Me Gulping Drinks = Mea Culpa

I woke up with an odd mix of lovey butterflies and sickening dread in my tummy this morning. The butterflies came from a very handsome Door, who smelled like laundry soap, lying next to me, and the dread came from the utter boarishness I exuded toward Kristin from Candy Sandwich last night.

It's a long story—get a cup of tea and rest awhile. Could you grab me a McGriddle while you're up? I'm feeling a little under the pink today wearing yesterday's clothes and whatnot.

So, last night was the big Happy Hour with Door et al. I was very happy that Kimberlicious and Busta Keeton came out, too, with their friend Avi, and we got a lovely surprise when Kristin showed up. Drinks were had, conversation flowed and a toothbrush was given.

I knew Door would be arriving late, so Kristin and I stayed and had some more drinks after Kimberlicious and Busta vamoosed. Then we had some more drinks, and finally Door came and my heart sang.

His curly hair and big barrel chest and sweet Southern drawl—he's just all sorts of yumminess, my pretties. And Megan Jane might be interested to know he was wearing boat shoes, and it didn't phase me in the least. Must be a South Carolina thing for young men to wear boat shoes, but whatever. Ya'll have to remember that I've been after Door since the summer, and the time in between has been peppered with luscious, but very casual, encounters with him, so boat shoes or no, I intended for something steamy to happen that night.

Kristin and I met his group of friends, changed the scenery and ended up at The Front Page. A short time later, I had kicked my shoes off and was forcing strangers to twirl me on the dance floor. I'm pretty sure I was a schwee bit drunkity drunk, but we weren't hurting nobody. Door and I were flirting it up, Kristin was working her mojo with the dudes, everybody was singing along to the Journey covers, and I almost accidentally stole someone's credit card.

(His name was Victor, though Kristin sagely nicknamed him Canines—I just saw the V and the Bank of America logo, and thought it was mine. Honest mistake, but somehow I don't think he believed me.)

The point in the evening came when it was either hit the last Metro home or say, "Fuck it. I will sleep on someone's couch. Somewhere."

Kristin was gracious enough to offer up hers, and that seemed like an AWESOME idea because we had a plan: hail a cab, DON'T tell them we need to go to the Southeast side until after we're in the cab because it's discrimination if they refuse you a ride based on your destination, and pass out drunk by 2 in the a.m. Voila!

Then, as we stood outside the bar saying our goodbyes, somewhere in my delusional mind I grabbed on to the idea of, "Hey, maybe I could stay with Door tonight. Virtue is soooooo overrated."

Um, but, I'm not really sure that Door was on board with that plan. See, there's a twist here: Door is enlisting in the military. The fucking Navy.

Huh? Wha? He has a graduate degree in something or other, but he really feels this is his calling. So, he's just at the start of the process and will be around for another 3 or 4 months-ish, but he had an early meeting with a recruiter and did not want to smell like stale beer or 123Valerie.

But, I think after enough needling and a promise to accompany him on his 5-mile walk home in a last-ditch effort to lose a few pounds and make his weight requirement, he conceded. I'm a determined woman when I am horny, which means I am usually very determined. (I threw in the towel half a mile in, kids. "Taxi! Taxi!")

So, where does this leave Kristin you may ask?

You're asking that because you're a better person than I am. While I was all tra la la "Getting into Door's pants tonight. High Five!" I left Kristin out in the cold. Literally. She sat in the cab with the door open waiting for me to wise up, get my damn ass in the car, go home with her and not make a damn fool of myself, damn it 123Valerie.

I can't recall what Kristin said to me when I slurred my final declaration of, "No, thas okay, honey. I'll jus go home with Door, here," but I know that it was filled with the disappointment of 1,000 kittens frowning.

It's no good to disappoint someone—leaves both parties feeling icky.

I should explain something for those of you who haven't caught on yet—I'm a pretty self-centered person. I can admit that, and so behavior like this is fairly typical. If I have a goal, such as bedding a hottie, I usually do whatever I can to achieve that goal. Does that make it right? No.

But, ironically, Kristin and I spent a lot of time talking earlier in the evening about how she always sticks to her obligations and does what she says she's going to do, no matter what. Not so with 123V. I'm more of a hit and miss kind of gal. Very mercurial, I guess you could say. No one does say that, but they could.

However, it goes without saying that Kristin has full permission to toss me aside for a guy any time. Actually, that's true of anyone—I'm always in favor of a good hookup for all of my peeps. It's hard because, had the cute shoe been on the other foot, I can honestly say that I wouldn't have minded if Kristin had done what I did, that is "get her swerve on" with a quality guy she'd spent months eyeballing.

But, I have to remember that not everyone thinks like me, and I think we can all say a prayer of thanks for that, no?

So, lest you all think I'm a creepy sort of avoider person who conducts her entire life via the blog (though, that's starting to sound like a good idea), I left an apology with Kristin's answering machine, and I will allow her as much time and space to be upset with me as she needs. She held a mirror up to me last night, and the reflection showed a stumbly, bumbly, mascara-smeared 123Valerie who often steamrolls right over the needs and emotions of others in favor of her own pursuits.

For the record, Door and I did not have The Sex. We had The Everything But, and it was glorious. Four times it was glorious, know what I'm saying? He's a good serviceman already, kids.

In the Comments Section, tell me if you walked around the city in your stocking feet like I did last night. Because I am a classy lady.