Don't Worry, It's Just Your Beer Goggles

Otherwise known as Telling Cheddar Good Night...

Yesterday I had a rare Saturday (at least, rare of late) when I woke up with no plans whatsoever.  I had plans Friday night, Sunday plans, but no Saturday plans.  So, after I had spent a sufficient amount of time lazing about on the couch I set out to make some kind of social interaction.

The first thing I did was to call Cheddar, a friend I've had for about four years.  We met while I was dating The... Economist, and after The Economist and I broke up, we attempted dating and quickly learned we are not in the same place in life and make infinitely better friends.  I'm pleased to say that we successfully made that transition, and he is now a staple at my dinner parties, and my go-to guy when I would like to do something but haven't made any plans.  Not that he sits around and waits for me... Cheddar has more friends than I think anyone I know.  Most of them are through connections he's made with his job as a financial advisor (that's how we met), but he's also active in his local Catholic church, and has a great way of not losing touch with people the way most of us do.  Or at least, the way I do. He always answers the phone (or texts) the same way:

Jen Single!  (Lots of people lump my first and last names together because in reality they're just one syllable each and there are many Jens out there in the wide world...)

Cheddar...

What's going on?

I want to see a documentary at the Enzian this afternoon.  Are you in?

I'm there!  I don't have anything going on today and I've been working from home the past two days.  What's the movie about?

I described the film and told him I'd pick him up at 2:30.  I had to go by Vines on the way to the Enzian to pick up my bank card, which had been left behind last night.  I was halfway home with Linette when I realized I didn't remember putting my card back into my wallet after I paid my bill.  A quick check confirmed my suspicion, and seconds later my phone was out and I was speaking to someone from the restaurant about my plight.  No problem, we have your card in our cash box, you can pick it up anytime tomorrow after 12:00.  Cool.  The whole thing took about a minute.  I wasn't panicked, just discovered a problem and found the solution.  Probably part of that had to do with my buzz from the evening's imbibification.  (No-- it's not a real word but I'd like to make it one!  If George Bush can do it, by golly, so can I!) 

I would later learn that it is dangerous to spend time with Cheddar when he hasn't seen any other people in two whole days... but we'll get to that in a bit.

My next call was to my pal Jessica (described in Skinny Jeans are Not for ANYONE), who is an ice cream fanatic.  I hadn't seen her since our shopping excursion detailed in The Mega-Brella and we were due for some catching up.  She didn't answer the phone-- she almost never answers the phone-- so I left a message and crossed my fingers she'd get it before one.  She called me back pretty quickly and I asked her if she felt like Dairy Queen.  I already knew the answer.

Jess ALWAYS feels like Dairy Queen.  In fact, for Halloween, I think she should be the Dairy Queen!  We made a plan for ice cream and then I spent more time on the couch.  I really love lazy Saturday mornings. 

At the appointed time, I picked up Jess, we indulged in our buy one, get one free small Blizzards, and then I took her back to her house to continue on her assignments for graduate school.  I really admire her working full-time and going to graduate school.  I was very lucky to be able to be a full-time student when I went back to school.  When Jess is taking classes, it severely cuts into our social time, but it was very nice to spend thirty minutes of girl time with one of my favorite people on the planet.

From My Small Town, I got on the Turnpike and drove to the Biggish City and picked up Cheddar.  He stayed in the car while I retrieved my bank card from the Vines cash box, and we continued on to the Enzian to see Project Nim, a documentary about a chimpanzee who was the subject of a scientific study on primate language acquisition in the 70's.  He was taken from his mother at two weeks old, raised in a human family, and taught sign language.  It was an interesting film, but very sad as well.  The movie, though, was a mere distraction from Cheddar's purpose in spending time with me.

The man needed to talk.  And apparently, drink.

He ordered a twenty ounce IPA at the Eden Bar as soon as we got to the theater, and ordered another during the film.  He talked all the way through the film in a decidely un-modulated tone, to the point that I hit him on the arm and hissed, Shut UP!  That worked for about fifteen minutes. After the movie was over, I went to the washroom and met Cheddar outside.  He had another beer in front of him as well as one in front of my seat.

Is this for me?

Yeah!  

Then he launched into a lengthy story.  And another.  And another.  To be fair, I found ways to interject, mainly by saying, Wait!  I need to interject!  Other than that he was off and running.  When I finished my drink, he ordered me another one while I was in the washroom.

Cheddar, I'm driving.  I didn't order that, and I can't drink it.  Cheddar put the glass in front of him.

When I finish these I know another great place we can go.  Seriously?  My pal was already loopy and slurring his speech.  I was not going to be his drunk bus for the remainder of the night.  There are limits.

I signaled the bartender, told him I was driving, and asked for a soda water.  He kept my glass filled over the next hour and a half.  I appreciated him.   Eventually, Cheddar had his fill-- it was close to 9:00 and I know the night was young but I had a date today (a second date, mind you!) and I had no intentions of staying out until two in the morning.  (Must be fresh and lovely with a complete lack of bleary eyes when wanting to attract a man... with potential.)  Cheddar and I walked back to my car, and as we were driving back to his place... he started.  He has told me about doing this to other women friends, but he had never tried it with me.  It still makes me chuckle when I think about the following exchange:

Jen, you are so hot. 

Cheddar, don't worry-- it's just your beer goggles.

Really, we would make the cutest children.  Your brains.  My dude skills.

We would make short kids. 

Jen, I just want to...

I cut him off.  We were just about to his house.  Cheddar, I am not getting out of the car.  I will stay in the driveway and make sure you get in the house okay, and I am going home.  This has been fun.  I've never seen you quite this drunk.  Good night.

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.  I love you, Jen.  

That's right.  Every stereotype imaginable was playing out in my car. 

I love you too, Cheddar.  Now, good night.  He got out of the car and I watched as it took him close to a full minute of fumbling with his keys to get through the door.

Sometimes a man's gotta drink.  And a woman has to know how to say good night when she knows... it's just the beer talking.