Never, ever, ever, ever let me talk to men. Please. It’s very important.

Well, let me rephrase that. I’m okay talking to men normally but when I’m attracted to one, well, I turn into an idiot. Seriously.

Those of you who have read this blog remember the tales of Bobby, the hot bartender from the Chalet with those glorious hands, right? If not, just click on the above links for how Diet Coke (with a slice of lime) water, and those hands have a bit of an odd effect on me.

I guess you could say that I have a bit of a crush on Bobby. Nothing major. It’s not like I’m writing Bobby + Dana 4Ever on my notebooks or anything like that. I just think he’s hot. I know he has a girlfriend and hey, that’s great. He’s a great guy and he deserves to be happy.

Now, the problem is, of course, that while my brain is fine with all of this and recognizes that Bobby is simply, well, I guess the right word might be eye candy, my body looks at those hands and starts doing weird things.

Case in point – Sunday night at karaoke, I walked up to get a refill. Either water for myself or Coke for Beth. Since I’ve started taking Effexor, I am thirsty all the time and as much as I love my Diet Coke with a slice of lime, it does not quench my thirst. I am drinking a ton of water. As I walk up there, I see that Michael is ordering drinks for himself and his friends, Jim and Angie. It is a shot of Jagermeister in Red Bull, which is quite possibly the most disgusting drink I have ever heard of. But if you’ve ever had a Root Beer Barrel, you get the idea of how it looks.

Bobby lined up the three glasses on the bar. He pours the Red Bull from glass to glass, using his eyes to measure, not spilling a drop. It is, dare I say, quite beautiful. And then, here is the kicker, without turning around, he shoots his hand behind him and tosses the Red Bull can into the trash.

Oh my God. Without looking! It was amazing. Beyond amazing. It was, well, amazing is the only word I can think of right now. Which is bad because usually I have a much better vocabulary. You see? Do you see how he is affecting my mind?

And then, later, after I had digested all that is Bobby’s amazing ability to throw things behind his back WITHOUT LOOKING, I went back up again to get another refill. He was at the other end of the bar but Stephanie was standing up there as well. She picked up the “gun” (the thing that the Coke and Water and everything is attached to) and was trying to figure out how to refresh her drink. As she was puzzling over the gun, Bobby came back over. She asked him which button the Sprite was on and he told her. She then asked him what the “L” button was. He indicated that was for Tonic.

Stephanie: I guess I should mind my own business and not play around with the gun.
DM (sotto voce): I have dreams about the gun.

Bobby gives me a strange look. So apparently, this was not under my breath as I had thought it was. I said this out loud! I admitted that I have dreams about the drink gun! OH MY GOD! What is wrong with me?

I might as well have just said “Hey, Bobby, guess what? One night I had a dream involving you, your extremely masculine hands, lime slices and a stream of Diet Coke being shot from the drink gun. Erotic? No, of course not. I would never have an erotic dream. And no, the Diet Coke wasn’t doing anything sensual…like cascading down my body. That would just be silly.”

I can never go back to The Chalet now. You realize that, don’t you?

Oh, and if you are wondering why the Rev commented with a ? (question mark), that’s because I accidently hit publish a few days ago without actually publishing anything.

See? I told you he’s affecting my mind! Bobby, not the Rev.

Previous Comments:

At 9:41 AM, Rev said…
?
At 12:09 AM, brooksba said…
OMG!I didn’t know that you told Steph and Bobby that you have dreams about the gun. That’s too classic! Love,Beth
At 4:58 AM, Weary Hag said…
Dana,This is hysterical! As Freudian as your “I dream about the gun” is, I will refrain from analyzing it!! I laughed so hard when you said you hadn’t written his name in your notebook or anything!! Those were the days. I found myself writing one of my cats’ names next to a crossword puzzle one night. What does this say for me??? Egad.Carol

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