What do I love more than seeing my old high school friends at a local Target? Pretty much every single other thing. I hate visiting my hometown because I am always bound to run into that one person from high school that I did not want to run into. This is statistically more likely to happen because I do not want to run into any person from high school. Therefore, my chances have increased. They always start off with the hard-hitting questions like, “Did you graduate? What career are you doing? Are you seeing anyone?” and I’m like Need my social security number too? Fuck, can’t we start off with something easier like, “What are you buying here at the grocery store?” So then I can stun them by answering, “Oh, just some groceries.”
Why was I visiting my hometown you ask? None other than a good ole high school friend wedding. Well…high school frienemy? I kind of view all high school people collectively as the enemy. As my friends and I drove to the wedding, we all formed and stated our goals for the evening, mine being to get my roommate Connor to dance with me at the reception. Easy enough right? Not. He hates dancing, which is probably why I’m the only one dancing on our kitchen counter when he films it and sends it to all of our mutual friends…awesome. We get to the reception and behave for a solid half hour, when we then step outside to drink gin and smoke with all the groomsmen. Connor informs me (in front of everyone), Dick, that he will only dance with me if they play the song It Wasn’t Me by Shaggy. I was like okay you sly motherfucker, that sounds reasonable. I walk over to the bartender and ask him how the music is being selected. He informs me that the bride (my high school frienemy) has her iphone plugged in. I explained to him my desperate situation accompanied by my most charming smile and attempt at small talk possible. As I watched him unplug the bride’s iphone to play Shaggy, I smiled knowingly. Mission accomplished. Connor and I approached the dance floor uneasily, because honestly, how the fuck do you dance to It Wasn’t Me? After an awkward attempt at swaying, we resorted to a two-step that was worth every priceless second!
This all led up to my favorite part of the night, the ride home. As we (Connor- my roommate, Geoff- my friend’s version of the never boyfriend, and myself) walked to the car, Geoff immediately called shotgun. Fuck you Geoff you stupid motherfucker, now I have to sit in the back. “No, I want shotgun.” I replied tamely while trying to hold myself together, gin included. “Sorry, I already called it.” Geoff said, though I could tell that son of a bitch was not sorry at all. Then came the moment…the moment of truth. Connor, my roommate…the one and only roommate…the driver of our vehicle…my favorite bestest roommate ever… chimed in…saying…”No, I think my roommate’s gonna sit up front.” Hazzah! I didn’t even have to call shotgun motherfucker! Needless to say, I bought my roommate a 12 pack of Dr.Pepper the next day. All roommates unite for the fight against evil shotgun baller shot callers everywhere! Who’s the baller shot caller now Geoff?!
The reception was fun and so was the partying afterwards. I ended the night sitting on my couch eating french fries with my roommate talking about the “fire whisperer,” who Connor prefers to call “fire crotch.” A text from fire crotch is still missing in action, but I can hold my fire for another few days I am sure. On the plus side, even after reading my blog post about fire crotch and knowing I’m crushing on his best friend…again…my roommate still lets me ride shotgun.
My skeeze of the day goes to the guy texting me at midnight on saturday. I was sure it was some skeezy guy telling me they found my other glass slipper, only to find out it was my boss…the minister- telling me to put his laptop back on his desk after using it. Wow, that was worth a late night text to your not-so-sexy secretary. Sweet dreams to you too motherfucker.