I’m Forming A Committee of People Who Will Make Romantic Choices FOR Me. I Have Fired Myself.
Remember that one Valentine’s Day where you were going to stay home, drink a glass of wine and catch up on work, then maybe watch a movie and get some desperately needed rest?
No? That’s right! You got drunk and went to the bars for a completely predictable lonely-hearts club party and got wasted before getting NO sleep and going to work hungover and TORE. UP. Bravo.
This is the conversation I had with myself yesterday morning while hazily trying to remember where my keys, lipgloss, and pride were.
Anyway, that was my Valentine’s Day…. And just for good measure, I fell both in and out of love in the course of half an hour and now have a stalker.
I was engrossed in conversation with easily the most attractive guy I’ve seen in a long time and I was silently singing the praises of the Valentine’s Gods for finally cutting me some romantic slack. Yeah, he was totally rocking the grungy, artsy thing but he owned his own company. Because I had maybe one too many glasses of wine by this point, I just reveled in my good luck, and didn’t consider that a guy like that realistically doesn’t exist. But no, I was busy being enamored with my good fortune. It was the best of both worlds. An artsy capitalist. A tall artsy capitalist. A HOT, tall artsy capitalist.
But… then… under his beanie (yes, beanie), I thought… wait… did I just… is that… do you have GREEN hair? “Yeah, I’m super pissed it was supposed to be blue.” Oh… Well. No, that’s not better.
“I write music too, the tattoo on my arm is my own lyrics actually.”
… Because OF COURSE they are.
And after about 45 minutes and 9 red flags later (not even counting the botched Marge Simpson hair), I realized I had not seen him with any friends. At all. Fuck. Did I just give my number to a guy who came to the bars ALONE on VALENTINE’S DAY?
Yes. Yes I did. And now he won’t stop texting me about how “sad” he is.
And I had hoped to make out with a stranger, but didn’t. (This was, strangely enough, disputed) I have some sort of inherent cock-block tendency though that reared its ugly head that evening. I generally do not do well with the sort of meet-a-stranger-let-em-touch you kind of game. I’m awkward, and I need to validate every physical encounter I have. In other words: if I make out with you, I expect us to date. If you see me naked, we’re practically facebook official. In essence I was silently screaming in my head “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?” at everyone in the bar that evening. Well, not everyone. The guy with green hair already did love me.
…Because OF COURSE I would manage to attract only certifiably insane loners.