the muni-halfway point night

Met up with a friend at the halfway point between our apartments (muni-calibrated halfway, not geographical halfway, meaning a single bus) which we decided was Pacific Heights.

At the bar we are sipping mojitos and discussing the relatively few payoffs of being single and dating. In the course of conversation I incidentally say the word "sex," and when I do I see a guy and his friend overhear, perk up and look up, and check us out. Here it comes, I said, and expected a relatively bad pickup line from a sex-crazed twenty-something, but instead they went back up to the bar, and I just laughed.

Five minutes later they were back, and up come the two guys, with no better line than "What are your names?" Neither of them was good or bad looking, but the guy doing most of the talking was likely insane.

"This is my brother. Who do you think is older? Who do you think is better looking? What are your names, what do you do? Where are you from?" He talked 100 miles an hour and talked himself into twice as much trouble. They are finance guys originally from Marin, and the older brother is visiting from LA. Very Pac Heights.

We're not interested in either of them but the ADD-afflicted speed-talker is so crazy and amusing that I keep the conversation going (my friend clearly bored but not sure if she needs to suck it up because she thinks I might be interested in one or the other). They introduce us to a couple of their friends in passing. Eventually, we reached the first 10-second lull in conversation and Mr. ADD gets distracted by a friend, so my friend and I start our own conversation again and eventually go get another drink.

As we are ordering wine my friend establishes that I am not interested in either of these guys and am merely amused, but says, "Their friend with the beard is cute."

Twenty minutes later, we are drinking Cabarnet in the two empty seats at the other end of the bar, and who should show up but our ADD friend and his brother. It comes up in conversation that Mr. ADD's older brother is married with two children (though said nuptial commitment doesn't deter him from having eye-contact sex with myself and my friend). Mr. ADD is still at it, talking about how my nervous habit of opening and closing the button on my bag is distracting and implies that it reminds him of sex.

"Do you think my friend who looks like Fidel Castro is cute?" he asks. "He is very shy." I haven't gotten a look but I know the answer from my friend is affirmative. They waive him over, and he is in fact attractive, and engaging. And this is coming from a facial hair-hater. Mr. ADD asks him, gesturing at us, "Which one of them do you like better?" Fidel laughs quietly, shellshocked. Fidel says he has been working all day getting a movie out at Pixar and is calling it a night. Another friend we met across the room comes over, he says to save us from his crazy friends.

It takes about five minutes to establish that their friend (who is very nice) not only works in the same group at the 10,000 person company as my last boyfriend, but also works 10 feet away from his desk. This throws me into a mild state of shock. "Did you break up because he worked too much?" He asked. "Because he does work too much." Aaaah! This is way too small of a city. My friend is clearly over it, and I am fine to leave, so we exchange goodbyes before leaving the bar.

After we head out, Mr. ADD follows us outside and asks if he can give me a call. It occurs to me that this was going to happen, and rather than begin to explain that I don't think he is my type, what comes out of my mouth instead is, "I feel weird because I actually kind of liked your friend," referring to Fidel. He proceeds to try to give me his number, which I refuse to take, but hand him my business card. I suspect there will come a point in my career when I will have to change jobs because I have given out too many of my business cards to people I shouldn't give them to when it seems innocent enough.

At the next bar, my friend is telling me about being hit on by guys at our holiday party, and how she doesn't think she can wear heels and a dress at a work function anymore, because they clearly can't handle it. I say, "Did you see me at the holiday party? I was dressed super slutty. I was like this:" I discreetly (I think) squeeze my boobs together, and suddenly realize that while all patrons of the bar have had their backs to us, one casually looked backwards at a perfectly opportune time to see me squeeze my boobs together. He loses it laughing. I tell my friend, and we both lose it laughing, at which point he looks back again at us, laughing his ass off, and I say "I'm sorry," meaning, sorry about the potentially vulgar gesture in your general direction.

He comes over to us, laughing to the point of walking off-balance, and I explain that it was in the context of conversation. He says, "It's like when you hear the word penis and it's in the context of conversation, but all all you hear is the word penis." I say, "I'm sorry if I offended you by squeezing my boobs together in your general direction." My friend says this is the only time she will ever hear the phrase, "I'm sorry if I offended you by squeezing my boobs together in your general direction." Though I'm sure this is not the only time it has ever been said.