It's just one of those nights you drink out of the bottle, no cocktails spoken here.

I took Friday night off and found my way to another bar not too far from home. I've been there before, it's pretty decent, and the view is amazing.

In this city, it's hard to find a reason to dress up to go out. Friday night was even harder. I was feeling really comfortable. I could have looked cute, but I decided it was too much effort to be uber cute. A sweater, some fitted jeans, and some boots and I was comfortable and swanky. I ran a comb through my hair, ran some gel through my hair to enhance the curls and I was ready to go.

I started with wine, but it didn't feel like a wine night. I downgraded to Smirnoff Ice, and it got better fast. I was sitting at the bar, looking at the *social networking* going on, hedging bets against who was actually going to get punanny that night, who may get punanny if they worked their charm right, and who didn't have a chance of even getting touched by fire in hell, far less for any punanny. Yes, with a Smirnoff in hand, I am easily amused.

All of a sudden, I recognise someone. Cool, I have a cover while I mind other people's business, especially since it's more platonic than romantic right now. So we're sitting upstairs, observing the people of the night, when he introduces me to his crew for the night, one of whom I already know. Okay, I know I wasn't planning on man-trapping (sorry Gatita, I know I told you otherwise but my heart wasn't in it without you and Russo), but I think Chef-Dude is cute, and I always get extra helpings :D. Chef-Dude is flirting. I'm flirting back. Original friend is cool about it, he's investing in another drink. Chef-Dude is offering to buy me a drink. Okay, I'm among friends, cool... except the bar upstairs does not have bottled drinks. So we have to go downstairs. I grab his hand and take him downstairs.

We're flirting, we're laughing, and then I happen to glance at his hands because we were talking about the significance of him drinking Heineken and he reaches for his bottle at the same time and I realise there is a band on his left hand, ring finger.

I couldn't help myself. I literally asked: "What is that?"

"Oh this? I felt like having a little bling on tonight."

I had been a little friendly with Smirnoff but not that friendly. Ring finger, left hand is not "a little bling"!

I must have had the "are you serious" look on my face, because he followed up with, "But I am engaged."

I bared my teeth. It looks alot like I'm smiling, but those who know me knows there is a difference. Chef-Dude thought I was smiling at him. I didn't care to tell him the difference.

I took him back up stairs, Smirnoff refilled, and deposited him in the care of his drunk friend, who, to my amusement, proceeded him in a rousing game of "Let's chase the drunk guy around the bar for half an hour in an attempt to get him home". Meanwhile, original friend played for about 5 minutes, then settled in for another drink with me to watch his friends chase each other around the bar.

Original friend walked me home. We chilled on the countertop of my kitchen in the dark for about 15 minutes before he left. Somehow that was the part of the night that hit the spot. That and the Smirnoff.