I wish I could tell you that throughout my life, I have made only wise, non impulsive, emotionally free decisions.
There have been decisions made where I had no other choice, where life decided them for me, or where I did the best I could do at that time.
And there have been the decisions where, having made them, we can call ourselves graduates in the school of hard knocks: Lessons Learned The Hard Way 101.
Nothing brings these technicolor flashes of memory of some of the things I’ve done to the forefront of my mind, quicker than a blast from the past song on the radio.
While driving from one place to the next one day, with my three children in the car, the radio on good and loud in celebration of summer, Funky Cold Medina snuck on and slapped me between the ears like a wet fish.
I had to stifle my laughter as that awesome three beat intro began. I did not want my three baby boys in the car to ask, “Mom? What’s so funny?”
Because then I’d have to tell them the story of when I decided to try and get the The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee, to like me.
Which, of course, is what ended up happening; him liking me, and me telling them this story:
One night, while in college, as I was busy waitressing at the only beer and sandwich place on campus, I looked up from my tables to see what all this buzzbuzzbuzz was that I heard going on at the front bar.
I saw a group of men and women, all gathered around something. Something big. I had to work my way over and that is when I saw one of the cutest boys I had ever seen. Cute like this:
Mr. DDG (drop dead gorgeous)
Exactly like that. It still hurts to look at this.
Can I go on just a bit longer? He was dressed in his monkey suit, just like the picture above, getting off of work from wherever they were lucky enough to have this crown of creation bartend. This Ken doll came complete with the cigarette barely hanging onto his fabulous lower lip.
Anyway, *sigh* back to the story. I had just turned 21, so I was legally able to tap a beer and felt pretty unstoppable in my role behind the bar.
This guy was causing dilated pupils all over the place, and I knew I had just a window of time to get noticed. So I drew him a perfect beer. Expertly capped with one inch of foam, and ice cold.
I walked over to where he was sitting, and set the frosty Pilsner glass in front of him, without saying a word. Then I walked away, never looking back.
With someone this gifted in the looks department, I knew the less in your face adulation he had, the more intrigued he’d be.
I made sure I stayed too busy the rest of the night to come back again.
My evil genius plan worked, and DropDeadGorgeous waited around till closing time.
The end of the night at a bar/sandwich place is move-’em-out mode. Everyone is pushed out the door, the place gets wiped down, count your money, get your till turned in as soon as you can so you can sit around with your shift; feet up, nurse a drink or brew and swap stories.
Mr. Handsome stayed; it turned out he was the lead bartender’s new roommate. All that coquettish work for nothing, I would’ve been seeing him over and over again anyway … which I’d find out soon enough.
As our after hours party winds down, the lead bartender leans in so close to me I can smell his Drakkar Noir, and whispers, “my roomate wants to talk to you.” I felt like I won the lottery.
Someone this fine, and I mean his face could make angels sing, had to be the coolest person to know. I had instant fantasies of all the cool things we’d do on our cool dates together.
Do you know those times in your life, where things change too quickly — right in front of you — before your brain has a chance to think about what just happened?
It’s important that you try and conjure up that feeling, so you get what I’m about to tell you.
The night is young (bartime young) and we’re all the bold, the young, and the beautiful; happy to be who we are, where we are and it’s a weekend. It’s good to have times like these in your life, so happy and without a thought … and … then life plays its sense of humor. Hands you a situation Custom Made because you’re so special and you’ll blog about it fifty years from now.
I’m feeling good, happy, flattered, celebrate me! And, then, Tone Loc busts out on the jukebox with “Funky Cold Medina.” Could the night get any better, I ask you. We all love this song. And some of us more than others.
My beautiful handsome roomie man TAKES to the dance floor, on HIS OWN, and busts moves that I have never seen on this planet and haven’t seen since. His arms are swirling, and he is doing things that are usually reserved for those with single dollar bills in hand. I don’t know where he just came from, but I am seeing gyrations like he is trying out for a Chippendale Rescue Ranger. All I can think is how much I feel like I am watching a documentary from my Soc 101 called, “The Mystery of The Devil,” Part I.
Sweet heaven above, more fervent prayers from anyone’s lips have never been whispered as those leaving mine at that moment. “Please let him keep his shirt on, please let him keep his shirt on.” The horror of dress shirt buttons flying everywhere should this whirling dervish completely engulf himself in himself were making my chest pound. Where to look, where to look, eye contact was NOT an option.
types of dervish:
The dancing wasn’t enough, his hands running through his OWN hair not enough, nonononono. He had to start singing: in my direction.
You know the part where Tone confides:
You know, ain’t no plans with a man
This is the 80′s, and I’m down with the ladies
Mr. Chippendale whips his torso around, locks eye to eye on me and says to me: “I’m DOWN with the ladies.”
I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I spit beer. I spit beer as if I were at a Comedy Club with the best seat in the house.
Now, I enjoy beer spit up moments as much as the next guy, but not in this case.
Bye, bye, Mr. Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee.
We could have had Paris … until you decided to go and make doves cry.
Blast from the past, over and out.
Alexandra is an overanalyzing, oversensitive mother of three boys who somehow found herself named as BlogHer ’11′s Voice of The Year for Humor. She has been a mother since 1994, which means she hasn’t been right about anything since. She blogs of the sweet and the funny while trying to go unnoticed in her small town. You can find her at Good Day, Regular People. Did we mention socially awkward? We should, which is why the internet was made for her.