Unfortunately this entry has nothing to do with the war in Iraq because we all know that’s a lost cause. However, you know who is not a lost cause? This guy (imagine me pointing my two thumbs towards my chest)! I believe in at least a couple of the entries on this page I have mentioned my admiration for a certain bartender that works at the Red, a bar that I frequently visit. Well, imagine this being a season of Lost and you finally got some plot point resolved because I got her number last night.
Friday evening was a night of triumph and courage as Eric, our friend Ben, and myself completed a round of miniature golf at the Boardwalk (by the way, I am a champ at the miniature golf); after the night of enduring sports was complete, we ventured onto familiar territory, that being the Red and the 515: the two bars that we pretty much only go to. For a Friday night, the Red was not as busy as we imagined it to be, and of course, there was my bartender. I managed to make conversation happen and in it she mentioned that Sunday night she has to work at the 515 (the two bars are owned by the same people). She then went into detail on how it’s going to be incredibly boring since no one goes to that place, especially on a Sunday evening. I had a new destination come Sunday evening.
Sunday evening, Eric and I walked upstairs into the 515, and sure enough, it was pretty dull and there was the bartender looking bored out of her mind. She was quite pleased to see our presence. After a while, some of her other friends pulled up to the bar and then Kyle called Eric and said he was at the Hindquarter drinking and playing dice. Eric took the initiative to move locations. All I could think was, “You’re ruining my game!” Although there really wasn’t much of game since the bartender was talking to her friends. But goals, I’ve got goals.
The Hindquarter is a restaurant/bar that our friend John (the best man at the wedding I went to who put his contacts in hydrogen peroxide) used to work at. We have met all of his former coworkers in the past, and they still work there. There was Brendan, a waiter we’ve hung out in the past, that made arrangements with Eric and I to play disc golf (Frisbee golf for those who don’t know what that is) Monday night. There was Tara, the hot bartender, who I decided to experiment with.
“Tara!” keep in mind I had two glasses of Macallen scotch at the 515 and a beer.
“Peter!”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I…”
“Doesn’t matter, you’re playing disc golf with us!”
“I don’t think so.”
”Okay, how about you and I just hang out in the parking lot,” she laughed and attended her empty glasses that needed washing apparently. I received the full name treatment from Eric, as if he was a parent catching his child cursing.
Things died down finally at the Hindquarter and I told Eric that we have to go back to the 515 because I’ve got goals!
We arrived and there were different faces at the counter, but my bartender was still there. I don’t even remember the conversations that took place. I want to say I had another glass of Macallen 12. Finally, Eric and I decided to conclude the night and as we walked away from the bar, I went to my bartender.
“Kim, can I call you because it would be cool for us to do something that doesn’t require you making me drunk and me giving you money,” I know this wasn’t the most direct or the most suave route to go, but A for effort.
“What do you mean? Like both of us being on this side of the bar?” she pointed to the bar stools we had just risen from.
“Sure!” she then started saying her number and I had to pull out my phone fast. Due to my current state, I had trouble entering the numbers; it was a good thing she was watching me type in the numbers.
“No, five, you want to type in a five. Peter, that’s an eight. Okay, that’s too many sevens, Peter, two sevens, not three.” I could feel Eric judging me from the corner. We left and I was on cloud nine. As we headed back home, Eric kept commenting on how ridiculous I was. All I could reply with was that I had a goal and that goal was complete.
So, those who have been with me at the Red, I appreciate your patience. I realize I met this person six months ago, but it’s been a challenging “Hero’s Journey” for me. Six months isn’t too bad, we’ve broken four years in Iraq.
Lets just hope I don’t fuck this up; I’ve been put into trouble due to my optimism in the past.
Friday evening was a night of triumph and courage as Eric, our friend Ben, and myself completed a round of miniature golf at the Boardwalk (by the way, I am a champ at the miniature golf); after the night of enduring sports was complete, we ventured onto familiar territory, that being the Red and the 515: the two bars that we pretty much only go to. For a Friday night, the Red was not as busy as we imagined it to be, and of course, there was my bartender. I managed to make conversation happen and in it she mentioned that Sunday night she has to work at the 515 (the two bars are owned by the same people). She then went into detail on how it’s going to be incredibly boring since no one goes to that place, especially on a Sunday evening. I had a new destination come Sunday evening.
