Shot in the Dark
by DR

I think I need to give a bit of a timeline on things to make everything clear. The Jared dates were in the middle of January. Lots of stuff happened in February, but first…I have to interrupt my Jared story to tell you about the bizarre party I went to on St. Patrick’s Day.

My former boss-Lisa, who kicks ten kinds of ass, threw the party. She and her husband, Sam, have been remodeling their house for about a year now, and it’s finally finished. It looks amazing, by the way, but that has nothing to do with the story.

gotshots.jpgAt first, this party was going to be an opportunity for me to finally meet not only the friends of Lisa's that I’ve heard about for years now, but it was also supposed to be a chance for me to finally meet the guy Sam’s been wanting to set me up with for a couple of months. Schedules have conflicted and such, so we just haven’t met yet. As it turns out, Joe gets invite to a bachelor party in Vegas and can't make it. A make-up meeting is already being planned.

I get to the party and start talking to random people. Yes, there was alcohol. A lot. It was the good stuff, too. I decide that drinking is the exact right thing to do in this situation where I know no one but need to talk to people. . I start with a huge vodka tonic that Lisa made. First time I've had it. Likely the last time I'll have it. I wasn't impressed.

The drinking starts heavily about an hour or so into the party. I'm called to do shots. Jager. Ugh. I'm a good sport. I knock it back. I mingle. I do another shot. I mingle.

I end up in front of John. John is a 39 year-old chiropractor. John is also 6'4" of delicious man….and single. Interesting. We're just talking. No flirting. Yes, it's possible. I refused to stand in the corner looking like a dipshit, so I was making myself talk to these people I don't know. John and I end up talking about everything-sports, raising kids (he's helped with his very wonderful sounding nephew), different social events…anything. Our conversation trails off or gets interrupted; hell I can't remember. I somehow mingle my way away.

Someone yells my name to do a shot. It's Sam calling me; I can't very well turn down the host. I must go. As I'm standing there taking my shot of vodka, I get introduced to Alan, the neighbor.

Aaaaaaaaand whoa. Weird. Instant electricity. Tension. I'm thinking, in my now-very close to inebriated state, "this could be fun." Alan and I start talking. He's attempting to tell me a story about his house. Something about a fire. I have no idea how long we stood there talking or how we ended up separating. I'm quite certain it had to do with someone getting called to do a shot.

I find Lisa and hang out with her for a bit. Somehow I end up back talking to Alan…at least I'm pretty sure that's the sequence of events, but Lord knows I can't remember it all.

Alan has something very interesting to tell me. Apparently, for the last however many minutes, he and John (both very good drinkers and drunks, as it turns out), have been outside, on the carport, discussing who had dibs…on me.

I busted out laughing. You see, I simply do not get hit on. Ever. It just doesn't happen. So, when someone comes up and tells me that two guys are outside deciding for me who's going to get the girl, I'm shocked. Absolutely shocked, and honestly, not buying it. People do and say retarded things when they're drunk.

Then it gets interesting. Or weird. Or goofy. Or…just plain silly. The next thing I know, one of them (I have no clue who initiated it), pulls Lisa out to the carport. It wasn't a dramatic thing…just a very friendly conversation to anyone on the outside looking in. The three of them are now deciding who's going to get the girl. What…the…fuck. I am not up for any drama. I try to go outside. Lisa tells me to get inside. I make a half-hearted attempt to go out again, get shooed, and give up.

I'm back inside. Doing a shot. I start talking to Sam who tells me, "alright, we've decided that Alan is probably better for you. He's closer to your age. You two have a lot in common, and you would be a good match."

Wait wait wait wait…what? Now Sam's deciding who I'm going to go out with? Do I even have a say in this matter…at all?

The party carries on. I meet some more people.

