Martini-weeny

I went out last night with one of my favorite people on the planet. H and I have been (creative) banter enthusiasts, brainwave sharers, and - most importantly - soul sisters (!) for nine years or so . We hadn't seen each other in a year (NO excuse!) and we wanted to have a girl's night out. We headed over to a local place - a flip-phoney, trendy type establishment where one can order kick ass martinis with names such as "the naughty Asian" and "saketini," AND at which one can get beautifully ornamented, volcanic sushi. As usual, we giggled (less girlie-like and more rotund in intonation, I think - maybe guffawed is more like it), gestured wildly, and pretended to have dueling chopsticks lodged in our eyes. Ours is the kind of friendship that is bigger than time barriers. The cliched phrase goes something like, "Even if an entire year goes by (and again, NO freaking excuse!!!), it feels as though no time has passed."

It wouldn't be an evening with Ginger if something interesting (and circusy) didn't happen, so here it is - my very own Martini-weeny Drama:

The scene: We sit, literally "perched" at our very tall, very wobbly cocktail table, our backs to the minimalist grey concrete wall. The curvy bar really "pops!" in front of the blue back-lighted wall which doubles as "atmosphere". Sexy niches line this wall and flaunt the clear, liquidy brilliance of displayed (and rather functional) bottles of vodka and gin. Several panels of cinched, velvety red curtains separate the bar area from the white tablecloths and candles in the main dining area. Also in the main dining area - in a dark corner of the room - is the musician du jour. This time it's a lovely acoustic guitarist. The place is warmly modern - cozy even, and a little bit jazzy in a John Mayer-y kind of way.

Things could not have been better; We had a great view of the goings-on, our waitress, Diane - who we wished was sitting with us instead of working - was AWESOME, and we were loving the dialog, the chill martinis, and of course the chop-sticks (which for me are used more as props and less as utensils) and sushi. That is UNTIL...

(cue Haddaway's "What is Love")

...we saw Todd. H and I decided that his name had to be Todd. He decidedly looked like a Todd and he will forever be known to us as Todd. Let's see. How do I describe Todd to you in a way that is more "oh, bless his heart," and less Mean Girls... OK. (sigh) I'll tell it straight. Todd is a middle aged man who is drunk by 5:30, who has the leftovers of an 80's feathered mullet, and who likes to give every person who has even a hint of breast the OBVIOUS once over. Todd is one who might shoot you with his index finger, click his tongue, and wink at you while smacking on his Double Mint - you know the gesture. He's the kind of man who goes to the martini bar and orders Amstel Light. Todd is the guy who becomes more and more confident as the evening progresses, and eventually he is not only turning his head as the ladies walk by, but he is also giving them all handsy hugs (poor Diane!). He works the entire room, engaging in what he thinks is "witty schmoozing" but which is more akin to some sort of moose-like mating yawp. You get the picture. Oh, and bless his poor little heart. (That's what Texas Christians are supposed to say in an effort to clear their own guilty consciences after being brutally mean to someone.)

The question becomes: How does one deal with the socially awkward "Todds" of the world? H and I did what we always do - we observed Todd: we predicted various physical outcomes, mentally formulated hypothetical (hysterical) and unavoidable verbal train-wrecks, and grinned at what we consider to be our own genius. Then we went back to performing chopstick theater.

It was fine, until we had to use the facility, which was on the other side of the room which meant we had to either walk by Todd or interrupt the white tablecloth-ers to get there. H decided to take the road less traveled: option two, tablecloths be damned! When she got back and it was my turn, I decided that no Todd was going to interrupt my OCD paved walking path to the ladies room.

But I froze.

(Ginger's internal dialog to the tune of a weepy string ensemble): What if Todd doesn't give me the once over!? (enter stage right: Insecure Girl, cape a-flyin') OK. I'm just going to go. A frank and decidedly confident friend once told me (in Dr. Phil terms) that most people, "probably don't think about you as much as you think about them." Why do I even want Todd's approval? Stupid! I'm going.

And I went - without worrying about Todd - though I may have pulled my shoulders back a little more than usual, and one might have observed (only if they were really studying) something of a stiletto strut... (sigh again and a whispered, "damn it.") H later told me that I got three Todd once-overs. Does that make me successful or pathetic? Wait. Don't answer that.

As is required in any bathroom corridor in the US, there was a line. That was not unexpected, except that it gave Todd a chance to catch up to me.. And for the record, I honestly do not think Todd really was following me. Actually I'm quite sure he wasn't because he was really too wobbly to be following anyone. Todd was "kind" enough to slur out an invitation for us to use the men's (ahem, boy's) restroom ahead of him. We - the girl's line - politely declined, but Todd insisted, assuring us that though the men's room might not be as sanitary or clean-smelling as the women's, it was in fact, available. Also he, "didn't blame us for not using the men's because after all [he] too prefer[s] the women's restroom." (wink)... The girl's line quickly dispersed after the silent and uncomfortable time pause and fight or flight shuffle. About that time, the door to the ladies opened and I got to duck-in and lock the door, relieved in my Todd-free sanctuary.

In the end, Todd went to his corner and I went safely back to mine.

(and SCENE!)

Though I've been incredibly ass-ish and insensitive about this whole incident, I genuinely feel sad for the Todds of the world because I recognize him in my own psychosis. I know that I have been the insecure, lonely Todd (without the mullet) in one form or another in many circumstances in my lifetime. That being said, how do we save ourselves when we turn into the Todd? and probably more importantly, how do we allow Todd to be Todd and accept (and like(?)) who he is without allowing him to be an objectifying ass?

Anyway, the rest of the evening went swimmingly well and I so enjoyed catching up with my H, who did, incidentally, have her own special encounter with Todd; but that's a different drama and I'll allow her to tell you about it.