So, I went out Saturday night.
The reasons need not be known.
Okay, so I had EVERY intention of getting blitzed beyond all reason and using the lovely drunkenness as an excuse to dial the Lovely Matt and get my "problem" taken care of.
My brother, two of his fraternity brothers, a friend from grad school and my hairdresser and her friend decided to go drunk bowling. Alright, so I'm already HORRID at bowling -- but last week my confidence was bolstered. I had bowled TWICE since high school . . both times were pathetic, scores of 35 and 42 respectively.
But last week, amidst other cute males and fun females, I (while slovenly drunk) bowled a 167, 124 and like a 118. NEVER, however, under 100. I was so impressed with myself I drunk dialed my brother and informed him our Sibling Friendship was going to be further forged through the art of bowling and this would be occurring next weekend.
I don't know what messed me up this week. Possibly it was the number of Leg Spreaders I consumed. Possibly it was my preoccupation with Matt and my continual inner monologue of "Are you, Meghan, drunk enough to justify calling Matt yet? Nope. If you're still sober enough to answer the question, you are not near the drunkenness needed to bed said man." Possibly it was that I was too busy laughing my patootie off at Alana's COMPLETE inability to bowl.
And then the best/worst thing happened. Either she was just blitzed beyond reason, or she is truly THIS horrid a bowler. . . Alana slid head first down the alley towards the pins. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this normally somewhat poised 34 yr old took a header down the alley. She ended rather ungracefully with her head in a gutter and one foot in the air. I almost couldn't bear it I was laughing so hard.
And then something even better . .. Scary, scary, scary males were bowling next to us. They were hitting on us whenever my brother and his friends went to get drinks. I quickly convinced my brother's hot friend Gabe to embrace me often to give these guys the hint that I was unavailable. I considered making my brother and "The Lady's Man" (Boone's bowling name) embrace Alana and Mercedes, but it was too fun watching them get hit on by the Trailer Park Hokies. HOWEVER, we were saved.
Scary scary scary boy #3, who continually attempted to appear like a bowler extraordinair with his posing throws, misjudged his run and jump to the lane. Don't ask, I can't even begin to explain how this possibly 30-yr old male ended up 5 feet off the floor sideways, landing with such a thud that the ENTIRE Black light and strobe lit bowling alley with blaring music and a karaoke bar contained within it became COMPLETELY silent . . but it happened. And to make matters even more hilarious . . . he split the ENTIRE butt of his jeans in half during the fall.
Needless to say, said boys were too embarassed to even LOOK at us, let alone practice their cheesy come-ons.
And in the midst of all this funness . .. I completely forgot about Matt. Utterly, totally and completely forgot that I was looking for an excuse to call him. I didn't remember until I finally fell into my bed at 3 AM and discovered I was alone again, naturally.
And you know what I thought in my drunken haze??
GOOD FOR YOU.
You're not one of the skanky hoes who can pimp out her body and harden her heart. You have morals. You have decency. You have managed to keep your legs closed and your heart protected from possibly the finest male to ever express interest in you. You're a queen. You deserve a king. Or at least a prince. Or maybe just a frog . . but regardless - - king, prince or frog - he will want you for YOU. He will want WHO and WHAT you are and won't be concerned that you're over his weight limit for dating. You are a PERSON and deserve to be treated like one . . a person, not a concubine to be hidden in some back bedroom where no one sees you.
And . . I think I'm over Matt.
I deleted his phone number.
Yes, I still have his email and his IM address.
Yes, he still has my number.
But when he called last night, I simply hit ignore and went to bed.
Men who call at 11 PM on a Sunday aren't calling to chat.
I'm no man's booty call.
And yes, I'm embarassed I just typed that. Who the hell says Yee Haw??