Sunday evening, Eric and I walked upstairs into the 515, and sure enough, it was pretty dull and there was the bartender looking bored out of her mind. She was quite pleased to see our presence. After a while, some of her other friends pulled up to the bar and then Kyle called Eric and said he was at the Hindquarter drinking and playing dice. Eric took the initiative to move locations. All I could think was, “You’re ruining my game!” Although there really wasn’t much of game since the bartender was talking to her friends. But goals, I’ve got goals.
The Hindquarter is a restaurant/bar that our friend John (the best man at the wedding I went to who put his contacts in hydrogen peroxide) used to work at. We have met all of his former coworkers in the past, and they still work there. There was Brendan, a waiter we’ve hung out in the past, that made arrangements with Eric and I to play disc golf (Frisbee golf for those who don’t know what that is) Monday night. There was Tara, the hot bartender, who I decided to experiment with.
“Tara!” keep in mind I had two glasses of Macallen scotch at the 515 and a beer.
“Peter!”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I…”
“Doesn’t matter, you’re playing disc golf with us!”
“I don’t think so.”
”Okay, how about you and I just hang out in the parking lot,” she laughed and attended her empty glasses that needed washing apparently. I received the full name treatment from Eric, as if he was a parent catching his child cursing.
Things died down finally at the Hindquarter and I told Eric that we have to go back to the 515 because I’ve got goals!
We arrived and there were different faces at the counter, but my bartender was still there. I don’t even remember the conversations that took place. I want to say I had another glass of Macallen 12. Finally, Eric and I decided to conclude the night and as we walked away from the bar, I went to my bartender.
“Kim, can I call you because it would be cool for us to do something that doesn’t require you making me drunk and me giving you money,” I know this wasn’t the most direct or the most suave route to go, but A for effort.
“What do you mean? Like both of us being on this side of the bar?” she pointed to the bar stools we had just risen from.
“Sure!” she then started saying her number and I had to pull out my phone fast. Due to my current state, I had trouble entering the numbers; it was a good thing she was watching me type in the numbers.
“No, five, you want to type in a five. Peter, that’s an eight. Okay, that’s too many sevens, Peter, two sevens, not three.” I could feel Eric judging me from the corner. We left and I was on cloud nine. As we headed back home, Eric kept commenting on how ridiculous I was. All I could reply with was that I had a goal and that goal was complete.
So, those who have been with me at the Red, I appreciate your patience. I realize I met this person six months ago, but it’s been a challenging “Hero’s Journey” for me. Six months isn’t too bad, we’ve broken four years in Iraq.
Lets just hope I don’t fuck this up; I’ve been put into trouble due to my optimism in the past.
10 comments:
Thank you. Very much.
This one was killing me.
woohoo!!!!
congrats, but now you've gotta step up your game! i recommend a glenmorangie 15. :)
Thank you, friends, thank you. I know it may sound pathetic, but I guess I like to take my time with things.
I have not explored the realm of glenmorangie 15 yet.
Its about freakin time!
Nicely played Peter, I don't care what Eric says, I think that's a great line you pulled :).
Happy woo-ing friend!
it is a trip worth taking.
Hey, any line that works is a good one (and that, my friend, is a good one).
In the "One Proud Gemini" movie in my mind, first of all, I can't hear you say "This guy" withOUT seeing you, two thumbs inward.
But I can see your "I got goals!" gesture, slapping the table with your eyes shut, and "goals" in falsetto. Am I wrong?
Oh Ryan, you know me too well. Sometimes I wonder about my recaps on what I say because I can hear them in my head but I just don't know if the reader can interpret them the same way.
OK that's it, I have to have your blog on permanent feed into my Inbox, because I can't believe I MISSED THIS ONE!!!! AH!
You go, Pete! And I agree - great freakin' line!
Well done, young Paduan.
-Z
"Our baby's all grown up"
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