I'm Speaking English...

I'm not the type of person who goes out on a Saturday night with the intention of ever meeting anyone. It's not that I don't want to meet someone, but rather I have no hope that in a crowded loud environment I will be able make such a connection, have that amazing conversation that will make me go... gee, not only do I trust this person enough to give out my phone number, but wow, they are great and I really want to know more about them. Really, that never happens.

No, the type of connections that are made on such outings are purely physical. And I can face facts, I am not the type of person that people look at and think "I've gotta meet her." Not that I'm a dog or anything, but rather I have been told I pretty much have "don't fuck with me" written across my forehead.

It's not that I'm a real bitch or anything. And it's not that I'm not a friendly person and don't want to be bothered. Rather, I am not an overly smiley person. I'm happy, really. I just don't feel the need to walk around with a smile plastered across my face all the time and am not the type of person to fake that. My life is fine, I am happy with myself and confident in who I am, and I don't need to prove that to anyone by trying to put on a false persona of this happy go lucky perfect person. And if that screams "leave me alone", well, so be it.

I say all of this so you can imagine my surprise when one night I became the girl the guy wouldn't leave alone.

A couple of girlfriends and I, realizing we are not nearly as young as we used to be, but still not really old yet... decided to try out a bar/nightclub in Seattle called Twilight. It's advertised for people who are in their mid to upper 20's and early 30's. Done with the young chaotic club scene but still want to go out, dance, and maybe meet people.

Who ever designed this place definitely didn't have a dance club in mind. It's shape kind of reminds me of a dumbbell. At each end there is a larger open space with a bar, connected by a skinny narrow hallway that some genius made into the dance floor. So all of these late 20 and early 30 somethings crowed into this small space like sardines and really just bump up against each other because let's be honest, in that tight a space dancing is not possible.

Somewhere in this entwined semi-orgy my small cluster of girlfriends got sandwiched in with a small group of foreign guys. Amazingly I managed to hear over the noise that they were from Russia, although it was never clarified if they were in the states on a visit or for work. And here's a real shocker... I never bothered to ask.

Well, as I said, surprise of all surprises one of these guys took a liking to me. (I wonder if the preference for overt bitch is a Russian thing or just a personal favorite of his?) I'm not going to say he wasn't attractive, he was decent looking... on another day I might have thought him fairly attractive. You know how these things can move and sway based on mood, emotions... hormones. So when he wanted to dance, I conceded. Why not? I enjoy dancing and what's a little random groin shoved on you from time to time. And don't act shocked at that comment because let's be realistic. Modern dancing is pretty much just that.

So that was fine and dandy and all, but eventually I tired of this stranger and decided it was time to go back to my girlfriends. So I tell him thanks but I'm done and turn back to my girls. Most people should understand this part here... this is where the girl turns from the guy and starts dancing with her friends who then get in the way of the guy so he is slowly edged out of the group. Don't tell me you don't know this move because if you've been in a club... it happens all over the floor all night long.

However this guy wasn't having any of this... he just didn't want to let me go. And he starts saying all these things trying to convince me that he really is this outstanding guy that I need to stay with and give more time. His friends even get in on this at some point trying to convince my girls to dance with them and stay. Solid wing men really.

Now the first problem arises in that as I said, it is next to impossible to communicate anything in a loud environment such as this. Way to much background noise. Heck, it's not background noise, it's in your face, floor pounding, body shaking, dominating shock waves. So over all this he is trying to communicate to me his worthiness.

Second problem... again, I have no intention of meeting anyone when I go out like this. I'm really not interested because I guess I just don't believe in that there can be a connection over such small and trivial things. The kind of person that would want to thrust themselves at me before getting to know me doesn't exactly make me have much confidence in their being a winning choice. Which of course leads me to utilize problem number one with the ever so obvious excuse of "sorry, I can't hear you", your efforts are worthless. Please give up now.

But alas, Mr. USSR was not deterred in his efforts, but rather became more agitated. He began trying to whisper.... or rather yell in light of our environment... into my ear. Over and over again he repeated "This is not a one night thing, I want to take you out to dinner. It's not just one night."

So, wow. At least we were in agreement. This was not a one night thing. Only our premises were completely off. For me, this was NOT EVEN a one night thing. For him on the other hand... really, wow, he sure knows the way to a girls heart. It's not just a one night stand... I'll even buy you dinner! Yeah, now I'm not a whore! Well, that just makes everything all right then. Ok, ok, so maybe that wasn't EXACTLY what he meant... but it could be. Never went there to find out so that is all up to interpretation.

Eventually I realized my assertions of loss of hearing were completely being lost in translation and futile. To every "I can't hear you" came the response "But I'm speaking English!" Maybe someone hadn't taught him that language comprehension and the ability to convert sound waves to noise are not the same thing? I couldn't help but chuckle a little every time he said it.

In the end I was saved by the earlier than normal closing hours of most bars in Washington State... 1:30 am last call and lights on. Once the lights came on his resolve began to fade. Though he even tried to reason with my friends that he was a good guy and to give him my number, he eventually realized he wouldn't win and didn't follow us out the doors.

On second thought, maybe the "don't fuck with me" is pretty appropriate.