And they're like
It's better than yours,
Dang right, it's better than yours!
I can teach you,
But I have to charge.
I have always heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Until recently I believed that this 1950s dating gem applied solely to food; cakes, lasagna, fried chicken, pies, etc... I was wrong. It applies directly to moonshine.
That's right.
Moonshine.
This past weekend, in honor of March Madness I headed to LA to an Alumni Game Watch Party. I'd been to a game watch party earlier in the tournament and met two awesome people, Emily and Nick, so even if the worst happened and we were the only ones there, at least I wouldn't be screaming C-A-T-S! CATS! CATS! CATS! all by myself. Being the only person in a bar yelling at the TV is awkward... Not that I would know anything about that. I've just seen other people do it... Yeah. Other people. Not me.
We were far from alone in the bar. Apparently, the rainy Saturday drove all the UK Wildcat fans into the Varsity. So there I was, with Emily, Nick, my moonshine, and several eligible? bachelors. As soon as the mason jar made its way out of my purse it became THE topic of conversation.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"You betcha!"
"How did you get it out here?"
"Disguised as tequila in my suitcase."
"Did you make it?"
"Ha! I wish! But I don't want to blind people."
"What kind is it?"
"Strawberry."
"Oh man! That's the real stuff."
"Oh yes it is! Straight out of Johnson County."
Emily, Nick and I had scored ourselves some prime Wildcat viewing real estate, which happened to be beside an older gentleman, Dave, his son, who I am calling Greenie thanks to his celebratory attitude in honor of St. Patty's Day, and his son's friend, Shane. Greenie and Shane had been drinking Catholic Carbombs (This is the same thing as an Irish Carbomb, but the Irish really don't like to be associated with Carbombs as I have learned from my Irish friends. So in an effort not to offend my Irish readers I'm using the Irish term for a Carbomb-- a Catholic Carbomb. Clearly, I don't care to offend my Catholic readers. Actually, I just know the Catholics have a better sense of humor than the Irish. Oh drat! I've now offended everyone.)
Anywho... Greenie and Andy have had about six Catholic Carbombs. Each. As well as several generous sips of the Moonshine. Complete with two Moonshine soaked strawberries. Those boys were having a good time. I spent the first half listening to Greenie tell his dad that he was his most charming self and that the girls still weren't interested in him. When his dad asked about a particular girl Greenie responded with, "I don't remember her name."
Here is where I should have kept my mouth shut. But no, I lean over and say, "Yeah, we don't really like it if you can't remember our names no matter how charming you are."
"I remember your name... Criiiiiii---gger." he said closing one eye and pointing at me. I assume he needed to close one eye so he could figure out which me to point at as he must be seeing double.
A few minutes later Don, a North Carolina native that went to school at UK and worked in Lexington for ten years came over to quiz me about how I had gotten the Moonshine out to California. I detailed my process (which is camouflaging it as tequila or wine, wrapping it up in plastic wrap, nestling it in a sweater, and hoping TSA isn't too thorough and that the baggage monkeys aren't jumping on my suitcase). Don claims to have shipped 5 quarts back once. And his method seems pretty thorough, but I'm still wary of the Postal Service and that couldn't have been cheap. As we chat I discover he lives near me and I am ecstatic!
"We should hang out! I am new to the OC and don't have a ton of buddies yet."
"Yeah... Well I need to get back. But I just had to talk to the girl who brought the moonshine." He says making a speedy get-away.
And then I see why he is making swift exit. He is at the party with a girl. Not a very pretty one at that, though she looks like she might be the jealous type. He probably doesn't want her to know I have suggested we hang out. Which, by the way I don't mean in the euphemistic way people use it now to mean hook-up, get-down, etc... I really just want some buddies that I don't work with who like basketball!
Now Greenie, who stumbled away to hit on anything that moves, has teetered back and PLOPPED down on the couch beside me and draped an arm very tightly around my shoulder. Oh joy.
In an effort to keep himself from face-planting on to the coffee table he has decided to try to wedge his fingers between my ribs. This strategy worked and kept him vertical long enough to tell me about his crazy ex-girlfriend who he has a restraining order against after she kicked a hole in his door and threw a table off the roof of his apartment building.
