Captain Fantastic

As I might have mentioned last night, I was a little pissed off. I was the kind of pissed off that I rarely get, in that I wanted no contact with anyone. Ignored all phone calls, eschewed the computer - just wallowed in my anger. I also fully intended to abuse alcohol, as those in the program say. I don't even recall tasting my first glass of wine, as I think I treated it as a shot glass, and I was just pouring my third glass when Writer Guy called:

Writer Guy: What are you up to?
Me: Getting a drink on. Shit day. Can we talk later this weekend?
Writer Guy: Listen, I had a shit day, too. Really shitty. Let's get a drink.
Me: Way ahead of you. Two drinks ahead of you. Let's talk later.
Writer Guy: I know what we need to do. I'm on my way to get you in a cab.
Me: You don't know where I live and no, I'm in for the night.
Writer Guy: Yes I do, you've told me the approximate address and I use Google.
Me: No, no, blah blah blah
Writer Guy: See you in fifteen minutes. Bye. *click*

Yes, he buzzed me about twenty minutes later and, midway through that third glass of wine, I managed to throw myself together. I met him downstairs and hopped in the cab. I asked him where we were going and he just said "to go make utter asses out of ourselves." The cab driver already knew the destination, and as we got on I-5, I started to get the shakes. "Where the fuck are we going that requires a freeway?" I asked. "Trust me," he said, "I want you to meet some of my friends. It will be fun."

I will never reveal the destination, but suffice to say, it was hardly one of my usual haunts. As we walked in, I saw the signs advertising the drink specials and, horror of horrors, karaoke night. The fuck? Writer Guy whispered in my ear that we were far from home and karaoke was safe here. The fuck? There is no place safe for karaoke. Holy hell.

We sat down with a few of his friends and I turned on my charm switch. Nice group of folks - all urbanites -- who, for whatever reason decided to descend upon this suburban bar. The karaoke menus (yes, there are menus) were passed around, and Writer Guy was insistent that I choose three songs off the menu. He cautioned that they didn't really have the full menu of songs, so I chose three songs, all of which I as confident they wouldn't actually have ready at the queue. Meanwhile, Writer Guy brought me a very large glass of whiskey with some strange garnish.

When it came time to submit our playlists, Writer Guy and I had chosen one song in common - Captain Fantastic. In the interest of choosing songs that the karaoke master might not have at the ready, I thought a 70's Elton John tune was appropriate. Writer Guy found this coincidence incredible, and, to make a long story short, we sang it. He and I. The karaoke master had it and we belted it out as only drunks can do. The man has pitch. Also, was drunk.

After our soulful rendition, Writer Guy begged me to do Lying Eyes(by the Eagles) with him. As a sucker for Don Henley, and also under the influence, I agreed. There is probably nothing I like more than a guy willing to make an ass out of himself, and he surely did. As did I. This must be the purpose of the suburbs -- places where city folks can go and make utter asses out of themselves.

As the evening wound down, I did one by myself -- Grace is Gone, by DMB. By that point, I was completely drunk and utterly uninhibited. I now shudder to think how bad my rendition, but Writer Guy thought it poignant and did Wonderful Tonight in an equally drunken slur.

It was all good. We cabbed it back to the city, and he walked me to my door. I kissed him, for the very first time, and then told him that I truly wasn't ready to date. He said "K, we're on our sixth date, I think you need to get over that." In my inebriated state, I squared my shoulders and told him (as I had told B fifteen years prior) that I don't date people who are dating other people, and that seemed kind of fucked up to request, seeing as I wouldn't admit we were dating.

He got very serious and said "I only want to date you, but only if you agree we are dating. I am not in this with you for the friendship, and I don't think you are, either. Make the choice."

And yet. And yet I still wish I would have met him in 2008. I don't want a boyfriend. To be honest, I felt like I was cheating on MRE. Still, this guy is coming to my stupid soccer game tomorrow morning. Fuck timing.