I Got A Bite On My Line. But I Threw That Bitch Back.

Every now and again I'm suffused with the urge to go out and play. With people my own age. In a setting where alcohol and generic fried food are served in quantity, not quality. And where all the single people pretend that they're really and truly there to hang out with their friends. But not to discuss the eye candy. No. They're there to hang out with their friends. Totally.

So Saturday night I found myself sitting at a slightly sticky table surrounded by two of my most fabulous friends at, take a deep breath now, THE BOWLING ALLEY. Not just any bowling alley, THE BIG ONE OUTSIDE OF TOWN WHERE THEY HAVE A BAR, YES, A BAR, AT THE BACK OF THE BUILDING.

A bar where, I might add, we were getting free drinks.

Because my friend Meghan had made flirty eyes with the bartender on her last two visits and Renee' was being a dirty rotten player and had been ignoring the phone calls of the door-checker-inner-person.*

*Why she had given her number to the door-checker-inner-person I HAVE NO IDEA. I mean, though slightly attractive, he is a) younger b) country and c) he has a heavy forehead, which makes me think of him as Josh, The Cro-Magnon Man.

So in an effort to win more of Renee's favor and because Meghan has big ol' flirty eyes, we were hand-delivered a veritable plethora of tasty delights. For free.

Just in case you missed that last part:

FOR FREE.

Between the three of us, we consumed four Long Islands, three Crown-n-Cokes and three Leg Spreaders. Drinks that were served to us in Big Gulp format. Cups the SIZE OF YOUR HEAD, I tell you.

Besides the free drinks we were voraciously throwing back, we were also voraciously decimating the VERY FRIGHTENING PERSONAGES who had decided to spend their evening at the bowling alley bar. This includes the lank-haired woman in the camo jacket, missing portions of all, yes ALL, of her teeth. A poster child for meth if I ever saw one. Along with Camy the Camo-wearer, we had Betty and Sally, The Permed Friends, directly to our left. These girls were prime examples of WHY NOT to listen your friends when they tell you that perms are bitchin and they make your face look thinner. When in fact perms are NOT bitchin and they make your face look like a puffy bowl of ricotta cheese. Again, a prime example of how two moderately attractive women-friends can spin themselves into the Whirlpool of Death By Way Of Bad Fashion Choices. IF YOUR FRIEND LOOKS HEINOUS, TELL HER.

After a bit, and enlivened as we were by copious amounts of alcohol, we decided a turn on the combo karaoke/dance floor was long past over due. So the three of us sashayed to middle of the floor and proceeded to shadow-booty dance for ONE WHOLE ENTIRE SONG. And then we were tired so we sat down.

But apparently, in my sashaying and shadow-booty dancing, I had attracted the attention of a Young Male Thing. One who was, quite honestly, not too terrible looking. In fact, one could even go so far as to give him an 'acceptable' rating.

My friends, being of the mind that I must bag me a hottie at the bowling alley, did what any moderately intoxicated friends would do. THEY WAIVED HIM OVER. Thankfully, he was in the midst of a gaggle of bowling alley bar-goers and missed the scariness, concentrating as he was on making it to the dance floor.

WHERE HE DANCED LIKE ALL MEN SHOULD DANCE.

Booty shaking- CHECK
Doesn't look stupid- CHECK
Dances with girls without shoving his bits in their booty- CHECK
Does The Running Man only in fun- CHECK

HE'S THIS EVENING'S WINNER!!! DING DING DING DING!

So at that point I made only the appropriate resisting motions when my friends AGAIN called him over, both of them having noticed his eyes staring me down. Which I might have noticed if I'd been staring at anything other than his booty-shaking ass.

There was flirting. And dancing. Maybe a kiss. Or two. (OVER THE COURSE OF 2 HOURS, I'M NOT A BLAZING HUSSY.) There was also a bit of phone number exchanging.

"Can I have your number?"
"Yes, you may have my number."
"Are you testing me"
"With what, your grammar? No."
"No, I meant are you testing me to see if I'm actually going to call you?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Because I AM going to call you."
"Okay. Good." <--this was said with a smile. I was not being a curt bitch.
"So when can I call you?"
"Whenever you want."
"So, I could call you five minutes from now?"
"If you want to."
"I'm going to call you in five minutes. Are you going to answer?"
"Yes."
"Good. Keep your phone on."
"I will." <-- more flirtatious smiling. Or what I assume is flirtatious smiling. I could actually look like I'm eating a live animal. I have no idea. But it was my ATTEMPT at flirtatious smiling.

FIVE MINUTES LATER:

"MEGHAN!! HE'S CALLING!! YOU HAVE TO ANSWER IT!"
"Hello? Er, no. This is Meghan. Her friend. She's in the ladies right now. I'll tell her you called though. Yes, I will remember. Yes, she has your number. No, she won't forget. 'Bye now."

TWO HOURS LATER: (I have since left the bowling alley bar and am comfortably residing in my bed with my cats and am making every attempt possible to drift into sleep.)

****loud and incessant phone ringing noise****
"mmashhhgghhhHello?"
"Robin?"
"Hi Jeremy."
"Where am I?"
"Well, honey, I have no idea where you are."
"I fell asleep at the bowling alley."
silence
"You fell asleep at the bowling alley."
"Yeah. Do you know where Mitch is?"
"No, dear, I don't know where Mitch is. And can we go back to how you fell asleep in the bowling alley? You called me five minutes after I watched you LEAVE."
"Well, I was waiting for you in my truck. *pause* I wanted you to follow me home. So we could hang out."
"Uh-huh."
"So is it too late to hang out?"
"Yes, sugar, I'm afraid it's a bit too late to hang out."
"I was trying to stay awake for you but I got tired."
"Uh-huh."
"It was cold out in the truck. *pause* And I got sleepy."
"Yep. We covered that. So, to be clear, you left with your friends only to NOT LEAVE THE PARKING LOT where you subsequently FELL ASLEEP in your TRUCK where you have just now WOKEN UP and are now CALLING ME. To hang out."
"You're such a good dancer. You've got some serious moves."
"Focus for me."
"Oh, yeah, I was waiting for you to come out. I just thought we could hang out some more."
"Honey. I've got to get up in four hours. To go to work. At my second job. I'm tired. It's late. And I'm going to hang up the phone here in just a sec."
"Well, can I call you later?"
"I don't really think that's the best of ideas."
*click*

One would assume that such a frightening display of a lack of social ability would be embarrassing for someone. But no. Not this guy. He was QUITE PROUD of the fact that he had WAITED for me to leave the bowling alley bar. In his truck. Where he fell asleep.

BECAUSE HE IS A GINORMOUS FUCKWAD.

And, I might add, he had the giant cojones to call me AGAIN last night. At 11:24pm.

Freak.