I guess it’s that time. It’s the time I told you how my night went. I will try to give you the most detailed account I have, but recognize it will be influenced by lots and lots of whiskey. “My what big alcohol content you have.” said Little Red Riding Hood.
For starters, the concert…(just to build up your anticipation a bit)…it was mostly just this friend I have who has rhythmically okay beats and a sound system so shitty you can never make out the lyrics…the bar’s fault. He just sort of sings all passionately then starts jumping around the stage with the fire whisperer. It is cute. Anywho, I watched a little, danced a little, and got drunk A LOT.
Rewind a couple hours…before the show. I approached the fire whisperer (my fluffy ex-boyfriend for new readers). After reading this whole book about female empowerment at work I was like Fuck it, I’m doing this! It was much like with the tank top ordeal if you have been keeping up with my posts…except for, I did not grab a cardigan! So, about this female empowerment book…just kidding…I just love this suspense.
We greeted each other with a big hug like always (he does this to everyone for the record) and then had a small discussion about the necklace I was wearing…I may have worn one that he made me like a year ago. I know…creeper status. Poor guy probably thinks I have a shrine devoted to him in my room. I don’t…yet. We went to go take a shot together, where he waited a solid twenty minutes for me to decide what our cheers was for. I always have to have a reason for taking a shot as a way of justifying my drinking and enabling myself to drink further. Maybe a sign of alcoholism…I am unsure.
“Cheers to my last blog post.”
I said it as I threw back my shot as quickly as possible. Then he asked me, “How many times have you posted on your blog today?” I was like…”I don’t know, maybe three.” Then he replied saying, “I only read two.” Well good, I now have a reason to drink my next ten shots. Most guys I know do not read much, especially when it comes to very girly blogs like my own, so I assumed that he probably did not even remember the url. Although, I’m sure my Hall of Heroes roommate Catman Connor helped with that.
That was when he smiled, said he had to get on stage, and did pretty much just that. My friend Julie (from high school- we will develop a nickname for her soon because she is back in town) asked me why I was so nervous to see my own ex-boyfriend. I was like, “I’m not.” as my pitch raised 2 octaves higher and my eye started twitching. Then, there was that inevitable guy that facebook friend requests me the next day (there’s always one), sitting next to me telling me how beautiful I am and that he would never dump me given the chance to date me. Lies. Oh, and for that matter, why did he assume the fire whisperer dumped me?! Regarded I had virtually no interest in talking to him because I was too busy creeping on the fire whisperer who was jiving on stage. I cannot believe I just used the word jiving…and I call myself a writer.
Towards the end of the show, blondie arrived in a little black number, and greeted the fire whisperer with a hug that looked quite bigger than the one I received (based on my long-time developed knowledge on judging hug sizes). Fuck. I attempted to talk to him after the show but she intervened, so I felt it was my obligation…to leave. I texted him an apology for my blog posts if they ever offended him, where he responded with a long, heartfelt message with lots of cussing (on account of my blog he said), basically saying I like your blog but I don’t like you…like that. Well, at least that’s what I assumed because he ended it with “You rock! I love you!” Dude I already knew both those things. You rock? I love you? It felt condescending…like he was talking to a five year old child, which I guess makes sense because I so often times act like one.
My night fell short of expectations. I was like Cinderalla, except for the shoe I lost was never found and brought back to me by a handsome prince. I’m not sure in that metaphor if the fire whisperer is the shoe or the prince. Since I’m bummed…I’m going to go with the shoe. He’s like an ugly clog shoe. I know you all don’t know me very well, which is about to change when I rock your world with my new About Me page in a couple weeks, but I am more like a very sexy stiletto…but a short one. Apparently the fire whisperer prefers a nice sandal. There I am, beating that horse to its death with my sharp stiletto edge. With her and I, I feel like it always comes down to a blonde versus brunette thing. I mean, how could it not? She is blonde and I am brunette.
I ended our text conversation basically saying, “I’ll have a crush on you if I want to and there’s nothing you can do about it!” There’s that female empowerment book coming into play. I love being single and I will occasionally pull one of those *fist raised* girl power stunts on you unexpectedly, but if you’ve been reading my blog, I really do just want some fucking kisses….just preferably from someone I love and trust as opposed to the skeezy guys I just met who are sitting next to me at our beat-up wooden table on the bar patio. Kisses are currently MIA.
Ah, the fire whisperer reign is over. My skeeze of the day goes to the guy sitting next to me repeating how beautiful I am, following it up with a solid, “I’m not hitting on you.” Did you think that was going to win you any extra points? Oh you’re beautiful, but not so beautiful I would actually want to hit on you. Interesting strategy my friend…my facebook friend. He is stalking my photos as we speak, literally. I never really understand why people like your facebook profile picture, I’m always like…I like it too…that’s why I chose it?