Off to the Races: Part 2
You’ll remember, I went to the NASCAR race with a mission. I was there to recklessly flirt. I was not there to actually watch the race (that’s crazy talk!), so anyone who asked me who my driver was received a strange look from me. Driver? What do I care? I’m at the race for the men! And to enjoy the company of my sister and best friend Dawn (and while this may sound like an afterthought, I was really excited about a chance for us to bond and spend some time together).
This is a long post, so I’ll do a quick overview for those with a short attention span. At the races, I:
- Flirted with a guy in a cape. One I will likely never see again. Unless I visit Iowa and decide to become a farmer.
- Got turned down by military guys I hadn’t even decided if I was interested in.
- Almost molested a married man.
- Gave my card to a total stranger. All I knew was that he was single and his name was Ryan. It was good enough for me.
- Offered to show my breasts to someone if they showed me their penis.
- Found and lost my soul mate on a golf cart.
- Had a friggin’ blast.
So, here’s the full story …
When we got to the race, we sat in some general admission seats and began drinking. To my right, I eyed a guy further up in the stands with his married friend. He wasn’t conventionally cute, but something about him intrigued me. While texting my friend for strategy tips on recklessly flirting at a NASCAR race, out of the corner of my eye I saw an entire group of men sit down right next to us. They were all clearly drunk, and decked out in NASCAR gear. The guy on the end was attractive, wearing some sort of cape. I know, don’t ask. He was wearing a cape somehow related to NASCAR. What’s more important was that he was cute.
After meeting eyes several times and working up my nerve to flirt with my first NASCAR guy, I called him over and inquired about the cape. He immediately sat down and talked with me. Wow, more than I expected. I thought we’d just chat for a second, didn’t think he’d hang out. I learned that cape boy is from Iowa, and is working on his PhD in some kind of agricultural field. Henceforth he will be called Farmer (also per his request). Oh, and the group of guys Farmer was with? A bachelor party. Awesome. Like a package deal of men.
Farmer hung out for a bit. He asked me my name, and I told him. Later in the conversation, I quizzed him, “So, tell me what my name is?” His response, “Caitlin? Caroline? Umm…” I told him he could go back to his seat and brainstorm and get back to me. Suddenly, I could see the cartoon light bulb go off and he exclaimed, “Catherine!” Third time was a charm. I forgave him because he was drunk.
Farmer seemed smart and nice. I can’t tell you if he was a good conversationalist, because our conversation consisted of about 30-second spurts before the drivers came back around our bend, and it was far too loud to talk. This was not conducive to really getting to know someone, but it was very conducive to leaning in very closely and talking into each other’s ears. Fun times.
My main problem with Farmer was that he was a little too touchy-feely. I really enjoyed the leaning in and talking, but he kept putting his arm around me, rubbing my shoulders, just generally touching me. It seemed really strange to me, I felt like he was my boyfriend of years not some guy in a cape that I had just met. At some point, I finally asked him to chill out and he acted offended. But didn’t really stop. To his credit, my sister and Dawn have both indicated that I didn’t look like I was fighting the touching too much, so I guess my actions spoke louder than words. I’m an attention whore, and I’m not afraid to admit it.
The girls and I went out to find some food, and reconnected with some guy friends that were also at the race, but with much better seats. They knew about my flirting mission. While eating, there was a group of military guys nearby all standing together. A few of them were decent, and I joked that I should flirt with them. I wasn’t really serious, but my friend Joey decided to be my wingman and went to the group. He pointed me out to one of the guys in the group, telling him that I thought he was cute (I’m not sure I even identified a one that I thought was cute, but Joey took the liberty of choosing one for me) and that he should come over if he wanted to talk. Alas, he did not come over. I don’t count this as my own fail, because I don’t think I would have approached them if Joey hadn’t done all the work for me. I think it’s a fail on my wingman’s part. Onward and upward.
Back in the stands, and somehow now I’m sitting next to Farmer (everyone has changed their seating arrangements so we could sit together). Weird. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sit next to him, I just didn’t expect the first guy I flirted with that night to be the last. I had important work to do!
