September 2, 2010

It was last Labor Day weekend, and I had a friend in town visiting. She was at a BBQ during the day in the suburbs, so I decided to take the opportunity to go to a bar with some other friends and start drinking martinis at 4 p.m.

I’m sure you already can recognize that this did not end well.

By the time my friend came back into the city I was well on my way to Happy Land.

Well, overall I’m pretty happy all of the time, I suppose. Yes, I realize that is SO annoying to say. But I guess I’m one of those annoying people who is smiling and laughing 98% of the time. Although what I’m smiling about could very well be me thinking how stupid and annoying you are. And I’m laughing at the various ways I can dispose of your body.

Back to the story: So by the time my friend made it back into the city I was well on my way to not remembering even seeing her. The last thing I recalled was deciding to go to Hangge Uppes and then … waking up in my bed.

First things first, I checked out the photos on my camera. Yep, there I was doing self photos with my friends, martini in hand. Yep, there I was with my out-of-town friend looking barely alive … and showing skin in strange places. DELETE.

Oh, there was more! There I was …wait a second. There were several pictures of me dancing with some strange lady who looked like Princess Jasmine and was wearing a VERY strange green getup. I questioned my friends who had spent the night, “Who am I dancing with in this picture?”

“Oh her?” they respond while laughing. “Yeah, that’s your girlfriend. You asked her to dance. She said yes.”

Seriously? Mind you, we were not grinding. We were just standing opposite each other dancing.


After that, my friends left and I decided to order a pizza. I’m pretty sure I probably ordered appetizers, too. And while placing my order on the phone, I probably PRETENDED to ask the non-existent person in the room what dipping sauce she wanted with her chicken tenders (I knew it was ranch and honey mustard). I often do this so the mystery pizza worker thinks the food I’m ordering is for more than one person.

I seriously do this. And can’t believe I’m writing about it. Sigh.

My buzzer was broken at the time, so I was waiting for my food with an iron-clad death grip on my phone, willing it to ring with my pizza arrival. Then it rang!

I happily picked up as the salivation began. “Is this Leigh?” A strange voice asked me. “Yes.” I responded. “Hi, this is Mike from last night.” Hmmm, yeah. Don’t recall meeting any Mike last night. “Oh, why yes, hello” I responded, being too embarrassed to admit I didn’t remember him.

I then proceeded to have a 20-minute phone conversation with this guy PRETENDING the whole time I knew who the F I was talking to. FINALLY the pizza guy called and I was able to exit the conversation after promising that yes, we would meet for dinner sometime that week.

First of all, the pizza was delicious, of course. Second of all, I called my friend to see if she remembered me talking to some guy named Mike. She did not. Although she did mention that after I finished with my dancing duet with Jasmine that I did disappear for about 30 minutes. Leaving me ample time to befriend and give my number out.

Given my state of consciousness, I was not trusting my own judgment. Three martinis on an empty stomach? Check. A six pack of beer? Check. Several rounds of shots? Check. Beer goggles safely secured on my head? Check, check, double check.

I never did go out with Mike although I got pretty close several times, as he attempted to woo me with free tickets to a Bears game. I figured it would be unforgiveable to turn down free tickets! Then I got to thinking, if I was supposed to meet this guy, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what he looked like!

Moral of the Story:

I’m a screener, I admit it. The ONLY reason I picked up the strange number was because I thought it was the pizza guy. I’m not sure what is sadder: That I gave my number to a random guy who I have absolutely no recollection meeting, or the sheer force of disappointment that hit me when I realized he was not, in fact, the pizza delivery man?

In my fantasy, Mike was Patrick Dempsey in the 1989 movie Loverboy. You can feed me AND seduce me?

Extra anchovies PLEASE!


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