a loser at a sports bar

When Mollie and I got to the bar in Union Square, we were already toasted. I say toasted because it was still light out and therefore, etiquette won’t allow for one to be trashed before dark. Don’t ask.

Now the reason behind this is pretty simple. It was Sunday and we had met in Brooklyn to watch the Steelers Game. And we lost. And we saw it coming. So we just kept drinking. And nearing the end of it, Mollie decides that we’re heading out into the city for a birthday party. It seemed like a strange time to have a birthday party, a Sunday evening, not yet dark. And it seemed that she really didn’t want to go and unless I went with her she was probably not going to make it. But she wanted to go. In facebook terms, it was “complicated.” 

 So we hop the train and sure enough, as soon as we walk into the bar, he sees her, she sees him and she’s got to deal with it and be friendly and say “happy birthday” and all that. Lucky for us, her buddy is there already and she’s made some friends and gets us beers right away. Like we need any more. But hey, it’s not dark yet!

Now, we’ve left a sports bar in Brooklyn but showed up in another in Manhattan, so everyone there knows that we’re still losers. Because like true fans, we've got the gear on. So it’s still ok to be past toasted.

I somehow bow out of the shots that the guy in the top hat passes around. upon entering this bar I surrendered a bit, just that part where I know that no men are going to find me interesting, that my hair immediately gives me away that I’m too different and unique and complicated. Which is fine. that simple editing process is what saves me from more instances like these.
A bit later, I make my way to the back, to the restroom. And when I come out, the guy in the top hat stops me, as he waits in line. He wants to check out my hair. He makes me turn around.

“yes, it’s a swirl that starts here and goes around like that,” I explain, following the spine of my hair with my hand. “want to touch it?”
And he does. And he seems to like it.
“it’s so cool. It’s hot.” He says. “are you a lesbian?”
And here is where it gets a little murky in my memory: but of course I’m not, but it pisses me off so I make fun of his top hat.But then we make out. With drunken passion.
We pause for him to apparently get my number and add me as a friend on facebook on his i-phone.* Then I make my way back to the bar and resume my stool. Sip my beer.
Crickets look back at me when I meet the eyes of Mollie and K. and K’s 2 friends who had since joined us.
“what?”
Crickets. Blanks. 
“who was that? He’s cute!” says Mollie.
I giggled. They smirked, chortled. “yeah I kissed him.”
And they howl. K corrects me, “you aggressively made out with him.”
“ah,” I said and dissolved in giggles I’m sure. 

* this allows for one to go back and look at pictures of whoever they met the night before in drunkenness to consider without beer goggles whether or not they want to see them again. This helps both parties to recognize each other if they decide to meet again.