Really... there is an 8:1 ratio of men to women in this bar and these are the two that decide to chat me up? Mr. I-have-a-Crazy-Ex-and-quite-possibly-a-drinking-problem and Mr. I-live-in-the-OC-but-am-here-with-a-jealous-girl? At least the Cats are winning!
After game ends and the crowd starts to clear out, Emily and Nick, being that they are Louisville Fans as well want to stay and catch a bit of the UofL game. This is fine by me. I can watch March Madness all day. Every day. Don gives a little wave as he and his lady friend leave and I figure there goes my shot at an OC game watching buddy. Dang jealous girlfriends.
But then he comes back, sans-girlfriend.
"It was nice to meet you Moonshine-Girl." he says extending his hand.
"You too. Maybe I'll see you in the OC." I say holding it a little longer than necessary.
"How will we ever see each other. I don't have a way to contact you."
"The OC isn't that big, but here's my card. That is my cell number. Give me a call and we'll talk Wildcats, Keeneland, Moonshine and Bourbon."
"Alright. I'll do that."
We'll see if he does. But getting a guy to ask for your number while he is clearly with another girl is a win. At least for me. Not her obviously.
As we sit watching a few more minutes of the UofL game a guy in a Kentucky shirt comes over, sits down, and strikes up a conversation.
"I'm doing the acting thing." he says making air quotes. He looks like Shia LaBouf in Flipper. He told me his name and gave me his phone number, but honestly as soon as he said "I'm doing the acting thing" I stopped listening. I know it's mean because I have friends who are pursuing acting and they are talented and committed people. And people I respect so much.
But they are in New York.
Where real actors are.
Okay, that's not really true either. Real actors are out in LA too. But the way he said it was like he couldn't even believe he was doing it. That it was a ludicrous undertaking.
If you are going to do it, own it!
Be committed.
Don't. Use. Air quotes.
People always ask why I date online? Why don't I just meet people when I go out?
These are the people I meet in bars. The "actor". The drunk finance guy that is still frat party mode. The guy with the girlfriend.
It is hard to delete them from a bar, but you can block them on Match.com with a click.
It's better than yours,
Dang right, it's better than yours!
I can teach you,
But I have to charge.
I have always heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Until recently I believed that this 1950s dating gem applied solely to food; cakes, lasagna, fried chicken, pies, etc... I was wrong. It applies directly to moonshine.
That's right.
Moonshine.
This past weekend, in honor of March Madness I headed to LA to an Alumni Game Watch Party. I'd been to a game watch party earlier in the tournament and met two awesome people, Emily and Nick, so even if the worst happened and we were the only ones there, at least I wouldn't be screaming C-A-T-S! CATS! CATS! CATS! all by myself. Being the only person in a bar yelling at the TV is awkward... Not that I would know anything about that. I've just seen other people do it... Yeah. Other people. Not me.
We were far from alone in the bar. Apparently, the rainy Saturday drove all the UK Wildcat fans into the Varsity. So there I was, with Emily, Nick, my moonshine, and several eligible? bachelors. As soon as the mason jar made its way out of my purse it became THE topic of conversation.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"You betcha!"
"How did you get it out here?"
"Disguised as tequila in my suitcase."
"Did you make it?"
"Ha! I wish! But I don't want to blind people."
"What kind is it?"
"Strawberry."
"Oh man! That's the real stuff."
"Oh yes it is! Straight out of Johnson County."
Emily, Nick and I had scored ourselves some prime Wildcat viewing real estate, which happened to be beside an older gentleman, Dave, his son, who I am calling Greenie thanks to his celebratory attitude in honor of St. Patty's Day, and his son's friend, Shane. Greenie and Shane had been drinking Catholic Carbombs (This is the same thing as an Irish Carbomb, but the Irish really don't like to be associated with Carbombs as I have learned from my Irish friends. So in an effort not to offend my Irish readers I'm using the Irish term for a Carbomb-- a Catholic Carbomb. Clearly, I don't care to offend my Catholic readers. Actually, I just know the Catholics have a better sense of humor than the Irish. Oh drat! I've now offended everyone.)
