I Could Be Married By Now

Wow.  That is certainly a loaded statement, but it is the truth.  Before I became a reformed party girl, I had my fair share of bar nights.  Those nights are filled with crazy, bizarre, unique and extraordinary stories that can only happen to me because, well, I am just that lucky.  I have a magnet that attracts every creep and weirdo in vicinity.  I am too friendly.

But, I digress.  I decided to add a new mix of topic into my blog, and that is going to be some stories from my ‘glory days.’  I never thought anything of these stories.  They’re just silly anecdotes I thought every girl has, but the more I tell them to my coworkers and see their reactions, the more I realize my stories are not common.  So, without further ado, for your laughing pleasure, I will divulge.

With all my friends now getting married, and me being the perpetual bridesmaid, I thought this would be a great time to discuss how I, in fact, could be married by now.  I have been proposed to twice in my life.

Sure, they were both in jest (I’m hoping) by complete strangers in a bar, but that stills counts, right?

My junior year of college I went out with my roommates for a ‘girls night’ on Valentine’s day in the city.  We went down to McSorley’s, which was all of our first times there, and it was quite the show! First, if you have never been, you should absolutely go! When you get there you only have two options, light or dark ale.  You also cannot order less than 2 beers at a time.  Being the ladies that we were, we each got 2 light ales and proceeded to look for a table.  Since it was Valentine’s day (and McSorley’s in general) it was pretty crowded, but we were able to obtain a seat nuzzled up to some new friends.  Some time and several drinking games later, we began to make friends with several different groups, including a young ginger[1] who was dressed in a suit.  He was obviously a bit intoxicated, but he was nice and entertaining to the group.  However, by the end of the night when we went to leave, he got down on one knee, handed me his business card, and proposed. 

Needless to say, despite being humbly flattered, I declined said proposal.  After all, I could not let him make such a big decision after a night’s worth of drinking . . . and he had no ring. But, what made the proposal so much more memorable, is that my dear new fiancé, Jeffrey[2], was a blimp pilot.  Yes, you read that right, Jeffrey was a blimp pilot.  How many of those do you know? Not many, I am sure!  Jeffy, that is my pet name for this man I never saw again, had the best business card I have ever seen.  No, Patrick Bateman, it was not watermarked, but it did have a picture of Jeffery in a captain’s hat and a suit.  I have never seen a picture on a business card before, but it was quite entertaining.  That business card stayed on the door of our room for the next two years.  Clearly, he left quite the impression.  Jeffrey, if you’re reading this, wherever you are, I hope you had the gall to propose to another girl, and I am jealous.  You were the one that got away.

As if that were not a special moment that could not be topped, I received an additional proposal several years later.  One random Thursday in the spring a few years back, I decided to go meet my ironworker friends at a local bar after dinner.  The thing with New York City Ironworkers that I should point out before I start this story is that there are two main sister locals, 40 and 361[3].  While these two locals are sisters, they do have quite the rivalry between them.  Local 40 ironworkers have an air of superiority around them, and local 361 ironworkers just want everyone to get alone. Now that that’s out of the way, let the story commence.

Upon walking into the bar, I see my friends, a mix of both 40 and 361 ironworkers, and then see some unfamiliar faces that I know are in local 40.  One man sitting alone, of course, in the corner of the bar near my friends starts chatting me up.  He is bald, shaved head, except for a patch on the back of his scalp that has been fashioned into a shoulder length ponytail.  He has obviously been drinking for hours, as his slow speech can attest, his hands are filthy, and his arms are covered in tattoos.  After noticing I was the only attractive girl within grabbing distance in the bar, he decides to grab my arm, pin me in the corner, and converse with me about ironworking; my friends, brother and boyfriend at the time saw no problems with this . . . just free entertainment! This man, ladies and gentlemen, was Canada’s very own Chaz.  After this encounter, I started hearing ironworker stories about him all the time, about how he never wore a harness and would climb columns 15 stories in the air with his bare hands.  Chazzy is a legend, a madman, and a very proud local 40 journeyman. 

After listening to him put down Local 361 and assert Local 40’s superiority, I decided to rile him up a little.  He had a tattoo of the Verrazano bridge on his arm, which just so happens to be both Local 40 and 361 joint territory. Being the sassypants that I am, I decided to inform him that if he felt Local 361 was so insignificant, he should not have tattooed that half of the bridge on his arm.  This fact made him so angry (or turned on..still unclear) that he pushed me further into the corner, got closer into my personal space, and told me he likes my spunk.  He then proceeded to tell me he wanted to take me up to Canada to his reservation, marry me and bite the Achilles tendons off my feet so I could not run away from him. 

WELL, as if that was not the most romantic proposal ever, I still had to politely decline.  I have been a bartender for 8 years, and I have NEVER heard something more horrifying in my life.  Still, through all this creepy banter and my horrified expression, my friends (and BROTHER) did not step in.  Thanks a lot, guys!  I was only able to wriggle free from Chaz’s clutches after politely declining his proposal, saying I was already betrothed to someone else.  White lies that help protect people’s feelings aren’t really lies, right?  After that I pretty much booked it[4] out of the bar and never heard from him again.  I do still see him from time to time though, and we just make eye contact and smile at the one beautiful memory we have together; a brazen proposal to a terrified, sober girl.

While these may not sound like every girl’s fairytale fantasy proposals, these were pretty typical ‘day in the life of Gabrielle’ stories.  Ladies, whenever you’re out with your girlfriends and you feel there is some creep who just will not leave you alone, remember, there is always someone who has it worse.  And don’t worry, it is most likely me.  In this celebratory time of all my friends getting married, I have had a lot of time to reflect.  I could have been married by now! I could have been Mrs. Blimp Pilot or tendonless Mrs. Chazzy.  Did I miss my opportunity?  Will I never get another chance at true happiness?  Oh how I hope my next proposal can top these two trials of love.

Disclaimer: Please note that while this blog is 100% true, it is written in satire.  I am aware that they were not real proposals.  Unless you are reading this and want to propose to me in the same fashion, then it’s completely acceptable.  Call me, maybe?

---

[1] Ginger: A person with red hair, pale skin and freckles.  ie-my favorite type of people!

[2] Yes that is his real name.  I can remember his ENTIRE name all these years later because the story was just that impressionable.

[3] Sorry, 46 and 580, but you gotta sit this one out.

[4] Booked it: Colloquialism.  Ran really really quickly