  Wondering, how did this gift fall right in my lap?  I agreed and we exchanged numbers.  Then Steve offers to walk me to my car.  I had a bad experience with that just the last time I was at this place, so I’m hesitant.  It’s a catch-22 though because I do like having someone walk me to my car and especially here, as the deck (and thus, the majority of the people) is up so high, the parking lot is rather isolated from anyone’s view. 

Okay, this isn’t like the last time though.  I’ve actually been talking with this guy for several hours and we’ve even exchanged numbers.  Totally different scenario from Mr. Attempted Violation.  So, I gratefully accept his respectful, chivalrous offer. 

Once we get to my car, Steve goes in for a kiss.  

Okay…nice…

 I’m an admitted kissing tramp, so this doesn’t really upset of offend me whatsoever under these circumstances.  I’m in for a smooch or two…OH! Yeah!  And BONUS…he’s not at all a bad kisser!  He’s actually pretty good… 

I go to get in my car and he goes for another kiss…  Umm…okay…two is still acceptable.  I’m still in for that…  Yeah! I turn to get in my car a second time and he pulls me by my waist back toward him, turning me to snatch another kiss.  Yeah so, at this point I’m losing some of my kissing-a-stranger-gusto and am a tad more reluctant, but alright, I suppose one more is okay… but then I’m done with this for tonight pal, okay?  No, I didn’t SAY that out loud or anything, but I felt confident that my kiss itself demonstrated much less enthusiasm, as well as a definite …sigh… okay, but hurry up and get this over with feel to it. 

GOSH!  I’m definitely a very touch-feely kinda person.  Very!  But if I even think or sense for a split second that I even remotely detect any reluctance for me to touch, fondle, kiss, or otherwise demonstrate physical affection another person, I am OUT immediately.  I cease instantly.  I shudder at the mere notion of anyone ever “suffering through” my touch or kiss. 

Do ALL men need a copy?!

 Umm…  Do men NOT have ANY sensory perception AT ALL?  Does their entire sense of awareness come merely from within themselves, with ZERO comprehension of the body language of others?  Because while I was thinking, Okay, I don’t want to be rude and out and out reject you…so get this one over with and I’ll just see you later…  Steve, on the other hand, must have thought kiss number three was a big, blaring, flashing,  GREEN light; screaming “GO STEVE! GOOOO STEVE! IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!” 

On kiss number three, in spite of my reluctance to even 

a fair likeness of what I was hiding my “smokin hot bod” under…

 participate, Steve goes in for the grope/feel!  He slides his hands around my waist, under my top (!), and says, “Wow (Kay)! You’re hiding a hot little body under that big maternity shirt…  You’re smoking under there!” 

yup...that's me Steve...

Uhhh yeah..I’m smokin’…smokin’ PISSED OFF is what I am pal….so get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Skin.  Now!   A few kisses does NOT mean it’s okay or you’re otherwise invited to GROPE a woman… Seriously…Why Steve...?  WHY?? 

I drove home rather irritated at Steve because I had really wanted to go to that concert. Subsequently, I did not take Steve’s call on Saturday morning and haven’t even yet bothered to listen to the message he left either.  

 Dammit Steve!

WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT??!!?

My FAVE yummy wine!

Okay…for all my healthy serenity-in-the-nude-solitude of the past day or so, I gotta say, it has run its course.   The excitement of flashing Jasper my shameless nudity no longer holds much entertainment value for me at the moment… This is a source of deep embarrassment for me; I’m a firm believer that only intellectually and/or creatively challenged people “get bored”. 

Thus, although I’m still home alone, I’ve donned a few articles of clothing (…ummm…yes…I can hear the collective GASP shivering through the universe at that shocking little tidbit of unorthodox deviance), poured a lovely, scrumptious and delightfully hefty glass of Seven Deadly Zins and I ponder the thoughts which have been running rampant through my mind today…

A fair representation of Octo-man

  1.  The gentleman in his 60’s (or early 70’s maybe???) whom I safely sat next to upon my first little visit to the neighborhood watering hole. ( I didn’t want to sit all alone and I really didn’t want to get hit on either…so ) Immediately after our polite introduction to one another, begins discussing with me how there are, in fact, people “our age” who come to this bar,  explains in graphic and unwanted detail the vast popularity of Jared the hot, young bartender, his “cougar following”, and all the many, many women who come here merely to see and flirt with said ”hot bartender”, Jared.

Ummm….W.T.F??  Firstly, I didn’t even know of Jared’s existence prior to this little jaunt.  And FYI pal, I resent being classified by you, a man clearly over 60,  as in “our age group”…I mean, yeah,  I realize my 20’s are getting fuzzy in the rear-view here, but  the man’s most likely somewhere in the vicinity of TWICE my freakin age!  Thus, you do not get to say to me such things as,  “people “our age”!  No. 

a true life-like depiction of Jared

I let this pass… but then when he jumped clear into the cougar talk…   I gotta tell you, I could hardly hear the man talking anymore.  Seriously… WHISKEY.  TANGO.  FOXTROT pal?!???  Have we come so far in this cougar-bit that a woman over the age of 30 can’t go into a bar by her house that happens to have a hot 20-something bartender, without being instantly and unjustly classified into the COUGAR category?!  And not only that, but implied by a pre-octogenarian at that??!!  Are you kiddin’ me?

WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT!     I found this not only insulting at a high level, but terribly unjust and unwarranted as well.  Who the fuck do you think you ARE old man?  You’d better pump those squeaky old brakes of yours pal and simmer down.  Yeah, with your smooth verbal skills with the ladies, it’s not exactly clear to me why on earth you’re single?!? Ahhh..the mystery…

Meanwhile, I’ve got late 20-ish, early 30-ish drunken surfer dude who has camped out in the empty chair next to me, sliding his hand UP MY THIGH and leaning over to whisper, spitting  with his hot breath in my ear, “It’s so obvious how much you want me…  I’m like a tiger ya know; I can sense these attraction things from a mile away.”  OH MY GAWD….is this a bad movie?  Hidden camera prank?  WHAT is going on here?!

So while I was already busy pulling my insulted chin up off the floor from shock at Old Man’s Audacity-n-Confusion on my right, I had to take my soggy bar napkin and wipe the drunken-surfer-dude spittle off my left cheek.

you get the general idea here of drunk surfer dude

WHISKEY.  TANGO. FOXTROT.  Now I’m insulted AND disgusted.

To add insult to injury, it seemed Jared (yeah, HOT bartender is a very accurate description) was watching things and maybe feeling a little sorry for my plight…  So he asks me if I will do a shot with him.  Umm….with the utmost gratitude and pleasure, YES!, I will partake in an inappropriate amount of alcohol in a too short a period of time for my body to process, just to nurse my punctured ego-wounds and hopefully simultaneously cleanse myself of my OMG-so-unsanitary-spittle-on-my-face-disgust!  …Ummm…noooo Mr. Old Man,   I’m not quite ready to chuck myself across the bar at Jared in true Cougar-like fashion, but hell YEAH, I want a shot!  Red headed slut?  Lindsey Lohan?  Tequila?? I don’t care, I’ve money for a cab…just bring it!!!  And hurry!

…As Jared (the life and ego saving bartender/hero), the other 20-something bartender, and I are all raising our glasses to toast, I happened to glance briefly to my right…just in time to see Old Man Octogenarian giving me a knowing little wink, with a smug cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin…  OMFG…

WHISKEY.  TANGO.  FOXTROT??!!