Enthusiasm

It's story time!

There once was a bar.
It was a magical place called "Rumors," and during the day it was a bar that catered mostly to the rainbow crowd. However, one night a week a magical thing would happen there. In fact, the MOST magical thing ever:

80'S NIGHT

It's the most wonderful and special night of the week. You dress up, get 2 dollar Wells, and then you dance until your feet hurt and you're no longer sure what Michael Jackson song you're listening to but you fucking KNOW it's the best song ever. You do the sprinkler. You do the cabbage patch. You make fun of couples trying to grind. You sing along. And you certainly DON'T STOP BELIEVING. 

Anyways, so, yeah, 80's night.

I went two weeks ago. It was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to a human being.

Or...that is until I started dancing with a guy.

Is guy the right word? A dude? A man? A gentleman? No, none of those quite work. I'm going to call him: OverlyEnthusiastic McTextTooMuch

OE McTTM!

We danced (not as awesomely as P-Swayze and Baby though) 

and OBVIOUSLY we ended up 'going outside for a smoke' and making out. Surprise!

He seemed nice and we almost had a real conversation when he wasn't trying to make my come back to his house in Lynden (fuck that noise) and I wasn't giving him bullshit excuses like class and homework. 

Because of my 'too nice to say no' thing, I gave him my number. My phone had died but I promised to charge it when I got home. Eventually my excuses wore him down and he left, and I was able to go back to my friends and get some good dancing in before the end of the night.

When I did get home I remembered to charge my phone, and as soon as I plugged it in...HOLY SHIT! a text from OE McTTM. Who would have guessed that plot twist?

I responded. Because I'm a moron.

Thus began a two day text conversation, which, for those of you who are real people, is WAY TOO LONG to text a person you don't know. 

He would send those "I'm bored, what are you up to?" texts as if we had known each other for a while. He send PICTURES of himself on his motorcycle or in his tank. He told me about his friends, and what they were up to. He, most importantly, asked for pictures.

What is this, junior year of high school? Sexy pictures to a person you don't know? Really?

Who the fuck does he think I am?

No way.

So this dragged on. He kept asking me to call him, and trying to call me. He kept talking. I kept awkwardly responding. I honestly didn't know what to say. It's so cool that he really likes paintball (which I've never played and never plan to), and it's cool that he's in the army (yet another thing in which I have literally no interest), and blah blah we have nothing in common. But man, did he keep texting me.

Like we were six months deep in a relationship, or were planning a goddamn bank heist or something (relationships and robbery are pretty much equivalent, right?).

Then he tried to call me one last time.

Ignored that shit.

Everything went quiet. Three days passed. I could tell he was pouting, I could just feel it from the silence. Then the next 80's night arrived. 

Around 4pm I received this:

"R u coming out tonight?" (text speak infuriates me)

I did not answer.

Around midnight I got this:

"Come out."

Aaaaaaaand case closed.

That well constructed and convincing argument was really hard to ignore, but somehow I managed. You must be impressed with me.

That should have been the end of it.

Well...it's not.

I wasn't participating in the magical wonder and joy that is 80's night because I had a friend's 21 Run on Friday, and when I went out for that...GUESS WHO WAS THERE!

Oh, OE McTTM, you tricky bitch.

I was in line for drinks, buying shots for my and K-Dog (my newly 21-year-old friend) and when I turned around he was rightbehindme! (the lack of spacing indicates just how close he was to me)

I smiled politely, because that's what you do to people you make out with at bars, right? WRONG. He looked at me, glared a tiny bit, and then looked away.

Flat. Out. Ignored.

I guess he goes out a lot in this city. So...I'll probably run in to him more.

Lucky for us.

Moral of the story: Don't text a girl for two days straight right after you meet her. It's fucking annoying.

Holiday Hello

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, SLUTS!

How To:

New Feature:

Every few posts I'm going to share with you the best possible way to do something. A How To section, if you will.

For our first time, I'm going to teach you:

How To Make A Guy (Or Girl) Stop Hitting On You.

We have ALL been hit on.
For some of us, it happens almost constantly and to the point where you run out of ways to say no.
There's the classic: "No, I'm not interested."
A more polite: "No, thank-you though."
Or the more forward and more rude: "Get lost."
There's even: "Get out of my face."

But those don't always do the trick.
Sometimes a dude is too forward or too drunk and you gotta pull out the big guns.
Pretending to be a lesbian only works if he isn't going to try and make you come home with him AND another chick.
Saying you have a boyfriend is reliable but he could always ask you to come for a ride anyways, since your boyf isn't here, obviously.
Or you can ignore him and walk away, but that can be awkward and usually means you spend as much time avoiding someone as you do enjoying the bar or club or museum or opera.

Here's what I've started doing:

Say you're married.

I was in Florence about two months ago and I was walking to the store to get groceries for my family while they were at a museum.
A guy came up and asked me for a cigarette and I gave him one. He then started making conversation.
"Where are you headed?"
"The store, I have to get food for my family for dinner tonight."
I don't know why he assumed this, but he asked, "You married?"
My choices were to say no and have to keep talking to him, or lie.
"Yeah, three years now."
In my head I'm married to this guy, just for reference:

Oh Jason.
And the guy said, "Oh, wow, I really respect a married woman, that's great."
"Yeah, love of my life, haha."
"Do you have kids?"
Well...I hadn't seen that coming. But sure, already married to Jason Segel, might as well have a kid...and a fat dog:

Only after telling him I was married and had a child did he seem willing to let me walk away and buy a pound of brie at the Esselunga.

Moral of the Story: Tell 'em your married. It's douchey to hit on married women.