I was taking a mini blogging break. I've got some big things brewing lately and needed to spend more time on that. (Updates soon). But I just can't resist blogging about this loser I met last night. His only excuse could be that he was foreign (Moroccan) but that only explains the overdisplay of designer labels, so strong I can taste it cologne, and the so thick I can't understand you accent. Read: "Looking at you is like looking at a beautiful beeeech." Like a beautiful what? Bitch? "No, no, it's lika beeeech. A beeeeech." Bitch? "No, no, lika the sea."
I was happily sitting at the bar by myself, sipping (Read: chugging) my dirty martini, talking to my bartender friend, B. This guy walks up to me, standing extremely close to my bar stool, and says, "Alo! My name's Rashid. What's your name?" His breath reeked of cigarettes. Barf. I hesitantly said, "Nina," with a recoiled demeanor. (Read: Please walk away). He says, "Ah, what a beautiful name! You know, in Morocco, where I'm from, that name is becoming very popular. All the girls have the name." Hmm. Fascinating. He adds, "They pronounce it Guy-yan-nina. Or Ye-lina. It means 'One who likes to lean.'" He says this while he cheesily taps my arm to show a leaning movement. What the fuck does that mean? One who likes to lean? I turn away to face B, squaring my shoulder away from him. Body language, hint hint. He taps my arm again, comes this close to my face, and says, "Hey, I'll be right back OK? I'm just running to the bathroom." Um. Sure. Feel free to fall in.
He returned. B tells me later that he pulled her aside to hit on her. Smooth. We're friends. We talk. He asked me if I like to dance. I said no. He got up and grabbed a blond and proceeded salsa dance slash gyrate pelvis to a RAP song. Yeeeech. He came back. Proceeded to rap a song in my face. (Read: I HATE when people sing to my face. It's extremely uncomfortable and I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. Sing along? Bop my head?) I turned to B, purposely not looking at him. He turns to another blond. Stares at her ass. Dude, there's a mirror behind the bar. I can see everything you do!
He continues to be consistently repulsive for the rest of the night. At the end of the night he says, "Are you going anywhere else?" I said no, I'm staying with, B. He said, "Text me later. Let me know where you go." I was gonna say I don't have a phone but it was sitting on the bar. I figured, easy enough, I'll just take his number, he'll leave, and I'll never call. I say what is it? He takes the phone out of my hand and says, "I'll do it." I surrendered, fine, just do it and leave! Oh but the fucker, I should have known what he was doing. He put in his number and then called himself from my phone. At least he finally left.
Why is it that I find it so hard to say GO AWAY? Or no thanks, please don't call? Or no thanks, I don't want your number?