boomerlaughs

The 70s and 80s were a time of  frenzied dating.  Sex was carefree and expected.  The dreaded AIDS had not befallen us yet.  Certain drugs were considered non-addictive.  We even questioned WHY cocaine was illegal.  You didn’t loose your judgement, it wasn’t supposed to be addictive, it made you feel like the king of the world, and you never got a hangover from it.  You could drive on it without being pulled over (unless you were also drinking at the time).  The term sports effing was coined and the honeymoon was on!  Years later, the honeymoon would be over.  But during the honeymoon…….

Pick-up lines were being honed right and left, and a lot of us (yes, that would include moi) fell for them hook, line, and sinker.  But we got wise (we thought) after a while, and that’s how I met my husband.

Some of the greats:

“Oh, maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, you are THE most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Let’s go out for breakfast.” (which you actually DID, but later you were expected to go back to his place or your place or to his friend’s place or on a place mat)

“If you go in there, some guy’s gonna ask you to dance and then buy you a couple of drinks, and then try to kiss you, and then try to get you to go home with him.  Avoid the hassle, come home with me now!” (my personal favorite)

“Hey, wanna eff?”

“So, whaddaya do for a living?”

“That’s the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen.”

And the most famously touted, “What’s your sign?”  Yes, Virginia, people actually asked that question.  What’s more astounding is that they were serious!

So one night I had gone to my favorite club.  I had broken up with my so-so boyfriend a couple of months earlier and was still being pissed off at ALL men because of it.  The week had been nutsy-crazy and I just wanted to be by myself and listen to some music before I went home.  I did NOT want to meet anyone.  I did NOT want to dance.  I did NOT want to engage in mindless bar conversation in order for someone to get into my pants.  I ONLY wanted one shot of The Glenfiddich ( http://www.glenfiddich.us/lda.html?redirect=/index.html ), warm and in a snifter.  The Glenfiddich and The Glenlivet were just about the only two things I got right during that time.  EVERYONE knew that my “policy” was to drink ONLY The Glenfiddich or The Glenlivet warm in a snifter from Labor day to Memorial Day.  From Memorial Day to Labor day I only drank Tanqueray martinis, up with a twist. ( I just never was able to suck down green olives)

My club had standing bars in various places up close to the dance floor.  They were crowded, but, being who I was (then), I secured a nice cozy spot to watch the action, have my drink, and go home undisturbed. 

But not tonight!  Oh, no.  Peace, a little music, and a warm drink were desired but not to be had.  The universe had no intention of being so kind to me this close to Christmas.  I had settled into my little spot and the band was playing Centerfold ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx6t11D99tA ).  It kind of blew past me.  Next song up was Freeze Frame ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmUY4eVNOkM ), followed by Celebration ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YwEMxYggoKQ ).  I was beginning to unwind.

Then, they hit my favorite song of the era……….Funky-town ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUm6TCbEK0g )!  I could lose myself in that song, even still.  I began to move (ever-so-slightly) to the music, thoroughly involved in it, relaxing, lost, in mental dance splendor, and……….WHAT!?!   Mr. Overly-designer labeled-apres-ski-boot-wearing-mid-life-crisis moved in and asked me the equivalent of “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”.

I was annoyed first, then mortified.  HOW DARE he interrupt my favorite song!  How dare he….Mr. Fila tagged, Gucci sweatered, 5 inches shorter than I am….HOW DARE HE!  I gave him the cold, bored universal look that says, “you are soooooooooooo never, ever, ever, going to get my attention for even two seconds, dude,” and then told him in no uncertain terms to go “eff off”, and turned back to my drink and MY song.

Did it stop him?  Uh, NO!  A couple of minutes later I realized that he had snarfed his way into a spot right next to me.  He threw his keys on the bar, “Porsche” side up.  My eyes could NOT roll far enough into my head and my gag reflex was beginning to engage.

“So, what do you do for a living,” he, he, he, he ACTUALLY asked me with the blank look of someone who just asked Albert Einstein for the time and didn’t know who he was.

“Are you EFFING KIDDING me?” was my incredulous reply just before I blurted out, “Get (pause) lost!”.

He stayed and bought me a drink, flipped the Porsche keys around a couple of times to which I emitted, “I’ll just bet the effer’s red, isn’t it?”.  He said, “Why yes, it is.  How’d you know?”.  “It’s cliche.  By looking at you it would HAVE to be red.”  The superiority was rolling off of me.

He didn’t leave.  Every time I insulted him or tried to ignore him he responded with a new question.  Eventually, we were having a conversation.  Not pleasant, just slightly chilly stilted talk.  The evening wore on and he asked me to……………you got it……..breakfast.

The breakfast thing was just plain weird because I WAS hungry by that point.  He told me I would be safe because he’d let me drive his car.  We went out to THE dive Chinese restaurant.  It’s the kind of restaurant that everyone went to after hours.  They didn’t go there because the food was good, they went there because it was open.  It smelled of ALOT of bad grease, but most never really noticed because they were either too high or too drunk.  It was American Chinese food, not Chinese Chinese.  You know the type……bland chow mein with an MSG laden gelatinous sauce, deep fried and overly breaded shrimp, fried rice that looked like the wok had been used 10,000 times before and half of those times the food had burnt.  But we ate it.  And talked.

I drove us back to the club parking lot and let myself out to drive home.  He asked for my phone number.  I gave it.  I’m still not sure why.

The funny thing is……..we got married a year later. 

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