Its my favorite time of year. Winter is over. April is approaching. There is a sweetness in the air that signals the dawning of Spring. The weather is getting warmer, the days are getting longer and everyone I know is having a Birthday Party (or at least it seems that way).
If you are an Aries or merely casually know someone who is, then you are no stranger to the phenomenon of which I speak. Aries love to make a big deal about their own birth. Speaking as one myself, there is not a single birthday of mine in recorded history that went by with out everyone noticing. But simply noticing is not enough. We are not only known for throwing an elaborate party that we require all our close friends, not so close friends, friends of our not so close friends and distant relatives to attend, we are also alloted a carte blanche for a full week leading up to and following said day of birth to do what ever the fuck we want, because it is, after all, the most important event out of the year: the day we were born. Extreme? Maybe a touch, but you know it’s true. And kind of what you all love about me and my fellow Aries. Or at least have to pretend to.
Why? Because its our birthday, that’s why!
So I found myself out last night at a random bar on the east side. I was meeting up with my best friend and two of his favorite female work colleagues who were celebrating the end of their work week with cocktails and work gossip. They were all three dressed for the occasion and looking like the hip New York socialites that they are and a little out of place in the grown-up frat bar they decided to pre-game at before relocating to a hiper scene. They were a few drinks ahead of me and lost in talk of the behind the scenes world of the trendy hotel where they all have been working together for the better part of two years.
Sitting one stool away from them is a very handsome man drinking Scotch on the rocks alone while playing on his blackberry and occasionally engaging the bartender in a little banter. I scan the scene and decided to pull up a stool in between my friends and this hot loner and take a moment to thank the Universe for supplying me with someone to talk to as the alcohol sponsored shop talk starts to grow in intensity and volume.
Just because I’m celibate doesn’t mean I can’t have a flirty conversation with a stranger.
“Do you think they serve food here?” I ask my new dreamy friend, letting him know I’m available for small talk if he wants to drag his attention away from his phone.
“I’m not sure,” he responds as he turns to greet me with a perfect prince charming smile. “But if they do, they don’t anymore.” I look at my phone. I didn’t realize that it is minutes away from 12. “Sorry, looks like you’re out of luck.” And he takes a sip of his drink, and becomes re-engaged with his Crackberry.
“I figured as much. That’s why I ordered a Guinness. I guess this counts as diner,” I reveal my coyest smile to him and nervously take a sip. Self doubt creeps in and I start to wonder if I’m playing out of my league. He’s probably waiting for his equally hot girlfriend to appear so they can go back to his great apartment and have amazing sex.
But he takes the bait. His girlfriend still might be coming, but he’s at least going to partake in some harmless bar talk. He is alone after all.
Come to find out, he doesn’t usually drink alone. “This is a special occasion”, he slurs. Yes, he’s a little lit, but I’m overlooking it. One, because who isn’t in a bar. And two, because he is so friggin cute. “‘It’s my birthday in exactly 28 minutes!”
“Friend, its only ten minutes to midnight” I correct him while totally relating to the “my birthday is the entire 24 hours” mind-set.
“I know. But I was born at 12:18 am on the 25” he says tapping his phone, characteristically Arian of him to know the exact minute he was born, “and I didn’t want to sleep through my Birthday.”
“You are such an Aries!” I teased.
“Well…What’s wrong with that?” He flirts right back flashing his perfect smile revealing his deep dimples. Our bodies are leaning in toward each other. The sexual tension between us grows with each exchange. I was having so much fun.
Sure, I’m celibate and have no intention of sleeping with him. Tonight. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll keep flirting and he’ll ask for my number. And then he’ll call me. We will start seeing each other. And fall madly in love. And he’ll appreciate my celibacy. And love me more because I respect myself and my body. And at 12:01 on January 1, 2011, we’ll have the most amazing sex in the history of the world. And live happily ever after. And we’ll tell our grandchildren I was the best birthday gift he ever got. But maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Just a bit.
Here’s where I need to back track a little. I was not alone in noticing the Birthday Boy’s hotness. It wasn’t a matter of opinion but cold hard fact. Apparently it was a topic of conversation between my best friend and his beautiful coworker before I even said I was coming to meet them.
“He’s totally into you “, he encouraged. “You should go talk to him.” Giving her, I suppose, what counts as dibs. Now, there was no way of me knowing any of this. Seeing as how he was still sitting very much alone when I came in. And further considering none of them where making an effort to include me in their conversation. So, how could you fault me for making a friend who would. Further more, when life presents you with an opening, you take it. You don’t wait till you’ve had four cocktails and your crush is fully engaged in a conversation with someone else. Well, that’s how I see it.
So, while I was chatting away and imaging how adorable our twin boys were going to be and what my name would look like with a hyphen, my best friend lit a fire under his coworker’s ass.
“She’s talking to your man. Go do something!” (or something insistent of that nature)
Now, I need to spend a minute on how stunning this girl is. She’s a dead ringer for Alicia Silverstone circa Clueless, only taller and with bigger boobs. She’s in her early twenties and has a gosh darn sweetness that rivals any candy stripper out there. In other words, she’s a heavy hitter and she wasn’t pulling any punches. Or more plainly, I was finished.
Acting on my best friend’s advice, she left her coworkers company and planted herself on the other side of Mr. Man. Where I was sitting a foot away on the right side of him, she was standing directly next to him on the left. Where I had been coyly grazing his hand on his right, she had her arm around his shoulder and was playing with his hair on his left. Imagine how close his head is to her chest as she does this, she’s tall, remember. He didn’t see what hit him.
“I’m sorry, I’m just a really touchy feely kind of person” I heard her say. The kind of brazen forwardness that makes me blush and gag at the same time. And that had been so absent before I was talking to him. And part of me can’t help but think she was only this forward because she wanted to win.
She was using the heavy artillery where I was just sending up flares.
I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, but she basically put it on the table, “Do you want to talk to her, or fuck me?” Men, at 1 in the morning, after a few Scotches, which one are you going to choose? This is the part where I wish I hadn’t let him buy me a fresh drink, because after it was clear she had won, I got to sit there and watch them fondle each other, all the while wishing in my head “please don’t start kissing, please don’t start kissing.”
I saw my fantasy life with him slip through my fingers. I felt like a little kid whose shiny new toy had just gotten snatched away from her by the playground bully. But in her defence, she did see him first. And she won him fair and square. Lets face it, she was willing to do far more than I was to hold his attention. And God Bless.
And for a moment I was bummed that I had picked the celibate path. My former self could have given her a run for her money. I looked at her with envy, remembering how fun it use to be to pick up men in bars. How powerful it made me feel. And sexy and important. And how if I was drunk enough, I could convince myself that my efforts would eventually lead to me finding love. But let’s face it, you are more likely to find an Aries who doesn’t celebrate their birthday than you are to find love in a bar at 1 in the morning.
The big winner of this scene is of course the Birthday boy. For his 34 th birthday, he had two hot young chicks fighting over him in a bar: a blonde with big boobs and a red head with a lot of sass. And he got to take one of them home.
Categories: See Jane Give Up Dick