It sounds like the start of a groaningly bad joke: “An asshole, a diva, and a player walk into a bar . . . ” but that was my night.  At various points in the evening, I or people who love me described me as each of the three.

St. Patrick’s Day was interesting.  I headed out to meet JF and W.  W’s on-off girlfriend showed up with some of her friends.

At our first stop, I mercilessly toyed with someone who was trying to talk to me.   I never said an encouraging word to him.  In fact, I was quite rude and told him, look, I am not a nice person.  I am an asshole.  He was the friend of  JF’s friend, so he persisted.  By the end, he said, I bet you are one of those uppity women who only date lawyers or doctors.  (First, uppity?  I almost punched him.)  I said to him, rather bitchily, do I look like the kind of woman who dates professionals?  

(I repeated this later to BP, who agreed, no, of course you don’t, you diva.)

Of course, the stupid guy wanted JF and me to keep barhopping with him.  We declined and hit a second bar.

(This may be the right place to mention that things with BFD went from great to rocky while he was gone, as usually happens when he travels.  He was better this trip, he called me once and he emailed me once.  On the continuum of acceptable behavior, he still ranks fairly low.  

When things are rocky, I tend to think of us as “dating.”  For me, our sexual exclusivity is always in place, but that does not mean I cannot talk to or go out with other people.  When things are solid, I think of us as in an exclusive relationship and it would never occur to me to go out with anyone else.)

At the second place, I was watching a band standing near W and his girlfriend, whose relationship is r-o-u-g-h, plus she hates me.  A very handsome guy, locally famous, stepped in and hugged the guys.  They chatted for a bit, introduced me, and then eventually he turned back to the people he was with.  

 

As the evening wore on, I stood off nearer the band with JF and the guy, who we will call “G,” wandered over.  We chatted and sort of hit it off.  From time, to time, his hand brushed my back, or I touched him as we were speaking.  By the end, we were completely connected, talking trash about sports, etc. and he mentioned, after I said that I was going to just stand in front of him so people would stop bumping me as they passed: “that’s okay, since I will just be staring at your ass.”

Yeah, so I was certainly flirting with him, but not in an overt way.  More in a he’s a big, tall, broad shouldered  guy I am talking to in loud club way.  Like if BFD had rolled in, I would not have been uncomfortable introducing them.

At times, he touched me slightly inappropriately, but just for a second, and it was all on the surface innocent.

He was very open about the fact he thought was I was attractive  — hot body, great ass, etc.  I was a little shocked that he was as into me as he was.  He planted himself next to me, assured me each time he left that he would be back, and he was completely present.

It felt good and safe and all kinds of awesome, but I was always aware that I am dating BFD.  Not exclusively, since he disappeared on me again, but dating nonetheless.  

I was not aware at the time that G cleared everything with W before approaching me at all: “Your friend is really hot, what’s the deal?”  W said,” that’s [The Planner], she’s one of the guys.”  G responded, she does not look like one of the guys.

G and I hung out together and bounced within the club from one floor to another.  When we reencountered W, we were play-arguing and joking and having a great time.  G stepped to the bar (drink for him, water for me), and I asked W to drive me home to avoid any awkwardness with G putting me in a cab or offering to drive me home.  W declined because of his domestic drama.

W left, leaving me, G, JF and one of JF’s friends.  When JF announced he was leaving, I spoke up and asked for a ride.  As a result, G and I did not exchange numbers, but we have plenty of friends in common.  I am not interested-interested, but I am intrigued.

My friends are a little torn.  They really like G and want him to be better friends with them.  Also, they noted that G really liked me.  It’s a bit awkward.

The reality is that I am essentially all three things: an asshole, a diva, and a player.  I am an asshole: I am just not nice, which is apparently part of my charm.  I am very much a diva:  I expect the men in my life to fawn over me, non-romantically date me, squire me about town, and protect me.  I am also a bit of a player:  I have a roster of men who I know want to date me and I have no reason to shut anyone down permanently.  

It’s not attractive, but it is reality.

When I got home around midnight, completely sober, I saw an email from BFD.  He apologized for being out of contact, explaining he’d flown back late Sunday and out again early Monday.  He told me he’d be back at noon today.  I chose to ignore the message, so he called me as soon as he walked in his door to ask me out for tonight.

I have chosen to accept because I want to see him.  Our last date was not good and, though he was better when he was gone this time, he was still not good.  He hurt me again, in new and inventive ways, so I am curious to see what he was to say.

Our evening will be low-key as midweek always is.  I am heading to his place.  He says he’ll finalize a car detail this week and give me the key on Friday.  I am not holding my breath, but we shall see.

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