Anywho... Greenie and Andy have had about six Catholic Carbombs. Each. As well as several generous sips of the Moonshine. Complete with two Moonshine soaked strawberries. Those boys were having a good time. I spent the first half listening to Greenie tell his dad that he was his most charming self and that the girls still weren't interested in him. When his dad asked about a particular girl Greenie responded with, "I don't remember her name."
Here is where I should have kept my mouth shut. But no, I lean over and say, "Yeah, we don't really like it if you can't remember our names no matter how charming you are."
"I remember your name... Criiiiiii---gger." he said closing one eye and pointing at me. I assume he needed to close one eye so he could figure out which me to point at as he must be seeing double.
A few minutes later Don, a North Carolina native that went to school at UK and worked in Lexington for ten years came over to quiz me about how I had gotten the Moonshine out to California. I detailed my process (which is camouflaging it as tequila or wine, wrapping it up in plastic wrap, nestling it in a sweater, and hoping TSA isn't too thorough and that the baggage monkeys aren't jumping on my suitcase). Don claims to have shipped 5 quarts back once. And his method seems pretty thorough, but I'm still wary of the Postal Service and that couldn't have been cheap. As we chat I discover he lives near me and I am ecstatic!
"We should hang out! I am new to the OC and don't have a ton of buddies yet."
"Yeah... Well I need to get back. But I just had to talk to the girl who brought the moonshine." He says making a speedy get-away.
And then I see why he is making swift exit. He is at the party with a girl. Not a very pretty one at that, though she looks like she might be the jealous type. He probably doesn't want her to know I have suggested we hang out. Which, by the way I don't mean in the euphemistic way people use it now to mean hook-up, get-down, etc... I really just want some buddies that I don't work with who like basketball!
Now Greenie, who stumbled away to hit on anything that moves, has teetered back and PLOPPED down on the couch beside me and draped an arm very tightly around my shoulder. Oh joy.
In an effort to keep himself from face-planting on to the coffee table he has decided to try to wedge his fingers between my ribs. This strategy worked and kept him vertical long enough to tell me about his crazy ex-girlfriend who he has a restraining order against after she kicked a hole in his door and threw a table off the roof of his apartment building.
Really... there is an 8:1 ratio of men to women in this bar and these are the two that decide to chat me up? Mr. I-have-a-Crazy-Ex-and-quite-possibly-a-drinking-problem and Mr. I-live-in-the-OC-but-am-here-with-a-jealous-girl? At least the Cats are winning!
After game ends and the crowd starts to clear out, Emily and Nick, being that they are Louisville Fans as well want to stay and catch a bit of the UofL game. This is fine by me. I can watch March Madness all day. Every day. Don gives a little wave as he and his lady friend leave and I figure there goes my shot at an OC game watching buddy. Dang jealous girlfriends.
But then he comes back, sans-girlfriend.
"It was nice to meet you Moonshine-Girl." he says extending his hand.
"You too. Maybe I'll see you in the OC." I say holding it a little longer than necessary.
"How will we ever see each other. I don't have a way to contact you."
"The OC isn't that big, but here's my card. That is my cell number. Give me a call and we'll talk Wildcats, Keeneland, Moonshine and Bourbon."
"Alright. I'll do that."
We'll see if he does. But getting a guy to ask for your number while he is clearly with another girl is a win. At least for me. Not her obviously.
As we sit watching a few more minutes of the UofL game a guy in a Kentucky shirt comes over, sits down, and strikes up a conversation.
"I'm doing the acting thing." he says making air quotes. He looks like Shia LaBouf in Flipper. He told me his name and gave me his phone number, but honestly as soon as he said "I'm doing the acting thing" I stopped listening. I know it's mean because I have friends who are pursuing acting and they are talented and committed people. And people I respect so much.
But they are in New York.
Where real actors are.
Okay, that's not really true either. Real actors are out in LA too. But the way he said it was like he couldn't even believe he was doing it. That it was a ludicrous undertaking.
If you are going to do it, own it!
Be committed.
Don't. Use. Air quotes.
People always ask why I date online? Why don't I just meet people when I go out?
These are the people I meet in bars. The "actor". The drunk finance guy that is still frat party mode. The guy with the girlfriend.
It is hard to delete them from a bar, but you can block them on Match.com with a click.
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