I think I might have a problem. I seem to have absolutely no resistance to alcohol and have totally lost the ability to know my own limits. Every time I become incapacitated, I hear my mother's voice ringing in my ears telling me that no one likes a drunk girl. She's right, it's utterly unattractive and shamefully weak. My friends have informed me that I'm actually very good at hiding my intoxication but I think that might just be because they're as drunk as I am. On the other hand I've had a lot of practise hiding it from my parents throughout my teenage years spent necking Diamond White in suburban parks (classy). I know it's Christmas and the season of extreme indulgence but I'm not sure how much more my liver can take.
Last night was my first date from the website. We went to an upmarket 1950's themed bar for mojitos which we drank to a soundtrack of classic soul, progressing through American rock much to the delight of the work party crowd of which we seemed to be the only two people not affiliated. I spotted C waiting for me at the tube station before he'd seen me which gave me the chance to check him out. He was casually well dressed in a vintage brown leather jacket and dirty-wash jeans. He was only a couple of inches taller than me but fortunately I'd remembered to wear flats following the graphic designer/Laverne incident. Artfully messed up dark hair and big brown eyes were the first impressions I remember. We walked to the bar together and were teasing each other before we ordered our first drink and this theme continued throughout the night, both of us delighting in the other's love of sarcasm and witty oneupmanship. We decided we wouldn't talk about work which made things initially a little hard because it's default conversational setting for meeting new people but after a while it made things really interesting. The evening was a spaghetti tangent of subjects including juggling copulating monkeys, blow job lips, gun shows and cryogenic hair.
As the preamble to this would suggest I was drunk but it got worse when we invented a new game. It was very simple and we named it 'Least Ordered Drink'. The premise being that when you find yourself in an establishment boasting a glittering array of obscure spirits, you request the Least Ordered Drink with bonus points if the bottle actually has dust on it. Last night, the spoils were a thoroughly dusty bottle of bourbon, thrillingly called Rebel Yell. It tasted like an amalgam of Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels so we drank it with Coke and ice.
Eventually he remembered that he had been due at Pacha for his work Christmas party over an hour ago and we were miles away from Victoria so we had to cut it short. A good thing with hindsight because one more Rebel Yell and I'd have been on the floor.
We got the tube together and draped ourselves around the central pole in the carriage, our faces close while we whispered nonsense to each other. He somewhat ruined the moment by informing me that my eyes were bloodshot from all the smoke which immediately punched a hole in my thin self confidence. He made up for it though by kissing me very sexily, in full view of the tube carriage. We kissed all the way to his stop. Before he left, he told me he wanted to see me again and kissed me hard, holding onto my waist and pulling me close. He actually asked me to go to Pacha which (thank God) I refused, then hinted that he didn't really have to go to the party i.e. could come home with me. I refused this too, not only because my housemate's mum and sister are staying over for her mum's 60th birthday and the noise of The Beast With Two Backs coming through the wall is not the sort of highlight she deserves to remember, but also I never heard back from the graphic designer after rushing to bed with him and I feel a little hollow.
When I got home, I crawled into bed and was on the verge of passing out when my mobile rang. It was the dark man, B, who at just before midnight was still at work. Being drunk, I was quite open about being in bed and naked and he whispered to me in such a way that I squirmed with delight. I'm meeting him tomorrow and apparently it's up to me what we do. Oh blimey - no pressure then. What does one do with a man who clearly has contempt for the usual day to day pursuits? I suggested coffee and he practically snorted in derision so in irritation I suggested we fist each other on PCP in a car park then, which made him laugh and lightened the moment. I think I'll ask him to meet me at County Hall Galleries for the Dali exhibition which I've wanted to see for ages. That's suitably dark and twisted. Then maybe I'll just stun him into submission with Rebel Yell.
Tonight is my date with S who makes me laugh and seems handsome from his photos. We're meeting in Soho which I'm so excited about as I adore it there and haven't been for ages. I'm already thinking of all the little tucked-away bars we can patronise. I think by tomorrow I'll be as jaded as B which might actually bring our outlooks in line.
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