Grilled Cheese and Cupcakes

Every night at the pub with C slinging drinks is always an interesting night for sure.

With K waitressing and C pouring, I knew it’d be a perfect night to have a drink and a reminisce over our dear, sweet P, who left the country at 9pm last night. Lately I’ve been wondering if P perhaps had a talk with C and J (the other young and very handsome bartender), telling them to keep an eye out for me. Last night, as I was sitting at the end of the bar, sipping my Blue Moon (for the oranges, of course) and listening to the sesiun that had just begun, a man very obviously stoned/ drunk wandered into the bar and stood smack in front of me, staring directly at me.

Naturally I chose this moment in time to develop a keen interest in the New York Mets (GO YANKEES!).

C came over to talk to the man, who ordered a Merlot (..come again?) and as he was pouring the man his wine, C gave me a sideways glance to check up on me. I gave a weak smile and, when the man tried to ask me what I recommended for dinner, C stepped in again to recommend the quesadillas. Finally, when C could do no more, the man turned to me again and started the requisite drunk man hit on sober and uninterested girl repertoire.

Dominican?
No.
Puerto Rican!
No.
So what are you?
American.
Don’t be rude, I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation. What’s your nationality?
[I’ll stop being rude when you stop talking to me and consider having the grime from 1996 washed off your face] Hispanic.
Ha! Thought so. What do you do?
I’m a student.
The sexiest part about you?
[Oh for Christ’s sake] Are you asking or telling?
Telling. Ready? Are you ready?
[Would I ever be?] Sure.
Your teeth….and your lips. But also your teeth.

Oh honey, thanks. Thanks so much. I only hit the gym three times a week so you can tell me my TEETH are sexy. Thanks for noticing. Barf.

Anyway, the man told C he worked for the MTA and had to cash in his check so he could pay for his meal. C nodded and when the man walked out the door, C followed him straight out. K and I thought he was going to be having a cig but when he came back after a long while, he was raging mad and it would’ve taken an idiot to not guess why.

“Fucking cunt of a stoner, I followed him a block and a half away and he turns around and says ‘Jesus man, why’re you following me? I’m just going to meet a friend. I’m Irish, like you!’ Fuck no, you’re not. I know your hand and I know who you are and what you’re about. You ask me for the nearest place to cash my check or get some money, and then walk in the complete opposite direction. Make no mistake, come around here again and I’ll knock your face in. Fuck him, I’m putting a curse on his youngest child, absolutely.” And then C went on to explain that because he’s Irish, he comes with his own little book of spells and warned us never to cross his path, or he’d put a vex on our youngest children, not something to be taken lightly.

C can be a bit of a prick sometimes.

For example, when he came up to me as I sat on my stool and said “Oh Lola, you could have had yourself a nice husband and been married, but now your prospect is off on his way home. Don’t worry, we’ll get you married yet.”

WHAT?!

I knew I had never told anyone about P’s proposal….well anyone at the bar, that is. If I’ve learned anything from sleeping with C, it’s that gossip in a pub is Perez Hilton’s personal nirvana.

“Y’see, he told me what he was thinking about, and I told him you were too quiet and couldn’t be trusted. Two days later young redface had booked his ticket home.”

I’m trying to think of the most polite way to say, Fuck you, C, fuck you, but I can’t find any. Fuck you, C, will just have to do.

C later reveals that no one else at the bar knows (good, because if K finds out she’ll never speak to me again, as it’s a well-known fact she is MADLY in love with P), that I’m a trustworthy girl (…huh?) and that P has just made a huge mistake going back to Ireland. All of these are clear and obvious reasons why he told P not to marry me for his green card.

I’ll never understand C, his lies or his deceit. I don’t particularly trust him, but as I’m not one for confrontation, I’m always civil. I know deep down, he really wishes P had staid. And I know, that the reason he told P not to is really because he thinks I wouldn’t divorce him, that I was too in love with him. Of course I love P, I love P the way I love my best friends. Would I want to start a romantic life with him, have sex with him, kiss him, blow him, etc? No, absolutely not – I couldn’t even picture it if I tried. Perhaps I’m deluded, but I think the reason P liked me is because our relationship was one of the most uncomplicated at the bar – I wasn’t territorial, loud and boisterous, didn’t cause problems, wasn’t pining for his love and hadn’t fucked him and kept coming back for more. If a lack of all above the above doesn’t scream simplicity, then I don’t know what does.

E also stopped by. Oh sweet E, what are we going to do? The night of P’s going away, E and I had dinner at a nearby North African spot owned by a friend. The food was gorgeous and the décor was lovely. Afterwards, E ran off to get a massage and met up with me later at the pub. The rest of the night that I was with him was spent with either his hand around my waist, him kissing me anywhere from my neck northward, and him constantly asking if I would please go home with. “I want you so badly, I really want you to.” Did him saying that turn me on? Absolutely. He is extremely attractive and I do like him, but no was my answer, yet again. No, not on P’s last night. Sorry… no.

So last night, when he came in, and I looked impeccably gorgeous (as always), and had a few rounds of beer in me, it wasn’t long before he started asking me again. Sorry, no. Dear readers, I’m not conflicted. I want to say yes, I absolutely do, but I can’t. My parents expecting me home nightly is a major player here, and there is another, but that’s a story for another day. Yes, E kissed me multiple times in front of everyone there and promised me he would continue to ask me every time he saw me to come home with him until one day, I said yes. I haven’t quite decided what to make of it all, but I think I’m flattered.

Meanwhile, the man kisses like eats – impeccable form but always in a damn rush.