You know how it is– you go on a couple dates with someone and they go really well, but then you tell her you’re going to write her a bunch of letters while she’s in NY and you don’t, and then she comes back and she happens to be at the same party unbeknownst to you but you’re all hammered and it seems like a good idea to make out with a kind of weird leathery Russian chick on the dance floor, and this original person whom you actually like sees you and then you read about it on her twitter, and are flattered to be called a “fake boyfriend” but somewhat aghast that she witnessed you making out with and actually fingerbanging said leathery Eastern Bloc type who was possibly like 45 years old, but then you have a decent text exchange months later so it seems like everything is cool, and then you run into her at the Echo Park Von’s over by the eggs and she is in some kind of emotional distress that may or may not be amplified by bumping into you at the grocery store. It could have gone either way. But it went well.
Anyway, I’m sorry you saw me making out with a chick who looked like a middle aged Slavic man. That would never have happened at a place where the booze costs money.