This past week was a productive one. I’ve thrown the refurbished resume to the world with hope to hear back from possible employers. That’s neither here nor there.
I did meet up with some important people, however, and that’s not job-related.
This is another pub story.
Friday and Saturday
Great company was enjoyed twice this week, and both instances included former roommates at separate residences: Brian and Michael. Due to Time Warner complications–it’s only complicated since the issue resolved in person could have been easily accomplished over the phone–Michael and I met up to throw down and change the billing information. We tried over the phone, but the account had to be signed over to another. The reassurance was stated: “You’re going to get paid.” However, this switching the bill over wasn’t good enough, and showing our pretty faces seemed legitimate.
So be it. Michael has an immaculate beard.
We caught up before our welcoming a pre-med LeMoyne student from Tennessee to the area, giving he and his father the run-down of all that is good in Syracuse. We shared a couple pints and pretzels as the afternoon progressed after the successful Time Warner mission. They gave the guys a break, and didn’t up the cost of what was at the apartment of already. Michael stopped her, and said he was going to switch to Verizon, jokingly. Boy did her eyes light up.
We re-hashed the year, present, and future aspirations. As always, Michael has a copious amount of ideas and events he would like to attend, partake in, and head. His beard is back, his confidence grown. One of the qualities of a dreamer is to overwhelm yourself, believe that it’s impossible, but then you actually do it. He’s doing so. He spoke of his integrity, but he displayed incredible selflessness as spoke more of the well being of the city. What we currently liked, what we didn’t didn’t, and–importantly, what we wanted to see happen.
Brian and I met up at Kitty Hoynes on Saturday night. He’s the optimistic type. Any lull will dissipate sooner than he knows it, and that’s the way life works. He and I have only a history that goes back to September 2006, but we’ve talked a lot. The tension–if there really was any–was settled by simply talking everything out.
It’s easy to be honest with these guys, and they’re different than the typical Sunday football group of guys out for excitement and thrill of the chase. They’re the guys who shoot straight. Our talk is not about the pursuit of a fuck, but actual love. You know you’ve reached a new personal level when your friend asks you about an interest.
Do you still talk to her?
A chuckle bubbled in my throat, but not to spite my friend. Let’s be serious in that there really isn’t conversation with her, but the acknowledgement that my adoration–as far-fetched as it may seem–doesn’t go unnoticed. It shows up in the writing. Granted, I know Michael doesn’t read everything that is put out on this blog, but I greatly appreciate the simple acknowledgment. It’s the truth that I do not. A mention, a line, a like… they will be dropped here and there. A comment, maybe, will often sound dorkish. From all the times throughout my life, from all the times I’ve kicked myself, a callus has been formed; I’m completely fine with making a comment or observation that doesn’t make sense.
And Saturday night. I met Brian for a pint that turned into a couple at Hoynes, everyone’s favorite Irish corner pub in the heart of Armory Square. My arrival included my running into an old college bud, Kevin, before basking in the conversation between Brian and I, who both enjoyed turning 30 in the past year. The 30 was discussed, and a wave of anxiety waved over me with such an intensity to compensate a month’s worth. We celebrated both of our birthdays together, and that revelation came with such euphoric relief. That was a time for a Guinness sip, or the Jameson that Brian ordered for the both of us.
The entertainment surrounded us. The most pungent flavor was the date taking place in front of us. The redhead was with a guy, and they were not talking. From standing position, the two of them moved from standing position to plant themselves the bar. Brian and I discussed how put off she was, and the creepy vibe that he was emitting. It was a sad display. While she stared up and into nothing, meeting eyes with me–not romantically (maybe), but to acknowledge that she knew that we knew–to actually generate a smile, her gaze darted back to his for the most temporary moment. Her shoulders performed the anxiety dance right before she looked away again. Despite her looking away, he incessantly stared at her. He wasn’t watching television, we can give him the benefit of the doubt to to the angle, but he was blatantly looking at her with no thoughts. There is a good chance that there were thoughts, but save the notion that we’re being lenient.
She yawned while telling him that she thought it was a good time to get going. It was as attractive as talking though a yawn could be. Regardless of his ogling her or getting sucked into the television’s rays, his face was void of any emotion and his mouth didn’t seem to really respond. They eventually left for new occupants to seize the warm stools.
The occupants: The Twins.
(So many uses of the number two in this post.)
The Twins were not really twins, maybe, but save the aesthetics: the girls, who gave off an aura of being in their mid to late 20’s, were both wearing grey shirts and their brown hair was styled in similar fashion. They smiled over in our direction, and our reciprocation was noticed just to be noticed. The two were compelling, show stopping. We seemed to parallel that guy staring off into space, but the result was opposite. These two young women came into the pub with the most beautiful and compelling aura. The words that escaped our jaw-to-the-ground expressions were wow. They
had have a natural beauty, and the makeup wasn’t caked on to give a gaudy illusion. The conversation between Brian and I was far from a graduated 23-year-old frat boy, surfing the wave of the residual high from his glorious college days. Several points were brought up.
Of course, it’s a 50/50 shot that a relationship sprouts and blossoms from a couple meeting in a bar. Some people will shut this act down, and others may applaud it. The type of bar, the atmosphere, and the social aspect among other variables have to be considered. It doesn’t matter if it’s a neighborhood pub or downtown bar for people to ruin it. Loud music doesn’t really help, but Brian and I aren’t the club types. Kitty Hoynes has done a fantastic job with obtaining Irish music, solo acoustic or band, for their pub. On Saturday, the music was provided by a solo artist. The atmosphere allowed you to talk and make coherent conversation.
So, the next steps are?
For one, putting personal baggage behind to gain the confidence to do so is necessary. In my case: unemployment and sharing a house with my parents. As easy going as they are, they’re still my parents. It’s not a big deal as I’m saving money up to the current point of being comfortable. Could I move out now? Definitely. Do I? Not yet. There’s no rush.
A second issue is moving in. Staying at one corner of the bar isn’t proactive. Crossing your fingers, hoping they would approach isn’t proactive. Moving over to where the Twins were sitting meant squeezing into a small space; all the stools were occupied, and pressing up near them would be intrusive and uncomfortable (especially for them).
Buying them a drink. If you buy the ladies a shot, they could assume that we are that type. Buying them a shot could say: (a) we want to talk to you, (b) we’re on a mission to get drunk, (c) we want to get you drunk, (d) if we’re all drunk, conversation should go smoothly (not efficiently), and (e) we may want to take you home. We’re 30, and we’re still interested in sex. It’s human nature. However, we are not the guys who are comfortable with the typical one-night-stand.
Plus, what do we say? In the Rolodex of Infinite Pick-Up-Lines (a.k.a. R.I.P.), there really isn’t one–or a few for that matter–to really use. Let’s face it, you’re dead in the water (cliche alert!!!) if you use a cheesy pick up line. It’s all about delivery, now that this is thought about. Maybe a pick-up-line can be considered cute?
The fact of the matter is to not think about it and just do something. Do the most basic approach. Walk up, wearing a smile, and
Simply. Say. Hello.
We can’t just buy them a bottle or pint, because they may just be staying for one, which they had. Plus, we’re all driving. With Guinness, the very low alcohol content and a few pints of water is a satisfying and safe night. The last option would be drink tokens, but if they aren’t used that night while in conversation, it’s a blown $10.
We’re the type to enjoy the art of conversation. We want a good story to pass on.
They left and we left. Brian and I ended the night with a pint at Empire Brewing Company. Cute bartender was working, and I got to say hello to her. As we left, notice was taken to the girl with the pixie haircut; she was sitting on a stool again, chatting with friends.
I slept well that night.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald