Last night my friend, Anglea, threw a housewarming party for herself. It was an all-around good time. Early in the party I ran into an acquaintance of mine named Ed. He snuck up behind me while I was having a cigarette next to the window and said "Hey, Sex Columnist!". I guess he forgot my name. He spent the rest of the night trying to engage other men in conversations that were probably pre-determined and rehearsed (by Ed) to make himself come across as superior and intelligent, and trying to impress each of the women with his intellect and confidence. The problem is: what he tries to exude as confidence just comes across conceit and a superiority complex. I'm not usually one to talk shit on the internet - but every time I run into this guy he either says something really offensive to me without realizing it or he tries way too hard to impress me. All I get from him is 'CONCEITED'. I had a feeling that his attempts to impress me, personally, are for the point of seeing his name in print. Last eve, at the party, upon my departure, he said something totally forgettable - I just remember him smirking and saying "Put that in your column", like he was so fucking clever. So here, Ed. I'm writing about you.
After Angela's party my new pal, Julie, and I managed to catch the last bus from (undisclosed area) to downtown. She stayed on the bus to go home and I got off at the end of my street. I made it 2 or 3 blocks before going into one of my regular watering holes for one last pint.
The bartender and the cocktail waitress are two people that I would consider very good friends of mine. I've been friends with the latter of the two since I was 15 and she was 16. I ended up drinking my pint (slowly) and watching the last of the patrons clear out. They locked the doors and we did a shooter and each had one more beer before heading back to my place where a bottle of wine, a bottle of Jack and endless porno awaited.
After a few shots of whiskey and a glass of wine, the Cocktail Waitress, who we'll call Betty, passed out in my bed; leaving Bartender, who we'll call Ralph, and I to chat and drink into the morning light. So that's what we did. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the relationship we've built with each other over the last year and a half, perhaps he just needed someone to talk to and I was the right person by profession; Ralph opened up to me and I got to discuss candidly how this particular divorced, male, 40-something, bartender feels about the opposite sex and his interactions with.
Ralph (obviously not his real name) kept giving me permission to write about our conversation. Unlike Ed (definitely his real name), Ralph isn't looking to see his name in print (or blog, as it is). Ralph is a good friend who enjoys my company and my writing. He's offering up his insights for my own gain - not his.
Ralph and I drank and talked until about 6:15 am. He wasn't looking for advice - just wanted to chat and I enjoyed myself
greatly. He seemed a little discontent. given the subject matter of the conversation, I would be too. I hope I cheered him up a bit, just by listening.
He did ask me one question though, just one. I'd like to share it.
Ralph: What can a man do to make a woman feel good?
Veronica: Aww, you know I can't tell you that for sure. Everyone's different. I know that every woman loves to be told that they are attractive. Just reassure her that she's beautiful and that you're lucky to have her.
I just love a man who is determined to make a lady feel good. Even as just a friend, I feel good around him.
Some guys just know how to treat a gal.
So needless to say, after last night, I'm a bit of a train wreck. I've been sleeping on and off all day, trying to rid myself of this "skull too small for my brain" feeling. I would hate for my entire day to be a writeoff - at least I can say I accomplished one blog entry.
I promise, no more personal stuff for at least another month ;-)
xoxo
Raw Knee
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