Three strikes, times two

I have a fairly staunch rule I set into place years ago.

I don’t let random men buy me drinks in bars. I know, many just gasped in horror, but its my rule and its served me well for many years and avoided many misunderstandings.

The other night, I was at a bar in downtown Nashville, visiting with friends and watching my husband play, when a guy decided to buy me and another friend of mine a drink. Under the impression (based on the conversation, etc.) that he knew my friend, I broke my rule and went along with it in the spirit of socializing with my friends.

I felt the need to walk away, though, when he would not take me seriously when I stated that my dream in life is to be a writer and that that is indeed what I have chosen as my career. Writing apparently was not a good enough for him and he kept pestering me for a different answer, and it was on that note that I walked away. I simply walked away and visited elsewhere until he left.

It was after this that I learned that he had been making a pill of himself with ALL the ladies in the bar and he was not, in fact, an acquaintance of my friend as I had believed. If he felt himself a “player,” he’d failed miserably.

Strike one: being a pill to all. Strike two: misrepresentation. Strike three: not taking me seriously.

It is cases like this that interactions both socially and professionally can be quite the minefield. You never know when someone is going to be legitimate. And it is within this uncertainty that I made my own three strikes in my discussion with this person.

1 – They make the first move, but reveal nothing about themselves.
In my interaction with this guy, I realized he told me nothing about himself, and I told him random facts about me. I was cagey, yes, but he learned I am married, work part-time at the bar, went to Texas A&M and that my passion is writing. None of this is exactly a secret, but its still more than I learned about him. I never asked, I admit. I didn’t want to know, and I hoped my disinterest in him would make it clear he needed to leave me alone. When it didn’t, I chose to walk away. But it is within this that I realized that I knew nothing about this guy. Nothing except that I didn’t trust him…

2 – Making an assumption.
No one told me this guy was an acquaintance of my friend. I drew that conclusion based on the fact that he was talking with my friend in close proximity, bought her a drink as well, and that they knew where one another was originally from. With those facts in hand, I made an assumption.

As my Dad reminds me regularly. Never assume. It makes an ass out of you and me. Call this a lesson proven true.

3 – Breaking my own rules.
When you have those personal rules, you stick with them. Go with your gut. Even if its not the most “cool” thing to do. Your instincts are there for a reason. Listen to them. I didn’t and I broke my rule of “no strange guy buying me a drink.” My very own strike three.

This whole thing is in the past and thus not worth my time to think about… however, its also a lesson to myself that I learned and will heed in the future.

Cat wrangling

Bailey & Sully
Bailey & Sully

I got my first cat, Sully, in 2003. Prior to that I’d been a devout “DOG PERSON.” Cats were evil, though I didn’t know why. I think it was because I brother didn’t like cats so I figured I shouldn’t like them either. However my now-husband convinced me otherwise.

So, in summer 2003, I became a dog AND cat person. Sully has proven to be… a grumpy old man even before he got “old.”

My vet’s office in Texas actually would warn new hires about Sully due to how he freaks out at the vets office. I would take him in to get his claws trimmed, and it would take four people to get the job done even AFTER a muzzle was put on him! Quickly it came to pass that I’d walk in and the words, “cat rodeo” would be uttered, and new hires would stare in awe and go, “So THAT’S Sully…”

Needless to say, I think they were relieved when I moved to Nashville.

In fall 2007, we adopted another cat. Little Bailey came into our life as a sweet, innocent, cuddly ball of fur. And in the past year grew up to be a spray-crazy, vocal little annoyance. We’d never gotten him neutered, and the last straw was the day he sprayed on our bed. The next morning I was making him an appointment threatening to “cut ’em off on my own with a pair of scissors” if the spraying didn’t stop already!

However, silly me did not make note of the fact that I’d scheduled the neutering (and shots for Sully) on a day my husband would be on the road. He has been safe and sound on a tour bus all day while I wrangled our sons.

Bailey wasn’t too difficult this morning. I honestly think it was just because he didn’t know what was happening. He’d never been in a pet carrier before, and it didn’t seem to phase him too much. I was amazed when they called me half an hour later to let me know the procedure had gone fine.

Sully, on the other hand, bolted as soon as he saw his pet carrier come out of the back shed. Wrangling him into the truck was not fun, but at least once he was inside the carrier he was nice and calm during the hour and a half wait in the waiting room to see the vet for shots and a checkup. I briefly, foolishly, thought maybe with age he’d mellowed.

NOPE!

Upon entrance into the examining room, my mellow, snugly Sully turned into something resembling a mountain lion. Hissing. Batting. Snapping. It took three of us to make the shots even happen! I swear it was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!

I eventually gathered up my babies — Bailey with a list of dos and don’ts for the night, which will be interesting to do and not do considering I have to work tonight — and came home. Only to hit my head trying to wrangle car carriers in the garage. (Don’t ask how, just know it was like the last straw.)

Now, Sully is Mr. Loving again. And Bailey won’t let me come within four feet of him without bolting. At least hubby comes home tonight and can watch the while I am at work. They’ll only go a few hours unattended. So hopefully no one pulls out any sutures not vomits all over the house.

Cat wrangling.

It really should be a sport.