Week two of Amber's Chicago Adventure had mixed results. I lost my car, then I found it again. I had an evening out with Ms. Fabulous, which was in fact, quite fabulous (I had to take the post down due to Ms. Fabulous' concerns about who might come across it - despite that fact that her name is not in it, enough people know both of us to figure out who it is), but I was on death's door the entire next day suffering from my very first ever hangover. And I got laid on Saturday night, but lost my best friend in town over it.
This last point has been making me physically ill for days. I was distressed at the outset, and when I woke up this morning to a voicemail from my bartender telling me to stay out of his bar and his life, it got hundreds of times worse. And the worst part is, it truly is entirely my fault since I absolutely knew better and did it anyway.
The setup: I'm at Tai's by myself, waiting for Hutch and his entourage to show up and meet me there. I'd just finished listening to a hysterical story from the bartender about a crazy girl that went on their last trip to Vegas with them and was desperately trying to get some sex from a whole bunch of people who think she is gross and would never ever have sex with her. In walks Vicodin Jim with a couple of girls he knows and a new friend he'd only met the prior Wednesday. New Kid and I get to chatting. He tells me he's 22, has a degree in computer science, has a blog and is addicted to sex. I liked him immediately. We chatted amiably for a while, right up until he asked me how old I was. Now, I always always always go for the older guys. Right about 10 years my senior is the typical target. So despite the fact that New Kid is adorable, I had basically tuned him out as a prospective candidate at the word "22". Is that ageist? Probably. I don't care. I also am never on the lookout for someone to hook up with when I'm at Tai's because, while we never dated, there is a sort of unstated understanding that I'm the bartender's own little toy, and am off limits to everyone else as long as I'm on his turf. This is despite that fact that although he knows I have a ginormous crush on him, he has emphatically stated on numerous occasions that he could never date me for various reasons. But anyway, I'm not one to go prowling at Tai's for that reason.
I tell New Kid that I'm 27. His reaction to this is not remotely what I was expecting. He says he can't believe I am 27, and that in fact, the only reason he guessed I was as old as 21 was because I had to be at least that old to get in the bar. He then proceeds to tell me that I am incredibly hot, he wants to eat my pussy and can he kiss me right now? He has one arm around me and his hand resting on the edge of my skirt. What the hell? I've been drinking, I've been repeatedly shot down by the bartender and some adorable kid is gushing over me. So fine, I kiss him. He's really touchy-feely, and I'm kind of getting uncomfortable because I'm not generally one for the PDA's and I'm very cognizant of the fact that my bartender is feet away, as are a dozen people he works with who've seen us together, and I don't want to look like I'm trying to show him up.
The bartender...he's a fantastic bartender. One of the best I've ever seen. As such, he doesn't miss much. And while beer continues to appear in front of me before I even realize I need one, his attitude is suddenly slightly colder than usual in a way that is only perceptible to me. And I know why. But do I change what I'm doing? Noooooo, Amber has retreated into selfish get-me-some mode. New Kid wants to leave and go to my house. He keeps up a steady stream of suggestions as to what we can do when we get there that is doing much to win my attention. I grab my coat and head out the door with New Kid.
I am immediately and incessantly bombarded with text messages from the bartender for the rest of the night. They range in subject from "WEAR PROTECTION" to "I'VE LOST ANY RESPECT I HAD FOR YOU...IT IS GONE". But...I have a cute boy to corrupt and I figure I'll deal with the bartender in the morning.
Of course, when morning comes and I'm not drunk I immediately regret that decision. I know I'm in deep shit so I don't try to get a hold of him. Instead I sit down and start drafting a three page apology letter that I plan to leave for him on his car later that day. I figured he could read it, calm down a bit and we'd work it all out in a couple of days. That is, until I called Vicodin Jim.
Vicodin Jim had been in one of the best moods I'd ever seen him in on Saturday night. He was so cute...an accomplished punk rocker all dressed up like Eminem. But then the crazy ex-girlfriend - the one who shredded his rock opera - starts sending him text messages. I've never seen someone deflate so quickly in my entire life. He has now turned right back into the sulking, morose little punker I've come to know and love. He did not look so good when I left with New Kid, and I couldn't get him to talk about it. On my way out I admonished him not to do anything stupid and told him I'd call and check on him the next day.
So I call to check on him. He doesn't pick up. When his voicemail kicks in, I am treated to a half crying, half singing piece he had spontaneously written entitled "Goodbye Cruel World". I immediately text the bartender to say that I know he doesn't want to talk to me, but that I'm sure he's heard Jim's voicemail by now and can he call or text me if he hears something because I'm worried. I knew he'd be worried too, and he's known Jim much longer and therefore had a much better chance of finding him than I did.
I go to bed worried, not having heard from Jim or the bartender all night long. When I get up in the morning, there's a voicemail from the bartender. "First of all, Jim is ok, if you don't already know. So now that that's out of the way..." and then he launches into the most scathing tirade I have ever heard in my life. He went on and on until my voicemail finally cut him off. I was shaking listening to it. I've never heard anyone so angry in my entire life. There were also two text messages from him, which was I think the worst part of all. One reads "I HOPE IT WAS WORTH IT...YOU JUST LOST A LOT..YOU'LL NEVER KNOW HOW MUCH" and the other, simply "I HATE YOU."
So ok. I know that was wrong of me. Like really really wrong. Obviously it was not worth it - the greatest porn-star sex in the world is not worth losing a friendship with a truly beautiful person over. It was a dick thing to do. But I think I made an even bigger error in judgment earlier when he told me he didn't feel anything for me and didn't care what I did and I took him at his word. Because, I mean, that's a pretty strong reaction for someone who's gone out of his way to make sure I knew I wasn't all that important to him, don't you think?
Bottom line, I'm pretty sure there's no way I'm going to be able to fix this one and I just don't know what to do. So while I did have some good times in week two, I'm starting out week three from a giant hole. And also, where the hell am I going to drink now? What a mess...