Sunday, September 30, 2007

Bad Habits

My brain is just not working today. Probably has something to do with the fairly large quantity of Yeungling I consumed last night.

I met up with a friend of mine--let's call her A--for drinks. She was meeting up with another friend of hers--we'll call him Friend of A--and invited me along. There was a time when I would get excited when A invited me out to meet one of her guy friends, until she tried to hook me up with her ex boyfriend. That was weird. So I thought nothing of it, but lo and behold Friend of A actually turned out to be cute. And not an idiot. Impressive for a single man in NYC (or at least among those I usually encounter).

We hopped around a few bars, including the one staffed by The Bartender, who I dated briefly and who, once we'd slept together, proceeded to systematically bail every time we had plans. A dick move, to be certain, but the up-side is, whenever I'm in his bar and wearing a short skirt, he gives me free beer. Really, I think it's a fair trade.

So between free beer and the fact that Friend of A kept telling me how pretty I was (I'll take "pretty" over "hot" any day), I fell into my usual zone of poor decision making and agreed to go home with him under the stipulation that I would not sleep with him.

I'll let you guess how long my resolve lasted. Really, I'm so predictable.

So, the breakdown. Pros: Thankfully, this was not a repeat of the Irishman incident. Maybe not the best ever, but at least not a new contender for the title of Worst Ever. And this one doesn't seem desperate and is actually fun to talk to. I gave him my number, but lord knows if I'll ever actually have time to go out with him should he call.

Cons: he's young. Then there's the fact that I slept with him the first night we met, and history has shown that this does not bode well for the future. And I did have to murder super-roach in his bathroom around 1am (fucker was tiny and WOULD NOT DIE).

Also, as much as I bitch about being single I've come to realize that I am a total commitment-phobe. Whenever it looks like a guy might actually like me, my brain immediately catalogs a dozen previously unnoticed flaws and convinces me to head for the hills.

And I think that in my drunken state I may have warned him that I'm a total cynic and have tons of issues, so we'll see who runs away screaming first. Anyone care to make a wager?

In the meantime I think I'll test the theory that a shower and a nap can snap me out of my hungover torpor and into a more productive state of mind. Homework calls.

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