Something about standing on a dock at high noon, surrounded by sparkling water brought me back to a few memories from last summer; due to length, this post will most likely be a two part-er. Before I go into details, I'm going to confidently assume that at least 99.9% of anyone reading this has carelessly given out their digits at a bar. Why on EARTH did you commit such an act? I've broken it down:
1. You were drunk
2. You were bored (and drunk)
3. You're going through a break-up and need a confidence boost (and drunk)
4. You were drunk
5. You were drunk
6. You were drunk
So, yeah...the damage is done. It's especially funny because in a lot of these scenarios, we'll gladly hand our phone to this person (stalker) so that they may enter their 'name' into your contacts. The following morning, you wake up confused when you notice you have a text from 'Cute Nick' or some turd bag nickname like 'J-Luv' - what? Let's face it, no one calls you J-Luv except yourself. The message is your standard 'good morning beautiful' followed by a fugly selfie of said Cute Nick or J-Luv, sporting aviators and an Aeropostale polo with a mother fucking popped collar! Ahhhh! Honestly, the first thought that came to mind was if and how that store was actually still in business.
Don't worry; I'm getting to my point. So, there's those guys...the 'J-Luvs' and the 'Cute Nicks' who are never cute but think they'll sway you anyway. Sometimes, you'll meet an in-betweener - I really don't know what else to call it. This guy isn't the worst, but you also don't want to be waking up next to him. You're not attracted to him physically, his personality doesn't make up for it either BUT hey, if you happen to run into him when you see him out - you won't decline a drink offer. Got it? We'll call him Buddy.
He's easy to dub this because he works part time at Buddy's in Annapolis aka place to eat seafood if you want your head in a toilet later. Buddy is ALSO a real estate agent and kind of a big deal, as he feels inclined to mention every time he opens his mouth. Buddy was smitten with my friend immediately upon meeting; over the course of a year, we'd run into Buddy on occasion. Though Buddy was told from the get-go that there was no chance for romance, he continued to show endless devotion with offerings of cinnamon whiskey. We wouldn't be in the bar for more than 10 minutes before he came barreling over with his hot, Fireball breath handing us shots. 'Hey sweetheart!' That was his choice pet name. Unless she's your girlfriend or you're a 1920's Prohibition era gangster, stop using that fucking word! 'Ya shee, schweetheart..I brought here shome bootleg whiskayyyy!!'