Don't cry for me Argentina

Pretty low-key lately. Chicago was nice with amazingly warm weather and great family. The drive to Minneapolis was giggles and singing '80s songs loudly with my sister and her fiance (who did not sing but deejayed). Then, it's been a slow easing-into-society process. Job hunting a bit online, driving practice to the car wash, dinner with a girl friend.

Then, last night I went out with a guy who worked with me way back in the day when I was working for a local newspaper. We had drinks at some typical bar with wooden interior, a circular and centered bar, TVs blaring sports, and stools supporting all kinds of overweight, boring-looking people. I brought him a 2Euro coin and he brought me 5 scratch-off games, which I've never played before. We won $2. I had a dirty martini and it didn't taste as I was hoping it would. He had grapefruit juice. We've both cut down on the drinking quite a bit during these precarious days of unemployment, when we could be easily subjected to a bout of depression or anxiety. We went to a pool hall to shoot some and I learned that not all pool halls serve booze, and some can feel downright depressing. I won one, he won one. Then, we rounded off the night at a dive bar called Vegas, where some scowly college kids were drunk and singing karaoke. I had a Maker's Mark on the rocks for old time sake. He had a Sprite. Talking came easy. We had exchanged some emails over the past couple of months since finding ourselves via Facebook, so we knew that we could joke about naughty sex, share openly about our depressions, and dream of our evolution.

When he drove me home, he patted my back and let his hand linger. We wished I was wasn't staying at my sister's and that he wasn't crashing with his parents. Then, we kind of leaned into each other and he started kissing my neck. My heart palpitated and my body sighed. We kissed gently until I tightened my teeth around one of his lips. His right hand grabbed my hair and pulled my neck back. His left hand dove into my jacket. I tried to move it into my skirt, under my tights, but he kept pointing out that we were parked in the middle of the street under a street lamp. I didn't care. Who would care? I didn't live there. No one was awake. No one was looking. I am not fifteen. But I was totally prepared to jump into the back seat to get it on. He said he had no condom. We said we'd hang out Friday night. He waited for me to get inside the house and his SMS was "Nighty nigh cutie pie."