Losing Control

I learned something important about myself recently:

When it comes to a cute guy with pretty eyes, I totally lose all rationality.

This should have come as no surprise to me. History and literature is riddled with stories of women who lost their heads when it came to a pretty guy with sweet words. My personal favorite has to be Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Or Ariel. As in Ariel from Disney's The Little Mermaid (Don't even get me started on that. She has to leave her entire world behind, her family, her friends, her sidekick Flounder, just to be his wife?!?! I'd like to see him make some comparable sacrifices. WTF!)

Not to mention I have plenty of friends, both male and female, who lose all rational thought when around attractive members of the opposite sex. I find it pretty amusing to watch from afar, but of course, part of the fun is to be removed from it.

Well, not so much.

Straight up: there is nothing, NOTHING, about Epic Fail that suggests any long-term potential, and therefore that I should waste any of my time on him.

I am fully aware of this, which is precisely why last week I had a heart-to-heart with him and told him that we would be better off as "just friends," otherwise known as the kiss of death. I could tell he was hurt, but understanding all the same, and I vowed to really follow through on this friendship promise.

Which is why a few nights later, I stopped by the bar where he was hanging out with his friends to meet them for a few drinks. I was pretty relieved to find that there was little weirdness between us, and friendship was a distinct possibility.

That is, of course, until I had one too many drinks and I found myself gazing into his pretty blue eyes wondering what it was exactly about him that had made me disregard him to begin with. And in my drunken haze, I absolutely couldn't recall any of his (many) faults.

So, before I regained my senses, I leaned over and kissed him. The poor confused boy just looked at me with his blue eyes and said, "S, what are you doing to me? You told me that you just wanted to be friends!"

To which I stammered, "Oooooh yeah....."

I distanced myself to talk to (MAYBE flirt with) Dirty Irish Boy when he spilled the bombshell on me that Epic Fail had been upset when I ended things and had confessed to his friends he thought I was "marriage potential."

I thought this seemed like a good time to make my graceful exit from the bar, so I went to say good-bye to Epic Fail and his last words to me were, "I feel like you're messing with my head."

As I climbed into a cab, first I felt freaked out that he had even mentioned the word marriage after only knowing me for a short while, and then I felt even worse about the fact that I was totally messing with his head, despite my best intentions.

So now I know that alcohol and blue eyes do not mix. And in the words of my wonderful sister, I am "SUCH a jerkface."

Well said, E, well said.