Drink Coasters

So today, I feel like a bit of storytelling. As much that I find dating in 2022 sucks smelly dick, I want to tell you all about dating pre-lockdowns. I can’t say it has actually gotten any worse or more repulsive, but I’ve changed so much about my life that directly affects dating.

For example, I don’t drink anymore. This summer I will pass 3 years no alcohol and I absolutely love it. I’ve reached a point where I don’t celebrate every month, or even notice. Hell, I had such a shit month of March and early April that I missed quite a few days to celebrate and/or mourn: birthdays, deaths, month-i-versaries.

Here we are in the middle of August…JFC…APRIL…ITS FUCKING APRIL.

A few years ago, I frequented the local watering hole 3-4 nights a week until I left with staff at the end of the night. At the time I looked at some of those people as actual friends, but after I quit drinking, I realized how much they enabled me to self-destruct. They certainly did not cause it, but rather created a river of beer to drown my sorrows. Sadly, as the saying goes, “My demons know how to swim.”

One of the nights sitting at the bar downing a few pints with a friend, we sat discussing the Leftover Crack show. Foggy brain struggles to remember if this happened right before or right after the concert, but definitely within a week or two either way. My voice carries well as one elementary school teacher said to justify singling me out in class regularly more than other students. That’s a conversation for another day however.

We sat talking and I mentioned the band loud enough that a woman a few barstools down heard and invited herself to our conversation. She had great features and an attractive personality so we chatted enough for me to get her number. I asked her out for later in the week, which seemed super cool. We had chatted for a few days, had things in common, and she seemed to have a square head on her shoulders.

Well. Maybe not quite so much.

We met up at the same bar but early in the evening around 5-6pm. Remember that whole “my voice carries” thing? While sitting and talking with her over a beer, I kept having to repeat myself. My anxiety said, “Bro, are you just not talking loud enough for her to hear you? Are you mumbling and rambling to yourself?”

Nope.

Not at all.

She showed up drunk.

At 5 in the afternoon to a bar on like a fucking Wednesday.

We finished our first beer and went outside so she could smoke a cigarette. Looking back after the fact, she may have meant for us to leave at that point, but my self-doubt magic 8-ball said, “Unlikely.”

We went in for another beer and things didn’t get any better. Surprise.

She damn near slammed that beer and left by the time I had finished half.

She acted so strange and odd that I sat there in a stunned (and slightly hurt) silence finishing my beer. Thankfully, I never leave home without headphones in my pocket, so I shrank back to my comfort zone of music.

I promptly deleted her number and message thread from my phone as a lesson learned.