Impressions from the Weekend

Women do not like it when you fall asleep during fellatio.

At Nick's, with Marla. Saturday night. Drinking Buddy shows up. We do shots. I tell Marla that Sunday night is often the best night to be at Nick's. She responds:

"But you don't ask me to Nick's on Sunday. That's probably when you see your other girls."

I shrug.

"You usually just see me one night a weekend."

I shrug and half-smile. Marla would not bring this up if it were not for the alcohol. We leave soon after. I pass out during head. Marla is not pleased. In the morning, however, all is well.

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I receive an email from Ginger containing sensitive photographs along with the text that these were shot "for you, my master." The photos are incredibly hot.

This morning, IMing, she asks why there was no message from me over the weekend.

"I don't want to be clingy, but it would have been nice. Don't mind me, I'm just being a woman."

I will tolerate a certain amount of clinginess from a woman who calls me "master" in her emails. A certain amount......

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During the week, circumstances bring me to Lincoln Park where I have a burger in a certain bar. The waitress tells me she likes my hair:

"I'm into the salt-and-pepper look."

I tell her it's not a look---it just is. She laughs. Her shift ends and she grabs the barstool next to mine. We start talking. She's from Georgia. Recently moved to the big city. She lives in Humboldt Park. She invites me back to the same bar the next night, but I already have plans. I have to leave. I tell her I'll be there same time next week. There could be something. Then again, it could be nothing. Sometimes it's just nice to flirt.

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Sunday, Nick's. Talking with one of the bartenders. He and I agree that there's really no reason for a guy to get married. There are men who want to get married, it's true, but the urge for me would have to be woman-specific. I don't want to get married in the abstract. If I met a woman I couldn't live without and marriage was the price, then and only then would I consider proposing. But the idea that there's this mythical "one" out there who will make you a complete person is a romantic illusion, at best. There will always be the "next" girl, as the will always be the "next" guy. The way to get over a broken heart is to get right back into the dating pool.

The bartender and I do another shot and he tells me that while his dad told him never to get married, his dad has also married twice since he offered that advice.

I think back to how I was with E, my first post-separation dating experience. I was patient, understanding of her situation and, what galls me a bit, sickeningly supplicating. I dererred to her when it came to restaurants, entertainment, conversations and waited on her hand and foot. She used to tell me that I was really sweet. I was. I also didn't give her a reason to genuinely respect me.

I do another shot and ponder if I ever received any useful relationship advice from my dad. No, I can't remember that I did. Like most men, I've had to find my way in the world willy-nilly.

I like drinking at Nick's on Sunday night.