August 21, 2012
Thrown to the Wolfpack
You might think I shouldn't have gone to this much trouble, but I went and picked him up from his house. Apparently he'd already had a few beers on his own. The ride over to the Venice bar was slightly awkward. We hadn't seen each other in a few weeks, and who knows what this means that we're hanging out again?
We were just starting to warm up to each other again when the girls danced into the bar, most of them on the prowl for guys...and all of us a couple skinny margaritas deep. I was extremely nervous since I normally don't bring guys around unless they're sticking around, but The Busy Builder jumped right in, attempting to learn names and buying drinks. He even had the balls to suggest a game of "Who Knows Lindsay Better" with the bride-to-be, my best friend of 22 years. She won. As the tequila shots soaked into my veins, I was right back where I started. So very smitten with The Busy Builder. He must like me...or why would he be here, making nice with my girlfriends?
I gave him the signal that he should take me home, (my little c-block was staying the weekend at my dad's house) and I went to wait outside while he closed out the tab at the bar. As I stood at the exit, another very cute guy came bounding out the door. He did a double-take and walked right up to me. "I don't normally do this, but you are gorgeous. Can I get your phone number?" Part of me felt like I should give it to him. Hey, I don't owe The Busy Builder anything, and he wouldn't even be with me tonight if I hadn't made it happen! But, instead I used the phrase all girls dream of, "I'm sorry. I'm actually here with someone." And as I turned to find him in the crowd, he was outside the bar watching..."Lindsay!" I went running to him.
Some of the best parts of this night are lost in a fog of tequila, but I'm pretty sure The Busy Builder's fish witnessed some inappropriate kitchen behavior. Sorry, Mom.