Saturday, August 28, 2010

Inebriated Ian (Or the guy from table 92)

**Disclaimer: I do not condone the consumption of alcohol in this manner whatsoever. If choosing to drink, one needs to do so safely and within limits. Since this date, I have reinforced my limits and would never allow something this reckless to happen.

It was a typical Tuesday night shift at Chili’s when I noticed him. Pretty things seem to float into Palm Beach Gardens occasionally. If you have ever worked in a restaurant, you would know it took about -.0793 seconds for everyone else to have walked by this table and given me their approval or denial on the looks of this man. My friend was able to slyly enter me into conversation where he casually mentioned we have a mutual friend. (We have no such friend.)

I’m normally apprehensive about going out with someone I have never met. However, I disillusioned myself into thinking I was captivated by his beauty. He had short, dark buzzed hair, striking emerald green eyes and a small scar that for some reason I found really really sexy. I was so enthralled with his looks, I forgot Prince Dreamy’s name! I spent the next week walking around making up possible names for dear Ian.

The plan was to meet him at a nice restaurant about an hour after my ballet class. This meant I had an hour to transform from sweaty bun-head leotard and tights girl to pretty and sophisticated “I’m-about-to graduate-college” lady. Crap. Thankfully, I had some fabulous girlfriends who helped curl my hair and pick out clothes and jewelry as I threw makeup all over my face. Forty-five minutes later, I was beautiful, clean, and smelled delicious thanks to Lola by Marc Jacobs. And I was ready for Mr. Handsome, the next possible love of my life.

Walking into Yardhouse, I was actually nervous. I mean, what the crap WAS his name? How could I forget something like that? I spotted him over in a corner booth and as he stood to give me a first-date hug my nervous turned to horror and my stomach churned.

“WHAT is he wearing?” I silently screamed to myself. Imagine this: a twenty-five year old in a plaid button down half sleeve shirt two sizes too large and faded 90’s jeans. OH, and sneakers! His face resembled a rugged and handsome prince. His clothes resembled a cross between a homeless person and an eighty-five year old man. At this point, his name could have been Harry. After seeing that I believe there should be an age limit on the clothes we buy. If you are not a senior citizen, you are not allowed to dress like one.

I suppose I should just be thankful he did not smell like moth-balls. Also, his name was not Harry.

I look at the table and see he has already ordered himself two beers. The first one he had downed and the second was half way finished. I suppose he needed to get the party started. Maybe I should have run at this point. But between ballet and the energy of rushing to get ready, I was hungry. And YardHouse does happen to have an exceptionally fabulous lobster or crab sushi roll thing. Besides, maybe he will be a nice Christian boy and I can dress him for the rest of our lives.

Being a classy lady, I ordered myself a glass of wine and began asking and answering the series of first-date typical questions. That first glass of wine went down deceptively smoothly. Before I knew it, I had three. And then he asked “What do you think of Irish car bombs?” “I’ve never had one, I answered. I’m not really a shots type of person” “Oh, we’ll tonight, you are”. I can’t honestly tell you how many drinks he had, but I want to say it was definitely at least ten. That doesn’t include the two shots that he ordered for me, and I couldn’t take, so he did.

Where is my big mouth when I need it? It was probably swimming in my stomach with my previous three glasses of white zinfandel. The rest of the night blurred by with conversations of what we believe about God, family, life’s goals, ect. Ours didn’t really match up, to say the least. We had about as much in common as our clothing styles.

Call me old fashioned, but a guy should be striving to impress the special lady he asks out. If he doesn’t try to impress you in the beginning when his job is to win you over, when will he? And if he thinks he doesn’t need to win you over, get the crap out of there. Translated this means “I don’t think you are special and will not treat you so, ever.”

Inebriated Ian was drunk, sloppy, and his scar now reminded me of Lord Voldemort. He was not a prince, he was classless and his life belonged to immediate self-gratification. He turned and put his arm around me and leaned towards me with his reeking alcohol breath. Uh-oh, I knew what was coming. And it was definitely not what he thought was coming. “Are you having fun?” He said in his most seductive sloppy drunk voice. Before I could answer he went in for the kiss. Before thinking, I opened my mouth and said “No. Thank you.” My mom would have been elated that my manners shine through even the stickiest of situations. I wiggled my way out of his arm and said “I have got to go; I have class in the morning.” With that, I went to my car and made a pit-stop at my beloved Chili’s for a bathroom break and for some date gossip/venting.

I never contacted Inebriated Ian after this date, and he neither felt so inclined. We both obviously were after different things in life. However, this date will always be memorable to me because it is the first time I can say I recognized red flags and didn’t try to turn a blind eye in the name of “hope”.

For those who aren’t sure what red flags appeared on this one, I will share:

  1. He was working on becoming intoxicated before this girl he had never met had even showed up.
  2. This means his intentions were to give me a good night so that he could get laid or eventually get laid. Maybe you think this is harsh. But, if you felt like there could be the slightest possibility you could spend the rest of your life with a person, would you not show a little more respect for the situation?
  3. He was “concerned” with me “having a good time” but what about a safe drive home? I was drinking. A call or even a text to see if I had made it home safe would have been semi-decent. I ask all of my friends that I care about to let me know when they make it home after a drive or flight. And they aren’t even drinking in those scenarios.
  4. He tried to kiss me on the first date drunk. If you really cared about someone, would you not want that first kiss to mean a little more than the taste of stale alcohol?
I conclude this entry by a quote from C.S. Lewis that I hope will inspire you not to settle anything:
"The problem with humanity is that we are far too easily pleased. Settling for mud-pies when a holiday at the beach awaits us"