PASSING STRANGER

Whenever I’m asked (and I’m always the one asked this, I don’t know why) “Sooooooo how’d you guys meet?,” I always seem to find myself blurting out (again, I don’t know why), “Well you see, I was drunk…”

*cue “Cheers!”  “Hell Yeah!” “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” And the occasional “Why am I not surprised.”

They never seem to want me to continue explaining after that.

Now I suppose that’s fine really.

I mean, I really WAS drunk when he and I first “actually” met --- seeing as he and I had been at the same places and parties many times before only we’d never had the circumstance to be introduced (my Nancy Drew super-sleuthing skills came upon some pictures of an event he and I had attended exactly one year before we had started dating ---we were both with significant others at the time--- and our tables were right beside each other)… and I was probably drunk during that and those other occasions as well, but that’s not the point. Because it’s not like the question was “Sooooooooo when did you guys know you were in love with each other” which would have probably compelled me to give a more romantic albeit cheesy answer.

I was asked how we met.

I was drunk.

I was single.

And yes even though in the back ---and fine, front--- of my mind I was searching for love, I totally didn’t mind settling for “whatever I can get” considering I didn’t know EXACTLY what I had wanted.

Ok… maybe I wanted my proverbial “fairytale” but even THAT was vague… and since there aren’t many fairytales that consist of finding love in the club. (Though I hardly think going to the club is anything like going to a ball --- then again, maybe Cinderella got smashed first before she began dancing with the Prince, I know I would if my stepsisters treated me like shit, ergo why her shoe came off when she was running ---cuz that totally happens to me when I’m drunk and running in heels, but again, that’s not the point)

And this is not a sob story.

I was simply trained to believe that in order to understand one’s present, you have to first understand their past.

And my past… wasn’t really all that inspiring. Fun, sure. Glamorous? You betcha. I was “popping bottles in the ice like a blizzard” for Christ’s sake. And if it weren’t for the inevitable weight gain, I wouldn’t have minded the reckless abandon of stuffing my face with North Park, Next Door, and Shakey’s after every night out… which was 5x’s a week.

With a tolerance for 8 glasses of vodka-bull, 2 cups of Yangchow, and 15lbs. later…

And just when I thought that was as good as it would have to get under the circumstances…

There he was. Spinning at a bar I barely went to. A chaperone to my sister and her friend.

And I was drunk.

Bold and uninhibited. Merciless and unapologetic. Wild and free… and asking for his hat as if he’d known me long enough or even liked me enough to give it to me, a completely wrecked albeit beautiful stranger. Because I was turning 26 in three days… and I needed me a hat and some birthday sex. (Hahahahaha ok no I didn’t =)

But seriously.

Did I give a shit that he declined? (No.) Did I even remember him the next day when I was in the toilet leaning my head against the wall trying to make the room stop spinning? (Barely.) Was I sorry I tried to steal his hat? (Can’t be sorry for something you can’t remember doing so no.) Did I even bother to ask if he had a girlfriend, if she was there, or if I was stepping on anyone’s toes? (Didn’t even cross my mind to inquire about that petty shit ---because if he had a girl, whoever she was, she probably wouldn’t have been any competition for me to care about her feelings.)

I had given him my number ---after I made him ask for it--- and threw caution, care, concern to the wind.

Of course, we didn’t start corresponding regularly until about after a month… when I saw him again, for the second time. Same club. Me sporting a new boyfriend (and him accompanied by a really ugly groupie WHO I MAINTAIN LOOKS LIKE ESTHER FROM THE ORPHAN).

And still hopelessly drunk.

He became my Yahoo friend. (SUCK ON THAT, FACEBOOK)

He emailed me.

He gave me love advice.

And songs.

He was nice to me. And interesting. And cool. And un-sleazy. And smart. And diligent with replying to my emails.

He was my bestfriend on the internet.

A bestfriend who didn’t want to sleep with me.

Not right away, at least. (Or not obviously =)

Until I finally asked him to hang out with me… ‘cause the whole internet thing was getting creepy.

Two years ago today.

 

I kissed him.

 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

 

“The idea that cheesy lines don’t work and bar banter is lame. You just strike up a friendship and maybe it’ll turn into something else at the end of the night or down the road.” – Ryan Gosling on Crazy, Stupid Love

Down the road? Try down the aisle.

And the best part? Now, I don’t have to be alone when I’m drunk. Hell, I don’t have to drink to GET drunk. But it doesn’t matter. Drunk or sober… life is much more intoxicating now that I’ve married that guy who wouldn’t give me his hat.

What an ass.

Look who’s got dibs on ALL YOUR HATS NOW????!!! (I should’ve told him that resistance was futile. =)

Now he’s got me for life.

………….

 

And I hope I am able remember and reiterate this story over and over, with as much detail and fervor, in the years to come.

But if ever I’m too old or too lazy, I’ll just say “I was drunk” and smile.

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

- Walt Whitman