How it began

March 2006

Harris is working a job he hates at Duke.

Natalie still enjoys being a corporate sell out.

Harris is living with the ever Fly Brett White

Natalie still lives alone. She has learned her lesson.

Harris likes to go out sometimes.

Natalie goes out every Friday and Saturday to work the second floor bar at Ringside.

Busy New Wave night when Natalie sees Harris on the other side of the bar ordering a drink for someone. She thinks to herself, 'I am so much hotter than that chick he is with'

But he's not with that other chick at all.

who's that lady?

Ringside. What a world. Of course by this point I'm used to its terrible splendor. But at the time, living with the "ever Fly Brett White" (and he is), we would occasionally go out to The Best Damn Party In Town on that wonderous Saturday night known as 80s night. Not that I have that strong of an affinity to the 80s music, but hey, why not? It beats going to dive bars or other watering holes chock full o' Duke students (and you know who you are, jerks). So there we are at the self-proclaimed Best Damn Party In Town. Brett's girlfriend at the time has a friend in town who I've reluctantly accepted the task of entertaining (read: buying drinks, smiling, laughing at stupid jokes, and distracting her from the fact that her friend is too busy with her boyfriend to pay her much attention).

But what?

Who is THAT? No. Harris. No. It's cliche to fall for the bartender. You can't--my god she's hot. Sigh. Time go go....

Three days later.....

Yay for trivia night at the Joyce! Oh well, I lose again. But... who is this captivating woman sitting next to me? Why doe she seem familiar? And what's this? She's talking to me? Blind me! She--she's the bartender! And she likes talking to me? Must deftly insert request for phone number: "oh, my friends are leaving and i need to work in the morning and my house is on fire and my cat is hungry. but i really want to talk to you some more. can we exchange numbers?" Real slick, kiddo. But somehow it worked. We actually, and I'm not kidding, exchanged numbers on matchbooks. I still have mine.

to be continued...

And then I botched it

Being a corporate sell out is hard. Sure, the pay is decent, but the hours, the work, and managing several on-going projects takes a toll. Monday's are especially hard, yet I had made plans to meet this kid from The Joyce for a martini at Sirens later that evening. Ok, so I really did want to talk to him too. When we were at The Joyce, he didn't recognize me. I told him what he drinks, that I had served him the previous weekend at Ringside, and that when going out on Tuesdays I don't normally wear a cherry red wig.

His eye's show a flicker of recognition.

Oh! I thought you were so much more in...
Intimidating?
Well, I was going to say intense.

We made plans for the following Monday night. I got home from work that evening and decided to take a quick nap before going out. A quick nap turns into sleeping on the couch for four hours while the TV blares in the background. I wake up about two hours after I was supposed to meet him at the bar to two missed calls and a voicemail.