Martini-fied in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Still feeling tired today, though I’ve completely recovered from the Miami trip and had a chance to finally catch up on my sleep last night.

Okay. Of course there’s a reason. There always is, isn’t there?

Yeah. So I returned H.O. (the hot orthodontist)’s call on Thursday afternoon. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message telling him that I was going to go to the gym after work and then I could possibly meet him out after that (he’d asked in an e-mail if I wanted to have a drink). Like around 8:30 or so.

I did just that. Went to the gym right after work. Went to a kickboxing class that left me feeling completely beaten to a pulp. All I wanted to do after that was go home and take a long, hot shower. And when I checked my phone, I noticed that H.O. hadn’t returned my call, so I just assumed that he didn’t want to do anything that night.

Fine by me.

But around 9:00 my phone rang, awakening me from the semi-coma I was in. It was H.O. calling to tell me that he was at the bar of the brand new Hawaiian restaurant right down the street.

I told him that I had just gotten out of the shower and was a little tired and had a huge meeting in the morning (true…a big 8:30 meeting with the heads of two divisions of the company) and that maybe we could meet out some other time. He did a little bit of trying to convince me to come join him, but told me that he understood and that he’d call me some other time.

After I hung up, I thought…..what a dumbass you are! Here you have this friendly, gorgeous, successful guy calling you, and he’s sitting at a bar that is within walking distance, and you’re telling him that you’re too tired to see him???! You are an idiot!!!

So I jumped up (after about fifteen minutes of internal screaming at myself—yes, I was exhausted!) and called him back. I asked him if the invitation was still open (yup), and I told him that I’d meet him after I got myself ready.

Prepped lickety-split and walked to the place. Twas completely packed. Found H.O. at the bar. He was talking to some girls. One of them was really attractive, and I was immediately intimidated. But that went away when he turned to me and gave me his complete and undivided attention. Bonus.

Conversation flowed nicely. We talked a little about my travels and then my car wreck, and he told me that he’d actually totaled his brand new car in almost the same exact location a little over a year ago! He showed me the scars where he’d broken both of the bones in his forearm (owie!) and told me that it was a full year before he regained full use of his arm and hands. Which meant that it was very hard for him to do that whole ortho gig. So we talked about his job and then more about mine and on and on…

I was having a fantastic time!

And then he suggested that we go to another bar. And for some stupid reason, I readily agreed!

Stupid move. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Because:

(a) I hadn’t eaten anything and already had three glasses of wine in my belly

(b) It was late. Very late.

(c) I was unfamiliar with the place, and didn’t know that they serve the strongest martinis in town.

(d) I feel frisky when I drink martinis. Very, very frisky.

So. This martini bar. It’s damn sexy. And so was my date. And the combination of the sexiness and the late hour and the alignment of the stars and quite possibly the alcohol, made us both a little…uh…amorous.

It gets really fuzzy from here on out.

I just remember being in the BATHROOM with him. That’s right, all you mile-high fans….we locked ourselves in the bathroom! Not sure for how long. Just remember someone knocking on the door, causing the seal of our lips to break.

Momentarily.

I remember being in his car.

I remember kissing some more.

I remember some exposed body parts.

And then I remember him dropping me off at my front door.

And then the horrific sound of my alarm.

Ouch.

I say “ouch” not just because it was really painful to get out of bed and drag myself to work and hold my composure during the meeting with the two big wigs, but also because it just hurts to think about the details of the night. And those are the things I remember!!!!

Mortification at it’s finest.

I thought that I’d blown it completely (alright, stop it!) and was never going to hear from the guy again. He was written off before I even got to work.

But at around 3:00, I found an e-mail from him telling me what a fun time he had, and apologizing for getting a little carried away and asking if I’d made it to my meeting okay.

I eased up on my internal beating just slightly.

I wrote back and told him that, yes…even though I was dragging ass in a major way, I made it to the meeting and was bound and determined to make it through the whole day (which, by the way, included a happy hour and then dinner with some girls from work).

I did end up making it through the evening. Just barely. It was really obvious to the girls from work that I was in pain. I finally had to confess that I’d gone out the night before. They gave me the rash of shit that I deserved, but actually let me off the hook pretty early. I was home by 9:00! In bed by 10:00!

It’s now 5:15 on Saturday evening. I haven’t accomplished much. A little Christmas shopping. Set up the new table and barstools (yay!). Traded in my rental car (they said they’d sold the one that I was driving [???]), and that’s about it. I desperately need to get back out into the stores and get some more shopping done.

But I think I’ll take a nap first.

And when I do finally get out there, I’m gonna avoid stopping for a martini at all costs!!