Bad Dating (part 4): The Blazer

The night that I ended a very short lived “relationshit” with one, um, country bumpkin, I went out dancing with my best friend and a few other friends from volleyball to, let’s say celebrate.

A guy strolled in towards the end of the night wearing a blazer jacket; ladies, he looked SHARP! He definitely did not belong in a country bar, and that is what caught my eye. I dug his style; I couldn’t help myself.

I may or may not have made eye contact from across the room a time or two. I also might have made mention to my guy friend JoBo, that I thought the “blazer” was delicious.

Now, JoBo, who is about 6’5, 240 plus pounds of South American beast decides to approach Mr. Blazer while my back is turned. Blazer was caught off-guard and frightened by the size of JoBo, but followed him over to our group where he was then introduced to me. We exchanged pleasantries and it only took a second to realize that he was piss drunk. I’m honestly not sure how he managed to stand upright.

Might I also add that he was not a very charming drunk, not that he was sleazy- just more proud and boastful, than interested in me. He let slip a few lines of flattery, I think. Some of what he said was unintelligible…but, damnit, he was hot! I can’t say that he was out on the prowl; I think he was just out to get drunk in a strange city on a client’s tab.

Regardless, I was single so what did I care what his intentions were?! We bantered back and forth for the rest of the night, which consisted mostly of him talking about his business ventures, semi-pro baseball status and anything else related to him… Turns out, Philip (aka Blazer) was a Louisiana boy living in Colorado…oh and how intrigued did I become at the mention of Colorado? Ladies and gentleman, you could audibly hear my panties drop. Ok, so that’s a bit hyperbolic. But, feel free to imagine the “cha-Ching” sound and the little dollar signs popping out of my eyes like in the cartoons…just replace the dollar signs with Rocky Mountains.

He kept saying that he was going to fly me to Colorado because they just don’t make girls like me up there and he needed a taste of home. Truth be told, after we exchanged numbers and I went home, I did not expect to ever hear from him again. He walked, er, stumbled me to my car, but didn’t even try to kiss me. Boy was I wrong. Before he left Houston, we caught an Astros game, a Texans game, had dinner/drinks and spent some time getting to know each other…soberly. He was really quite pleasant to be around, and look at.

Of course, after he caught the last flight out of town that Sunday night, my luck seemed to run out. He went silent. Of course, I was not going to try and contact him- what kind of self-respecting girl would I be to seem desperate/eager to contact a guy from our of state?! (the kind that really wanted an excuse to go back to Colorado, that’s what kind!) I held my ground, though and about a week after he left, I got a text “hey girl. When are you coming to visit me?”

I flew out the following weekend. Spent a week hiking mountains, making new friends, rocking out at Red Rocks Amphitheater, falling love with Colorado all over again…and watching him get high.

That’s right, he was a total pothead. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Life is a game of risk: sometimes it works in your favor; sometimes, it scares the piss out of you. Now, I’m not trying to be judgmental here- to each his own. I had a good week up there, but he couldn’t go 5 minutes without lighting up. HUGE turnoff to a nonsmoker. I have never even touched a cigarette much less any other drug-alcohol notwithstanding.

I’m sure when I head back up to Colorado, I’d say hi, but I wouldn’t get too close. I’d get buzzed on contact, but a friend in the mountains who is down to hike/ski is definitely a friend worth having around…to me.

I really had him pegged with the nickname “Blazer”… before I ever really got to know him.


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