Thursday, September 19, 2013

It's Safe to Say I'm not 15 Anymore

Remember being 15? No? Okay, me neither really. But I have been told I was a shit. I had blue hair, I kind of had to have been some sort of shit, even if it did just involve staining the bathroom sink blue, and wrecking every towel in the house.

But seriously, most of us spent that time trying to do what we thought was cool, and ended up looking completely fucking stupid for it. And it really didn't matter where you fit on the social food chain, be it popular cheerleader type (Which, in my school involved walking like you had one leg replaced with a metal peg-leg, because that how sexy girls walked), the angsty art kid (The thicker and darker the eye liner the more serious you should be taken. Hell, sharpie that shit right up to the brow bone.) or the big dumb kid who sat at the back of the class making bad jokes and laughing at your own farts (I don't really feel like an example is necessary here.)

But recently, I've discovered that no matter how much I say "I am 15 on the inside." I'm actually not. I'm actually almost-30, and yes, that's a real age.

So, on to story time.
"Fire men go down the pole, kids!"
So, since moving to the city I've discovered two things. 
1.) Everywhere I go, people ask me out. No joke. It's getting a little ridiculous, I'm at best a 6.5.
2.) I still fucking hate buses.

Now, when I lived in Vancouver I hated buses because everyone who talked to me on them was crazy. And not just like "I can see the future in tea leaves" crazy, but "I'm the King of Norway!" crazy (I did actually ride the bus every day with the King of Norway when I rode the bus in Van. He had a remarkable Canadian accent for foreign royalty.)

So, I happened to be riding the bus home one night, later than I normally do as I had gone out for pints with a friend to bitch about all the shit that happens with moving. I'm sitting there, doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone when I notice a very sexy, very heavily tattooed, very manly, man. 
Anyone that knows me knows men + tattoos = OMG. I mean not to get too graphic, but in the three seconds I saw him I envisioned straddling him right there in the bus and just licking his face. Have I mentioned I don't have sex anymore? Yeah, I should re-mention the fact because what that means is my imagination has taken one seriously fucked up and twisted turn for the worse. 

And then the weirdest thing happened, he got up and sat closer to me. Da fuck? Then, check this shit out, he said "Hi."

I KNOW RIGHT. SINCE WHEN? So I say hi back, we get to chatting about my foot tattoo and then it's my stop and I ding the little yellow dinger. Before we come to a stop he says "I'd like to take you out for a drink on Friday." and, get ready for it, get ready for it..HE HANDS ME HIS NUMBER.

Well shit. Colour me flustered (No seriously, I was magenta.) 

So I get home and text him, and we decide I'll text him again Friday to set it up. So then I text him Friday, and he asks if I want to take a walk down a popular street in my city, or go for a walk with his dog on some trails by the river and get a drink there. 

How awesome right? Go for a walk with a dog by the river with a hot tattoo guy? Get a drink on a patio? Lick his, wait, DAMNIT stop it brain! Back to being sexually repressed for you! So, I agree to go dog walking and river walking and he says "Cool, I'll call a cab."

I find it a bit odd that he's going to pack his dog into a cab to go for a walk, but hey, I'm from a place where if you don't own a car you'll actually just be shot and set on fire, so cool! Cab it up bro!...and then it gets odder. He says "I'm going to stop at the liquor store, can I get you anything." Wha? 

So I say "Wha? I thought we were going down by the river for a walk." and he replies with "Yeah, I know a great place where we can get our drink on." 
He asks me again what I want. Now here I'm trying to figure out how to tell this guy who's in a cab and en route, nicely, that there's no way in hell I'm meeting up with him in a public place to get smashed. 
"Well, I'm driving, so nothing." I reply. He then says "Well whatever, as long as you know I'm leaving for a two week shift away on Sunday so I need to let loose."
Okay, fucking seriously? SERIOUSLY??
"I'm feeling incredibly uncomfortable with this." I text back, while hucking my car keys at the couch cuz I won't be needing those anymore. "Maybe you should call up your buddies and see if they'll drink with you." I offer, and silently add and not in a fucking park d-bag
"All my friends are away working this week." he said "But whatever, have a good night."
I did my fucking hair for that. And you know what, I have like 800 lbs of hair. Fucking bullshit. 

So I figured that was the last of the frat boy. But no, he text me again on Sunday evening. "Hey, sup?" 
Unaware how to text out all the emotions in "AAAHHHH!" I replied "What's up?" Notice my distinctive lack of answering the ever pressing question of "sup?". 
"Just bored and lonley :(" he writes back. 

Needless to say, I didn't answer. So, later that night he text again "So I'm guessing this thing between you and me isn't going to happen?"
....Does that even need a comment. Here's a rarity for me, I thought "You know, I'll be nice to this guy because I'm getting the feeling he maybe just hasn't bothered trying to get past the fifth grade yet."

So what I said was "I just don't think your and my lifestyles are compatible." Yeah! Go me! Bein' nice and shit!
"Why? What did I do?" he said. For a moment I felt bad for him. 
"I'm just not much of a drinker." LIE "And I feel like you just need to find a girl who has the same hobbies as you." HILARIOUS

"Wow." He replies "So I'm getting judged on wanting to let lose before starting work. You're pretty shallow but whatever I guess. Have a good life."

I am NO---.....riiight, the face-licking-oh-he's-so-hot-thing.

Fine, I'm shallow, he's a drunk that likes to party in playgrounds (Wait....)


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