Oh yes, an intoxicated S.I.F. and a table of 4 men.
The girls were all quite smitten with The People’s Choice initially. He was sarcastic, attractive, and funny. But the truth is… I was digging the guy to my left. He was quieter. Shy maybe. He just struck me as kind. And sweet. And at some point into the conversation, he reached across my lap and started holding my hand.
I love when boys hold my hand.
So the decision was made. I was jonesing for the guy to my left.
The Pilot.
OK, so technically they were all pilots, but let’s face it… I’m probably not ever going to date any of these other guys.
So this one can go ahead and take the name.
I remember The Pilot telling me that he was 37. That he had never been married, and didn’t have any kids.
At that point I’m pretty sure I cracked a joke about him having a wife and babies wherever it is he goes home to on his 2 weeks off and away from Alaska.
If I didn’t… I should have. Because the truth is; there is something I don’t trust about a man who has reached that age without ever settling down at all. Especially when that same man has a job that has him traveling back and forth between two different states every two weeks.
That's prime double life material.
From there though – I have to admit it all gets really fuzzy.
More fuzzy than it already was.
In fact, if it weren’t for the pictures on my camera – I would have no idea that we had even kissed.
Which yes, I realize is probably not the healthiest thing to admit.
I remember thinking he was sweet. And that I wanted to get to know him better. But… I don’t think I was exactly in the right frame of mind to do anything at all about it.
As the hours passed, the girls started drifting off in their own directions. Most of my friends up here are married with kids. And with their husbands waiting patiently at home – I don’t think any of them felt overly comfortable hanging out with a table full of strange men.
Which was fine. The girls all made me promise I would call them if/when I needed a ride home, but they were ready to call it a night themselves. I wasn’t ready to do the same, and I was feeling pretty comfortable with these guys.
Plus, we knew the bartenders at this place (because in a town like this, the people who grew up here all know each other), so at the very least – we knew they would be looking out for me.
And at this point, I was pretty darn convinced that The Pilot and I were going to wind up talking into the AM.
But the next thing I remember, I stood up from the table by myself, shakily walked out the door, and almost immediately hailed a passing cab.
I woke up the next morning alone, in my bed, with a hangover to beat all hangovers.
Classy class.
And… that’s it. Seriously, that’s all I remember. I know I got in a cab, but I don’t remember what prompted my leaving. I know I got home safely, but I can’t figure out why I was alone. I woke up the next morning to discover my clothes strewn all around the room (somehow I had taken off my jeans without taking off my boots… a feat which I’m fairly convinced involved some kind of magic, seeing as I had actually squeezed myself into a pair of far too tight size 6’s at the beginning of the night). I was 99% positive that I had lost my camera and my wallet for half the morning… until I found them both tucked under my pillow. And my first adventure out of bed, I threw up on my toilet. You read that right. On. Not in.
Guess I just wasn’t quick enough on the draw when it came to lifting up the lid.
As for The Pilot, I wouldn’t even have remembered his real name had it not been for Loo.
Loo, who apparently requested his driver’s license and took a picture of it before she too left me behind.
She said she wanted proof of his identity, in case I wound up kidnapped or molested.
I seriously love my friends.
The random good luck is that he has a fairly unique name. Unique enough in fact, that he’s the only one on Facebook with that name. I was able to find him within seconds of Loo texting me his details.
And since then?
I've checked his profile more than I care to admit wondering if I should drop him a line.
But never quite building up the courage to do so.
The thing is… I have no idea at all what happened when I left the bar. It’s possible that I just determined I was too drunk and managed to exit the building and hop into a cab before anyone realized I was even contemplating bailing. I could have pulled an epic Cinderella move, leaving The Pilot wondering if he would ever see me again.
Or… I could have thrown up on the table and all over him before being hauled out by security.
It's a toss up.
Which I suppose should be my lesson learned for drinking to the point of memory loss.
Sadly… I thought I had learned that lesson at 22.
The fear that I did or said something humiliating prior to my departure has kept me from e-mailing him though. Well, that and the fact that I have rules about being Facebook friends with guys I’m romantically interested in. I just don’t do it. There are links to this blog on Facebook, and we all know how I feel about the men I’m dating knowing about this blog. I keep my Facebook profile on super stealth lockdown for a reason… I don’t want people being able to find me unless I want to be found.
And with this guy – I’m not sure I was sober enough to be able to determine whether or not I want to be found.
Besides, it’s been almost a week now. Despite how into me my friends keep telling me he was, I’m not sure what I would say. Or that it would be worth the risk of embarrassment to learn that I really did do something humiliating before leaving.
Sometimes a fuzzy memory is a blessing.
Plus – there’s the whole wife in another state thing. I’m still not convinced that isn’t a distinct possibility.
And so… The Pilot will likely remain a guy I kissed once upon a time on my birthday. Nothing more, and nothing less.
It’s kind of more fun that way anyways, isn’t it?
Imagining myself as Cinderella. The one who got away.
Instead of a girl who got so drunk she literally can’t remember how her night ended.
And picturing The Pilot as Prince Charming. Desperately wondering if he’ll ever see the girl again.
Instead of a man who likely has a wife and 2 kids in diapers back home wherever the heck he’s from.
I prefer the fantasy.
Don’t you?
