Moderate Drinker and My Small Town Problems

There’s a lot to be said about living in a big city.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have come from a small New England town and live in some of our best major cities.

Dating in a large city like Los Angeles and New York, has some perks.  For one thing, if I had a bad date, most likely I would never have to see that person ever again.  There would be no uncomfortable moments, like bumping into each other in the grocery store or at the gym.  Basically, there would be no reminders of that person or the bad date.  The memory of the date and the guy would simply go away as easy as deleting their phone number in my cell phone and,  somehow, in a very unhealthy way, that appealed to me.

We all do unhealthy things living in a big city, because it’s easy to get away with it.  I certainly had my fair share of them.  (However, none of them will be discussed here on a free blog.)

I would like to think that at least I was smart enough not to do something dumb like date a co-worker.  Actually, I was very careful not to let my private life get mixed up with my professional life.  That’s the golden rule of dating: Don’t Poop Where You Eat.   

Lord, don’t ever do it.  It is like playing Russian Roulette!  Instead of losing your life, you’ll lose your job.

I’m more of a planner than a gambler, so if ever I did think about doing something that dumb, you know the guy would have to be damn hot.

I’ve heard people say they have me their spouse at work, but believe me when I say, they are the exception to the rule and not the rule.

So, don’t date anyone at work…

…okay, so there was one time I did end up making-out all night with a very young, cutie-patootie intern from work.  In my defense, however, the making out did NOT happen at work.  Although, now that I think of it, there was a lot of flirty-flirty going on months before the rendezvous at the night club in New York City.  (And, if my former boss, Jason, is reading this right now, I’m sorry.  I realize it was the client’s nephew….but you can’t go hiring a cute guy, with great arms, and a contagious smile, and expect me not to notice.)  It was harmless and the only time something like that ever happened…with an intern.

I swear.

(Hey, considering I worked with all men, I thought that was a pretty good track record.)

Crap, okay, so there was this other close call, but nothing happened.  Before the cutie-patootie intern, there was a real cute Latino guy that came into my office for an interview one day.  I got no warning except, “Hey, Care, I have a guy coming in today for an interview.”  Literally, two minutes later, the guy walks in.

I was very single when he walked in.  Naturally, my hormones got the best of me.

hell-yeah

Surely, my boss wouldn’t subject me to someone so hunky, would he?  

If he hired him, I would have to exercise the Don’t Poop Where You Eat Rule, every day.

Every. Single. Damn. Day.

That would be exhausting.

My brain was telling me this was definitely conflict of interest.

emma-stone-no-funny-face-hilarious-lol

As a single girl, with nobody taking care of me, except me, I knew I needed my job more than I needed a boyfriend.

I lived and breathed that very fact.

This was about survival.

He got hired and I suffered for a little while.  It sucked.  I was wound up tighter than a drum those first few weeks, but then the more I got to know that Latino Hottie, the more the attraction-factor fizzled.

It only took me a short while to figure out WHY he drove a big, fat Hummer–it was for his big, fat EGO.

A few afternoons of listening to his B.M.D. (baby mamma drama) he soon didn’t even show up as a blip on my radar.

60712-Mad-men-Peggy-I-dont-care-gif-uohc

Now that I’m back living back home, which is a small town, I have created a new rule for myself:

Don’t Poop, Where You Drink

Pooping where you drink, is a very, very, very, very easy thing to do.  Especially in this town.

I’ve already made the mistake of bringing a date to my brother’s bar.

Big, mistake.

HUGE!

How could I let that happen?

It happens because guys are lame and clueless on how to plan a date and they leave it up to me.

Speaking of which, I had two dates in one week, with two different guys.  This wouldn’t be a problem living in New York City, but living here, where the selection of places to go on a first date are kind of limited, I happened to end up at the same restaurant, being waiting on by the same waitress.  That was fun, getting that look from the waitress of, weren’t you just here with another dude last night?

Having a brother that owns the most popular pub in town, makes living here worth it.  It’s been one of the many highlights of moving back. I’ve made new friends, I get to help out with the holiday decorations and I get to see Nathan more now than ever.

Nathan is an excellent bartender.  The fact that he remembers not only your name, but your drink as well, makes for good business.

Everyone knows who he is and pretty much everyone knows my name:  “Nate’s Sister.”  Trust me, I’ve had it since high school.  Some things don’t change.

Lately, I’ve been joking with him that if he ever ran for mayor, he probably would win.

Keeping that in mind on how popular Nathan is, try dating in this small town…

…try being anonymous.

…try finding someone, who doesn’t know your brother.

…try finding some privacy.

Don’t get me wrong.  Nathan is a very supportive brother.  When I want a no-nonsense straight-up answer about a guy, I go to Nathan.

