One day he asked if I wanted to see his friends’ band play with his friends. Me, feeling like an asshole for turning him down repeatedly, thought a friendly hang out wouldn’t kill me. I mean, his friends would be there. How bad could it be?
I arrive at his apartment because there was no way in hell I was letting him find out where I lived.
I Ring the doorbell wishing I was buzzed already to deal with him.
“Heyyy” for what seems like two hours.
He kisses me on the cheek. Friends do that right?
“Wow. You look nice.” Friends compliment right? Did he just sniff my hair? Lord.
I walk in and sudden silence occurred amongst his roommates and friends. I was worried I forgot to put a shirt on because they were just staring in silence.
“Hi?” Awkward.
We hung out for a bit and then mingled. I had more in common with everyone else than I did him.
Talking to him was like talking to my hand.
“What’s journalism exactly? I majored in awesome in college. I have basically no body fat.”
I needed a timeout, or a sling shot. I went inside where his roommate who happened to look like my teenage dream, Brandon Boyd, was playing his guitar and singing.
Did I do something to deserve punishment? Why am I not hanging out with this guy?
Sliding glass door flys open. He found me, shit. He sits down next to me, and by next to me, I mean basically on me.
“What song is that bro?”
Ugh, how do you not know Eric Clapton. Stop talking...you’re ruining my daydream about your roommate.
We finally leave and take the longest drive ever. He was buzzed and fist pumping out the window. Help.
I was sitting in the backseat with his friend's girlfriend when I noticed the two guys to two girls ratio. Amazing. I like his friends. I’m just going to stand in the middle of them all night, even though they’re a couple and it will be weird. For them, not me.
An hour later I go to the bathroom. Wondering how long I can hide in there, I call my friend who tells me she would come get me. No, that’s dick.
I go to the bar and order a drink. Solitude. Oh, just kidding. I turn around and there he is. How does he find me so fast?
“I wanted to get you a drink since this is our first date,” he says with googly eyes and a baby voice.
Excuse me what? First date? Maybe if I swallow my straw, I’ll choke and I can end this all right now. No, he’d probably be the first to start CPR on me.
“I’ll get you a drink next time we’re out.”
Next time? Is this like one of those Lifetime movies where the girl goes on a date and because she’s not into it, he leads her to a dark alley at the end of the night and kills her?
Why aren’t my drinks working? It’s like my body is retaliating alcohol.
Insert awkward moment his friends take a cigarette break and he tries kissing me in which I turn my head like “I didn’t know” and he gets a mouthful of hair.
Also note how he wouldn't stop playing with my hair.
Stop touching me.
We leave. Hallelujah.
They drop me off at my car. He gets out too.
Here we go.
Why is the car leaving?
“So…” he said with a smirk leaning against my car like he’s a drunk cast member on the Real World.
“Well, I will talk to you later and thank you!”
“Wait.”
No.
“Don’t I get a kiss?”
Are you kidding me? What to say, what to say. Say something Jessica.
“Uh, anticipate the future?”
That's what I said? I am such a misleading bitch; I'm definitely condemned to what will be hell on earth: a loveless life.
“Please, please, please. Come on. I deserve one. Come onnnnn.”
He’s begging now? He deserves this? I have to go.
I finally escape.
Of course, he thought we really hit it off that night. He also continued to text me as if we were in a committed relationship all too often proceeding the “date.”
We leave. Hallelujah.
They drop me off at my car. He gets out too.
Here we go.
Why is the car leaving?
“So…” he said with a smirk leaning against my car like he’s a drunk cast member on the Real World.
“Well, I will talk to you later and thank you!”
“Wait.”
No.
“Don’t I get a kiss?”
Are you kidding me? What to say, what to say. Say something Jessica.
“Uh, anticipate the future?”
That's what I said? I am such a misleading bitch; I'm definitely condemned to what will be hell on earth: a loveless life.
“Please, please, please. Come on. I deserve one. Come onnnnn.”
He’s begging now? He deserves this? I have to go.
I finally escape.
Of course, he thought we really hit it off that night. He also continued to text me as if we were in a committed relationship all too often proceeding the “date.”
The Troubador is now ruined for me and he still doesn't know what Journalism is.
