I’ve been a way from the blogosphere a little too long. Let’s see what I can do to right that.

Friday night was another one of the local social club‘s monthly happy hour events. Even though these things only last three hours, the group of people that sis and I hang out with inevitably end up going to another bar or two and closing them; with everybody sharing rides home or crashing with people who live within walking distance of the bars. Needless to say, happy hour nights result in spending large amounts of money, consuming prodigious amounts of alcohol and other commonly related events along that trajectory.

Happy Hour was at a bar that, while a cool place to hang out, was simply too small a place for a group the size of the social club. We left right at 9 to go a birthday party for Steeler and 2 of his friends at another bar. (Apparently they do this every year after the March happy hour and it results in a big crowd.) even though Phred and I were still pissed about last month’s fiasco with Steeler, we decided to go anyway.

Ivy, after tagging along at the entire happy hour rode over to the next bar with us. More on Ivy later. As she usually does, Sis spots SHG over by Steeler’s party booth long before I do. I make my way to the booth, but somehow end up not talking to her right away- saying “Hi’s” and shooting the shit with various drinking buddies in the space between her and I. Eventually, we bumped into each other just off the dance floor about 10 minutes later. After hellos and a couple lines of idiotic small-talk, I decided I needed closure:

R:  Listen, I’m gonna let the elephant out of the room here; I tried to call you that last time…

SHG: Yeah…I know… (she stammers a little. her whole body language changes. She now wears a nervous smile)

She clearly wasn’t prepared for this run-in. I was seeing her in an entirely new light for the first time. And despite the fact that I was one who got rejected by her, I felt as if I was in control of the entire situation. In a twisted and inexplicable kind of way, I had achieved that which George Costanza so desperately sought on Seinfeld. I HAD HAND.

Jesus, she’s spineless I thought to myself.  Besides, at this point I was just beating a dead horse…

R: I’ll let ya go. (Exit Rob, stage left)

I was a little hurt right after it happened, but as it turns out I didn’t talk to her again that night. Hell, I didn’t even look for her again, let alone see her. At that point, the SHG saga was done.

As hurt as I was when she blew me off, I think I almost pity her more after seeing how tongue-tied and gutless she was on Friday night.  Despite her outward: the confidence with which she carries herself, her good looks, her great fashion sense – she struck me as rather pathetic at that moment.  Like a person who rabbit-punches you from behind – it’s dirty and you’re pissed yet you can tell that that’s not how they normally fight.

I’ve been rejected both ways:  the quiet “path of least resistance” way that SHG tried; and I’ve had women tell me point-blank “I’m not interested”.  The fact is, a bullet to the head is colder, but a lot quicker and  less painful than bleeding to death from a thousand open wounds.

While all this goes on, Ivy looms in the back ground…

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