The story of Mark-Greg

Yeah, I know... two blogs in one day. I must be really bored, right? Well, I actually got a lot done today. I finally took out all my summer clothes, packed away my winter stuff, baked brownies from scratch, cooked a fabulous spaghetti and meatball dinner....

... Oh, right... the Mark-Greg story. So, last night at Club Glam, there were quite a few nice-looking guys. I had noticed one in particular standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching everyone. Pretty cute, too. He made his way over to us and began dancing with Erin (damn my luck). His name was Greg, but Erin and I both thought he bore a resemblance to Mark Ruffalo. So he'll be known as Mark-Greg from now on.

Allow me a brief digression. If a guy wants to dance with a girl at a club, it is apparently quite acceptable for said guy to just sneak up behind her and start grinding her. Um, hello? Could you try asking first? Do guys do this because they're drunk? Because they're cocky assholes? Because they're too insecure to actually take a risk and ask if the girl wants to dance? (By the way, Dane Cook has an awesome bit about this on his first CD.)

So, back to the story. This guy is dancing with Erin - not speaking to her, as far as I can see - and I'm now left to dance by myself. That's always an awkward feeling. Especially with the floor to ceiling mirrors that line the wall behind the dance floor. Nothing quite like watching yourself dance alone. Yikes. And then, Mark-Greg pulls another infamous guy move - he pulls me over to dance with him and Erin. As if dancing alone weren't bad enough, now I get the "pity dance." I sound bitter... really, I'm not. But this has happened before, so I know the signs when I see them. See, what happens is that the guy (in this case, Mark-Greg), senses that it would behoove him to get on my good side if he wants to get anywhere with Erin. (However, unbeknownst to Mark-Greg, Erin is quite unavailable.)

At about 1:45 AM, Erin and I hit the bathroom and made plans to slip out of the bar. On our way out, they started playing a good song, and I insisted that we stay until it was over. We started dancing, and Mark-Greg slipped right back into place behind Erin. Several songs later, we finally managed to leave, only after Mark-Greg convinced Erin to give him her number. I told her she should have fake-numbered him, but she didn't think fast enough.

And thus ends the tale of Mark-Greg.