I have lost all concept of time by now. I was hammered. Completely. It was an excellent drunk. Someone tells me that Alan, who apparently almost never drinks, is outside maybe getting sick. Awwwww…poor guy. My instinct to take care kicks in. That's what I do. It doesn't matter who or where or almost what (puke can make me queasy). I go outside to the balcony. Sure enough…he's hunched over seeing if he's going to puke or not. I talk to him. Rub his back. Trying to help a boy out. A few minutes later, John (who'd been encouraging him to drink mind you) walks out, and offers to walk Alan the two-house distance home. John comes back a few minutes later.

stupuke.pngI volunteer to go check on Alan a short while later. John volunteers to go with me (nice, eh?). We get there, and Alan is puking up pure liquid. Just the alcohol. Nothing too gross or I would have gotten sick in the state I was in. John hangs around for a bit then leaves.

Yep. Just me and Alan. Allllllllll alone. Oh yeah, he was still getting sick. The odorless, chunkless alcohol sick (you're likely seeing why I'm trying to make this sound less gross). I help him to his bed. Get him some Listerine. Get him a cool wash cloth for his forehead. Pull the trashcan by his bed. We're hanging out. He's talking. Thanking me. Blah blah blah. YES, WE ENDED UP KISSING. I'M KISSING A GUY WHO, NOT FIVE MINUTES EARLIER, WAS PUKING. First time for everything, I suppose. Yes, I'm a touch horrified at realizing what I did.

Aaaaaaaaaaand he rolls over to puke again. It turns out to be the last time he did. We go through the motions. Listerine. Washcloth. Talk. Kiss…

And theeeeeeeeeeennnnn, we really make out. Like, whoa. Not the safe, easy, making out that happened, oh Lord, almost two months ago by now. This was h-o-t. I mean the kind of hot that just leaves you breathless. Shirts come off. I remember fleeting thoughts, "fuck what a nice chest, and fuck what nice arms." The making out continues for what I can only guess is the rest of the night. Just making out. Once again, I simply can't bring myself to seal the deal…It's been FOUR-PLUS MONTHS…whyyyyyyyyyy oh whyyy can't I bring myself to do it? Sigh. Yes, pants, both pairs, stay on all night long. I know. It's disappointing. It's unreal. It's stupid. It's…I wish I knew. I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to. Making out like it was my dying day was really working for me, so I just let it go at that.

At some point, we both simply pass out. I have no idea what time. By then, we'd been up all night, intermittently making out and talking about everything…school, work, my kids…anything. I get up early in the morning, as is my habit .He rolls over, and out of nowhere says, "you never did tell me how old your kids are." I tell him and then walk out and back to Lisa's house.

What a fun night.

I did have a non-date with Alan the very next week. I have a new friend, it seems, which is very cool since he's seems to over-think every situation. It's hard to believe a guy does that.

I also ran into Jared at the end of the week…



This article reeks of class. Or Jager.


I don't even like Jager. It's foul. Yet somehow, no matter where I go, I always end up having some.


When I went out on 6th street after the Roots concert in Austin, one of my buddies got us all Jager bombs--Jager and Red Bull. I wasn't even that drunk yet, but one gulp and I almost puked. I can't stand the stuff either. BUT IT'S ALWAYS THERE, MOCKING ME.


In my pre-21 days, it seems that Jager was that one alcohol my friends and I could always get our hands on. We used to drive up and down Hwy-90 from Ocean Springs to Bay St. Louis knocking that stuff back and then winding up on a beach somewhere a couple of hours laster puking our damn guts out.


6th Street is very different in the daylight.

Ok, it's actually a block off of 6th. Still, first time I ever saw a Sedgeway gang.


I also ran into Jared at the end of the week…

At Subway?



Dead to me.

You are dead to me, Michele.


Did Alan have man boobs?

Did he like your sternum?

How about your femur?


a skinny chick in a halter top is a thing of glory...sans jager,though.

High five for living in the moment!


Michele is officially DEAD TO ME.

Tim, I do believe he did appreciate the holy sternum.

Richard, "skinny" is not a word used to describe me. Ever. But it was fun, and that's really all that matters.


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