My good friend Mike has a motto “Leave the party when it’s fun”. I know it might sound ridiculous, but I thought I learnt my lesson when Mike and I were at our friends birthday party. I was having a fabulous time flirting with this guy and Mike (who acts like the big brother I always wanted) insists on leaving and I act like the bratty sister he never wanted and tell him he’s dreaming and go drink more whilst I wrap up this deal.
Anyway, all of a sudden, I shit you not, but it’s like the clock struck 12 and everyone just LEFT. This guy I’m flirting with tells me to come out with him, but I’m wearing the mother fucker stilettos from hell and tell him I’ll go to Mikes (where I always have a change of clothes/shoes) to change my foot attire. Anyway to cut to the chase, Perth has the WORST taxi service in the whole universe and Mike and I are the LAST ones at this party waiting for a cab. I mean, the host was hosing down his yard and packing up chairs and the mojito machine whilst we were waiting. I got an earful from Mike and it was horrible, because he was right.
Anyway I thought I learnt my lesson, but apparantly I didn’t because last night, I had another case of regret not leaving the party when it was going well, instead of rock bottom.
So bear with me as I try to be as discrete as possible…
I went to see these semi-famous bands play. I ended up going SOLO because my friend flaked out and couldn’t go and I really didn’t want to miss out. I kinda thought people might befriend me being alone and all, but that really wasn’t the case. Ha! So much for positive thinking. Luckily there were a few smiles exchanged with one of the guys from the band and we end up talking… then flirting… then talk about going out the next night… and then finally the exchange of numbers. Now THIS is the point where I should’ve left, but no. Silly me. I couldn’t help myself.
Five fucking hours later, we are sitting at the bar, we are both completely sloshed and he is rubbing my back and patting my hair from what I can only think is him being loyal, because we are both pursuing conversation elsewhere because talking to each other is the last thing we want to do.
And I regret not leaving earlier, because I am sure if we were out at some hole in the wall restaurant the next night and could actually hear each other to get to know each other, it would’ve possibly worked out, but from our time together I thought he was sweet, but oh so BORING. I craved this rich conversation and a back and forth of intellect and similar interests, but he didn’t know who MacGyver was and never watched Groundhog Day. C’mon! I’m by no means a fan of MacGyver but was he completely oblivious to the 80’s?
So I FINALLY leave at 3am and we are so sick of each other that no one dares to mention seeing each other again.
Me - Ok. I’m leaving. Bye.
Rocker - Ok Bye.
Me - Bye.
Rocker - Did I spend enough time with you?
Me - No. But it was fun.
Rocker - Oh…
Me - Bye.
I just wish I would learn already. I have such an attraction to rockstars with skinny leg jeans and some vintage shirt that I always seem to forget they never seem to be able to offer me any goods in the personality department. Sorry - sweeping generalisation. But give me someone who can talk to me about movies, and art, and pop culture, and travel!
Oh another thing - this band had a groupie of girls travelling with them from Oz. And well, they were THE unfriendliest bunch of bitches I have ever met. Since when did it become cool to be a groupie?