Well, I tried being a bar slut. I truly did. I got a good start by doing something a little crazy during Purim. After the breakup with Papa II, I was feeling kinda low, and TB helped me out by introducing me to some nice young men who might be kind enough to help an old lady get her groove back.
So I’m looking over my choices…a very pretty African guy…too pretty in fact. Pretty boys think all they need to do is show up, so that was going to be too much work. Then there was too-Israeli…not ever going there again EVER. Then my eyes settled on that familiar Black Sea something in the eyes, and some good hands dangling over a set of good legs. That’ll do.
About a month later, it became clear that he did feel like he was doing me a favor. His boyfriends were also butt-hurt that I didn’t pick them. They can all go shag each other for all I care now. If I want to do girls, I prefer they have vaginas.
So after I removed the reserved sign, I pretty much started hunting. It was all good until one fateful night, not even far enough into the experiment for anyone to believe that I am not a “nice girl”, I met someone as weird as me. Our eyes met, and we just knew something was going to happen. We were both kind of drunk, but since we’re both kind of crazy already, it didn’t matter much. I’m pretty sure that we’d have behaved pretty much the same stone cold sober. What made the encounter even more interesting is that the pub owner, heretofore known as Satan’s late night playlist was strikingly similar to my age appropriate dude shagging playlist at home.
I won’t get too deep into the details, but suffice to say, I find myself catching feelings. This is somewhat inconvenient as he has not yet defined the relationship.
I’m not really sure what I should be doing, but for the moment I feel I should not be seeking replacements. We’ll see what happens. It looks somewhat hopeful since we’re both at somewhat similar phases of life. He’s self employed, and so am I, so he understands the idea of projects and being busy and self motivation etc. He’s also divorced with a kid, and I’m platonically married with a kid, so neither of us is trying to make new babies.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d have 10 of his little ‘sperglings if it was a perfect world. Our kids would be as awesome as Moon, and we’d pass the days composing, inventing, finding new ways to set things on fire, and reading technical manuals as bedtime stories. Alas, it is not a perfect world, and I am not 20 years old.
Still, I find myself quite taken with this one. I hope he wants to keep me around.