Here’s the thing though, I always feel conflicted.  Should I run a new guy’s name by Nathan first or should I just take my chances?

Because who else knows more about a man, than his bartender?  

But then I think, wouldn’t it take the fun out of figuring it on my own?

Did I just say that it was fun to figure it out for myself?

Legend has it, our cousin, and her date, walked into Nathan’s bar one night, a little schnockered.  Nathan had no idea they were dating and probably would have told our cousin it was a bad decision, had she asked him.  But instead, as soon as they walked in and Nathan saw them together, he looked at my cousin, looked at the guy, and then looked back at my cousin and in a very definitive manner said, no.

Stern look

In the words of our cousin:  “I’ll never forge the look of disappointment on your brother’s face when he saw me walk in that night with that guy.”

One thing about Nathan, if he says no, there is usually a very good reason for it.  He has a very good judge of character and fortunately, it didn’t take our cousin very long before she figured out the guy she was dating, was a train wreck.  Handsome, and athletic as hell, but such a hot mess.

In August, I met someone I decided not to run by the brother.

I met my date on a beautiful hot summer night in the middle of the week.  My date suggested a place where I hardly ever frequented.

(In my sweet, humble opinion, I don’t go there because the people are either stuck in the 80’s or steroid gym rats.)

“Moderate Drinker” was easy to nickname.  It was something that we joked about during our initial contact on Match from Hell.  (Yes, I know I vowed never to get back on there, but it was a free 7-day trail.)  I can sometimes be a ball buster, so I had to point out that he was the only person I’ve seen actually admit to being a “moderate drinker.” In fact, most people check the box, “social drinker.”

Not him.  He check the box “moderate drinker.”

The fact that he had the balls to say he was a moderate drinker, made me chuckle.  This made me think that he was somewhat of an honest person, plus I liked the fact that he was 6’3″ and had a great smile.  A little on the heavy side, but I thought, what the heck, there would be more to love.

We met outside of the restaurant/lounge and let’s just say his reaction was great for my ego.  He really made me feel appreciated.  Before he even got 15 feet of me, he exclaimed out loud, “Oh, my God!  I think I just won the dating lottery!  You’re gorgeous!”

(Points for him for showing such enthusiasm.)

Besides being a big guy, Moderate Drinker had a great sense of style.  He came dressed in a nice pair of dark jeans, beautiful shoes, and (from what I could tell) a pretty expensive button-down shirt.  His glasses were trendy and the whole ensemble made him look updated and sharp.

Meow-meow.

We took a seat at the outside bar overlooking the golf course.  It was a beautiful summer night during the week, so the regular weekend crowd was nowhere in sight.  That made me happy.

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen you out before, Carrie.  Where have you been hiding?”

Politely, I replied, “Oh, ya, well, I never come here.”  I figured I would be gracious and not mention the gym rats, or the fact that the bar had a reputation of being “meat market.”  I’m glad I didn’t, because it happened to be his favorite place to hang out.  (He lived on the 9th hole.)

“Oh, so where do you hang out then?”

I give him my usual spiel:  I grew up here, moved away for many years, moved home three years ago.

Then, like a complete idiot, I got ahead of myself and added, “I normally hang out downtown.”

“Oh, where?  I hardly go downtown, except when me and my buddy go to the cigar lounge.”

I figured I wouldn’t name names and mentioned casually under my breath that my brother owned a pub downtown.

It took a second for it to register in his head, what I just said, but as soon as it did, his mouth dropped and he slapped his head.  “Oh, my God, Carrie,” he said throwing his hands up in the air, “Is your brother Nathan?!”

And that’s how my plan of having an anonymous, new place to go out on a date, got completely scrapped.

Reaching for my cocktail, I maintained my uncomfortable half-smile, while Moderate Drinker got our bartender’s attention.

“Hey, Dennis!  You know Nathan, right?  Well, this is his sister,” he boasted.

Well, silly Moderate Drinker…of course the bartender knew my brother.  They used to work together.

cheers sex and city

While Moderate Drinker was making it known to everyone at the bar that I was Nathan’s sister, the guy sitting diagonal from us, also knew Nathan.  From the gym.

After we got that whole conversation out of the way, things started to look up.  I guess Moderate Drinker didn’t have a problem (or any hidden secrets, or buried bodies to speak of) and felt confident to take out “Nathan’s sister” for a second date.

“Hey, what are you doing Friday night?  I think I can get tickets to the Red Sox/Yankee game.  One of our vendors has a suite.  Would you mind going out on a double-date with me and my buddy I work with?  He is bringing his new girl.  It will be a lot of fun.”

Excited-Amy-Adams-gif

Trust me, he didn’t have to ask me twice.

Especially, after the nice kiss good night…

This doesnt end here

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