The only story I can muster up takes place somewhere between American Pie and Lost in Translation. On wednesday night my wonderful team won at Quiz (yes a capital letter is definitely needed here) and so, obviously, I got drunk. I spotted a hottie across the room (wearing a t-shirt saying Ipood - not so hot) and wandered over. To my surprise/glee, he took the bait and we ended up chatting all night. I probably could have kissed him - he had his arm around the back of my chair, his face was pretty close to mine (not in a space invader way) and he had already told this other guy that he thought I was 'cute'. But I chickened out, got his number, and went home. God knows why I chickened out - I guess I didn't want to be seen macking out with this guy in the bar I go to at least once a week, especially as he knows loads of people there too. I'm not hugely into public displays of affection.
So the next day we text and I end up going over to his apartment. He takes out his bong (I wish that was a sexual innuendo but it isn't) and I suddenly realise I am hanging out with what might as well be Jim from American Pie - there is a lava lamp on the table, a bong in his hand, and he's wearing skater shoes and unflattering baggy jeans. I honestly felt as if I was in a typical American teenager drama. We had agreed to go to beer pong at the same bar as the night before, and he had already signed me up as his team mate so couldn't bail. Beer pong was quite fun actually - we won, so kudos to me. But his chat/general existence was fairly awful. Yet another guy who feels the need to say 'Boom' at the beginning/end of most sentences. And he's sexist. And boring. And really not as hot as the night before.
So I got out of there sharpish. And there ends the story of the beer pong, the bong, and all that is wrong... Until I drunkenly phoned him on friday at 3am, once my beer glasses were tightly fastened and my 'standards' completely loosened.
Thank God he didn't pick up.
No comments:
Post a Comment