Tuesday, March 13, 2007

friday night "eye candy"

There's a reason why they call it "eye candy". Because it looks good on the outside. To the eye. Like candy. Delicious. But then....it might not taste so good. It could crack a tooth. Eventually too much of it could lead to multiple cavities, subsequent dentist appointments, bills, debt, etc. etc. etc.

That's why they call it "eye candy".

Hrm. I think from now on when I say "eye candy" - I'm going to use air quotes.

The "eye candy" sat on the other end of the bar. He was visibly drunk. Visibly drunk = swaying, slanted eyes and smiley. But it worked for him. Because he's "eye candy". So any time he addressed me in conversation - I tried to keep the conversation going. Just to look at him. He tried to get me to partake in a game of shuffle board. I balked. He used the words "finesse" and "touch". I conceded. Luckily, two even drunker people wanted to play a 'championship match'. I was happy to reclaim my seat at the bar.

A sidebar...

Depending on my mood, the company and the overall atmosphere - I can be relatively un-shy. Big men who drink a lot and ogle women they know they'll never have with a healthy sense of humor - don't threaten me. This is how the conversation went to my underwear.

Are you following?

It wasn't dirty. The conversation. Or the underwear. Shit...just follow along.

The point is that my friends and I had a fun, flirty conversation about underwear (according to a man poll at the bar...which = two men...women who wear matching bras and underwear are super sexy) but "eye candy" wasn't paying attention.

The subject then switched over to sex and dating - and big, drunk, horny but harmless guy sitting next to me - called "eye candy" over to our side of the bar.

"C'mere," he said. "This girl wants to make out with you."

It was all very pedestrian and high school and the like. But it didn't bother me as it normally would. Because he was "eye candy" and I could get a closer look.

But then he started to talk. And talk....about how there was no point to life in that drunk, random, rambling, unable to stop, hear other points of view or change the subject way that just becomes....waning. We begged him to stop talking. The words 'shut up' were cried out from all ends of the bar. But it wouldn't stop. And I was his only audience. Horny but harmless guy mouthed an apology to me from the other end of the bar where he'd escaped to. "Eye candy" continued to tell me how there was no point in my being a journalist...because one day the world would wake up and decide it no longer wanted to read newspapers. Or magazines. Or anything.

There's a reason...they call it "eye candy".

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