Column: Making it in Missoula

Is It All Just Lines?

By Little Sis, 10-23-06

One of my girlfriends gave me this movie called Easy (the title of which doesn’t reflect on either of us, as the rest of this week’s column will illustrate). The opening scene consists of messages on a woman’s answering machine that encompass all the ways men seem to use to disentangle themselves from commitment.

“Thanks for last night. I’ll call you next week. Or maybe the next.”
“So I’ll be out of town for the month.”
“You’re great, but I’m just not looking for anything right now.”
“Umm, I have a girlfriend . . .”

And from personal experience, my new favorite line:
“Is this going to change things between us?”
Um, yes, moron.

And my girlfriend’s favorite line:
“I’d love to hang out, but I have to go to the tricycle races.” This man is 35 years old.

With these lines in mind, I’d like to share my post-Spearhead concert experience. Everyone with energy left after jumping in time with Michael Franti made their way to Charlie B’s, and later to the Loft. Of course that included every ex-love interest, and some current ones, that live in town. It’s hard to decide which encounter was the most awkward.

The jerk the Cuz tried to set me up with before setting him up with my friend, who recently broke up with him? He gave me an all-too-familiar hug before spotting his ex across the bar and making a run for the back door.

The guy who insisted environmental functions required dates, and when we got there he realized we were at the wrong function (obviously there are too many non-profits in this town)? He was so drunk that he couldn’t focus his eyes or on a coherent conversation.

My most recent encounter, who I walked into the bar with? In a mutual fit of immaturity, we ignored each other for the rest of the hour we were there together. But it was that kind of ignoring when you know exactly where the other person is and who they’re flirting with, and making sure you’re receiving an envious amount of attention, too.

So, since none of these were promising opportunities for normal conversation, let’s turn to the random men instead. Here are a few encouraging tidbits from Tuesday night.

Me: “Can I leave my coat on this chair?”
Random Guy #1: “I’ll take care of all your clothing.”

Random Guy #2: “Have you ever had a manhattan?”
Me: “Um. . .”
#2: “This one I’ve got is too strong.”
(Some of you may be thinking, why is this funny? The answer is because we don’t drink manhattans in Montana. We drink dark beer and whiskey and gin. It’s too damn cold to drink anything else.)

Random Guy #3: sticks his hand down the back of my pants.
Me: shove him against the wall.

So, I’ve pretty much lost all hope in having normal encounters with the opposite sex in the Missoula nightlife scene. As a result, I’m staying away from all downtown bars this week. If I hadn’t had such a great time at the show, I might have called the night a bust. But Michael Franti is, luckily, unbelievable. Six-foot-six above sea level, and a beautiful reminder that not all men are jerks from the bar (or your last environmental function).


Quotes of the week:
“Oh cool, burp blankets! I never would have thought of that.”

“As if I’m not reminded often enough that I’m single and not having sex, I go to the doctor because I have a cold and she asks me when the last time I had sex was.”

Read the previous Making It In Missoula column: Tailgating in Its Many Forms

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