You know you had a little too much fun the night before when you're eating french fries for breakfast at NOON-thirty. And you definitely know it's time to move out of the ole RENTS' house when you're actually contemplating sleeping on the front lawn because you don't want to deal with explaining to your mother why you were dropped off at 6:30 a.m. by a boy she's never met while she's opening the front door for you because you don't have keys to the house and b/c your car is parked elsewhere.
At the initial start of this blog, I told myself NOT to reveal the ironic, crazy and sometimes shameful details of my life and especially what occurs over the weekend, but a recent series of events has left me wanting to do nothing but BLAB my personal sh*t show to the Interweb. So, friends and strangers and (ex-boyfriends, if you're reading this) ... get ready.
This story is out of a movie. A few months back, my sis,
Nicole, suggested that I meet a boy that works for
Tyler, my bro-in-law and well, her husband, if you will. She proposed the idea of a double-date and told me that we might have a lot in common. I said, "Well after the double-date with those truck drivers, nothing could be worse. I'm in. Tell me when and where, and I'll be there." (Yes - a double-date with truck drivers to a
Christina Aguilera concert. One was an intimidating racist who loves heavy metal, hates feminists and Boulder and was yelling at his little boy over the phone during dinner and the other, well, he ordered an iced tea and a hamburger at a Mexican restaurant. Need I say more?)
OK. Back to what I was saying. Of course ... nothing happened. And of course, my mom proceeded to keep bringing it up, saying, "When are you going to meet that guy? When are you going on the double-date? Has Nicole said anything?"
Last Saturday night, after begging my friends to go out because I DESPERATELY needed a Saturday night, we ended up at the Tavern -
Brandee Castle's oh-so-favorite place. I had just broken up with my one-month boyfriend that afternoon (pat on the back for me - staying committed for a whole month!!!) and was out with my girls. I had decided that I was done with men for a WHILE - and that I needed more time for myself. (Who am I kidding? That never lasts.)
While going to the Tavern requires a slight amount of inebriation to deal with all the creepers and half-dressed gals who probably have no idea where they are, I must say - the upstairs patio is AWEsome. And, I definitely had that slight required dosage of alcohol to deal with feeling people's sweat floating in the air and the inability to hear yourself speak. But ya - the patio - it was great. Lil lights, fresh air, and no overplayed 80s classic rock and nasty hip-hop songs playing so loud that you'd think the DJ actually thinks people still enjoy this junk.
While headin' to the bar to strike up a nice, intellectual conversation with a stranger like I usually do - (sarcasm) - this boy turns around and says, "Wow ... you have pretty eyes."
I laughed and said, "Pffft! It's the lighting."
For some reason, thisgroup of three boys and an adorably friendly gal (girl strangers are never friendly - but this one proved that there is actually potential for our human race) got all stirred up about how I can't take a compliment. We got to talking about everyone's ages and whether or not this kid ("you have pretty eyes" guy) was 19 or 23. Not gonna lie, I was eyeing his brother. Luckily, he called me over and bought me a drink. He said, "Just put it on the
Landers tab."
Being the oh-so-always-quick-to-make-it-awkward gal that I am, I said, "Oh, ha! So if we got married, my name would be
Brit Landers and I'd have some crazy advice column just to p*ss
Ann Landers off. But actually, I will probably keep my last name if I get married. But sorry to drop marriage on ya over my first drink on a first meeting."
I THINK I got a courtesy laugh.
We got to talkin' about what we do. He said, "I'm in real estate and I'm a Titleist rep."
I thought to myself, "Did he just say Titleist rep? ZING! I like him already." With no hesitation, I said, "Ya, well, I'd kick your a** at golf. We should play sometime."
He said, "Oh, really? You think you can beat me?"
I said, "Of course! What's your best score?"
"69," he said. If I would have been chewing on some food, that would have been the moment where I choked.
So ... unless his arms fall off, beating him is out of the question. I still got his number and said that we should play sometime. The convo progressed, and he mentioned something about once working at this particular golf course. I said, "Oh, you probably don't know him, but do you know Tyler ___ ?"
He replied, "I WORK for Tyler."
Right then - it all came together. The real estate ... the great golfer I was told this "guy at Tyler's golf course" was ... and the double-date that I never went on. I started laughing so hard. He wasn't. He looked confused.
"Did I miss something?" he said.
"I'm Tyler's sister-in-law," I said.
His eyes got wide and he said, "Holy crap - you're Nicole's sister."
We didn't even have to mention the whole double-date agenda; him and I already knew who the other person was. We already knew that two people who were supposed to meet blindly met on their own after his little brother randomly tossed out, "You have pretty eyes."
We obviously met for a reason. But, I'm not exactly sure what that reason is just yet.
The crazy coincidences don't stop. There's more. A week later, I hit Dtown with the girls again. I texted "You gonna be in Denver tonite" to him. A few hours later, I'm sitting at Sports Column (the bar I love to hate) and taking silly pictures and downing nasty Tuaca bombs with my friends
Kim and
Jessica. My phone rings. It's him. I hold up my phone and say, "Ooooh ... he's a callin!" Right then, Kim says, "OHHHH NO."
What? Kim knows him?? Yes. Kim knows him. In response to my interrogation, she says, "I slapped that kid last weekend!! hahaha!"
It came back to me. After I jokingly slapped (more like tapped his cheek in slow motion) man-who-you-will-never-know-the-first-name-of, he said, "Don't do that. That's the one thing I hate more than anything. Some girl slapped me last weekend and it made me leave the bar."
THAT GIRL WAS KIM!!!! Why did she slap him? This guy apparently dated her best friend and obviously did something to make Kim not very happy. I think it's safe to drop the "it's a small world" line here.
"You slapped him?" I said.
"Well, I was joking with him and he kinda turned into it," she claimed. (Hmm ... I've used that excuse before, but that guy still made me type up an apology letter and mail it to him. I know. Weird.)
That didn't stop me ... considering he was the boy that dropped me off in broad daylight to ma and pa. Why so early? Let's just say that him and I have very similar-aged roommates that don't make us pay rent, that cook often and would be not-so-surprisingly curious about an unknown guest at 3 a.m.
... there's more to all of this, but that's all ya get for now.
What is going to come of all of this? I guess we'll have to wait and see what freaky coincidences come my way next.
And by the way ... don't eat french fries for breakfast.