We all hung out, and had a blast. At one point, I talked to the brother of the bachelor (BOB). This guy was hot. I don’t know what it was, but he reminded me of David from Bachelor Pad. Who isn’t necessarily that hot, but there’s some kind of animal sexual attraction to him. I talked with BOB, and remember staring at his eyes (which were stunning) and suddenly forgot all about Farmer. I know, I’m terrible. At one point, I directly told him that his eyes were amazing and I literally couldn’t look at him anymore because of them (I was feeling a little weak in the knees), so I looked down. And saw his wedding band. BOB is married. Fail, Catherine! FAIL! I don’t know what I was thinking, getting lost in his eyes when there was a ring on his finger. I’m a rookie.
Farmer is now incredibly drunk. At some point, he smacks me in the butt. Are you kidding me? I don’t even know you, dude! I was mildly offended by this. But moved along. Until somehow he put his face in my boobs. Then I had to call him out. And I was officially annoyed.
Suddenly, the race is over. To this day, I can’t tell you who won. I probably watched a total of 10 minutes of this race. The only thing that occurred to me when the race was over that I became panicked, I’d been having so much fun I’d forgotten to flirt! I had flirted with Farmer. Been turned down by a military guy (but not my fault). I had flirted with married man, BOB, and felt like a terrible home wrecker afterward. But I didn’t feel like I had successfully recklessly flirted.
Suddenly, in a flash, I remembered the guy I saw in the stands earlier. The guy with his married friend. I notice they have started to walk out of the racetrack, since the race is over. I time it so that I walk out right next to him, and introduce myself. We are going to call him Single Ryan. Because I talked with him for literally 30 seconds and found out he was single and his name was Ryan. I have no other identifying characteristics to share with you. I told him I thought he was cute, wanted to talk with him earlier but couldn’t work up the nerve. I gave him my card, but I would bet money I will never hear from Single Ryan (similar to how I never heard from SPO). It was a total shot in the dark. But you never know, unless you try.
I headed back to my group of friends – new and old alike. I asked BOB for some of his beads. He said I had to flash him. I had to inform him that A) He is married. B) I’m not 18. C) This is not Mardi Gras. And D) I am not a ho-bag that flashes guys for beads. I can go to the store and buy my own, thank you very much.
Enter Mean Nice Guy. Mean Nice Guy is another guy from the bachelor party, who has had way too much to drink. Throughout the night, he has purposely called me Caroline about a million times (resulting in a rousing rendition of everyone singing Sweet Caroline, funny at first, annoying later) and accidentally spilled a beer on my friend. Mean Nice Guy proceeds to tell me that I do not want to flash BOB because I have saggy boobs. He can tell just by looking at me that my boobs are not attractive. I told Mean Nice Guy I can tell just by looking at him that he has a small dick. And that if he shows me his tiny penis, I’ll show him my awesome boobs. Somehow, he wasn’t agreeable. At this point, we decided it was time to part ways with our bachelor party friends.
Dawn, my sister and I got a ride to our car from a random guy on a golf cart. Actually, I’m still not sure how that happened. One minute, we were walking, the next I’m on a golf cart. On said golf cart, I proceeded to yell and hit on another couple of guys in a golf cart next to us. I was in rare flirting form (i.e. borderline obnoxious). One guy, I was convinced for a moment, was my soul mate. I tried to convince him to follow our golf cart to our final destination. They followed for a bit, but then thought better of it. I decided we should chase them. My sister disagreed. This experience was the reason for the following Facebook update by my sister:
Farmer and I had exchanged numbers (and of course I told him about the blog, I couldn’t resist). He texted me the following day, apologizing for his drunken behavior. He tried to get me to come out to Saturday’s race, and then later tried to convince me to pick him up and he could sleep on my couch. Yeah, right. Seemed like a nice enough guy over all, was certainly cute enough, but I am not going to be your one night stand in the lovely city of Richmond. I want casual, but not that casual.
Oh and I bet you are wondering why I named the jerk who made fun of my boobs Mean Nice Guy. Since the race, he tracked me down on Twitter and the blog. He read through every single entry, and wrote me a very thoughtful (incredibly long) e-mail and apologized for his behavior. He said that he hadn’t drunk alcohol in a couple of months and was having way too much fun with friends that he hadn’t seen in years. And he definitely apologized for the boob comment and said that he did not mean it. I have to tell you, his e-mail endeared him to me. And he called the blog amazing. The key to my heart is complimenting the blog. That is why he is now Mean Nice Guy. I think he’s nice underneath it all, but unfortunately I didn’t see that side of him in person.
So, that’s it folks. My night at the races. I’m off to research the cost of plane tickets to Iowa. Farmer was cute, after all. And I told you I needed an unattainable man.