Accidental Ambivalence

And I Liked It

When I woke this morning - afternoon - I was a mess of bruised lips, beer-scented skin, smudged eyeliner, and flushed cheeks. Allow me to explain.

Last night I went to Piano Bar with Gallagher and some others, including her roommate, Kitty, and her best male friend, Hershey. We didn't remain as a group for long, meeting up with others and going our separate directions. At one point, I was standing near the bar in a rather congested area, chatting with some girlfriends and sipping my beer. I lifted my bottle to take a drink, and suddenly, it was in my face. Someone had gesticulated a bit over zealously, threw his elbow into my bottle, and slammed it into my lips, bruising me and spilling beer all down my chest and into the top of my dress. He apologized profusely and, even being drunk, got me a handful of napkins to clean up with. I assured him I was fine, though the fact that I can feel my heartbeat in my lips this morning makes me wonder if I lied.

The rest of the evening in the bar was filled with flirting with bartenders, listening to girls whine, running up my tab, and listening to the regulars sing "Friends in Low Places" and "Godzilla." There was the setting up of two people who are just too cute together, hiding from annoying drunk girls, and eavesdropping on shouted conversations going on between stalls in the ladies' room.

After last call, the party moved to Hershey's house, where the conversation took an interesting turn: the length of guys' hair. I shared my honest opinion on the matter, which is that as long as the hair is long enough for me to run my fingers through and give it a good tug - oh yes, I'm a hair-puller - then it is long enough. Any shorter and I feel that I am being somehow ripped off. I demonstrated on the males present, learning that Hershey himself had the hair of the perfect length.

I also learned that he likes to have his hair tugged as much as I like doing it.

I'll spare you the sordid details. I will tell you that there was no removal of clothes, no "heavy petting*," and no weird emotional exchanges. I will tell you that Hershey is a fabulous kisser and I would be totally okay with a repeat performance. We were alone out on the deck, and when I realized just how long we'd been away from the others, I stood and told him that we should go inside. I paused re-fix my ponytail - the tugging really screws with it - and he stepped up behind me to that thing. The thing where he stands behind you, runs his hands up your sides and kisses your neck. He hands you the cell phone you left on the table, and when you thank him, he kisses your neck again, right next to your ear, and breathes, "you're welcome."

Somewhere between the hours of nine and eleven this morning, I had a rather racy dream about a man who didn't have a face. At least, I never saw a face. I'm okay with that, though the excitement my subconscious constructed had my chest all flushed and left me short of breath.

And the smudged eyeliner? That's what happens when you go to sleep without washing your face.

*What the hell does that even mean?

Labels: alcohol, boys, flirting, piano bar

posted by nicalyse @ 1:06 PM