Now I Know Why I’m Single

Scenario:  Saturday night I was out with my friends from home. A and I started out on our own, sitting at a bar watching the Georgia game over beer and pizza, waiting on everyone else to get in town. When they finally arrived we ended up at my favorite bar, cheering with the rest of the crowd that had dodged the rain instead of sitting in the stadium.  After watching Georgia kick a winning field goal, screaming ‘Glory, Glory to Ol’ Georgia’ at the top of our lungs with the whole bar, and Dawg-calling for about twenty minutes, we decided to make some moves and ended up at three different bars with three times as many drinks, single-handedly leading a dance party at the last bar of the night.

Half the group left to go home, and the other half waited for our ride, and as we were walking out of the last bar I happened to notice a football player (whose name I will no longer ever mention), who I have a class with.

Mind you, we have never spoken more than our group discussion has allowed. He doesn’t know my name, and I only know his because I’m mother f-ing creepy (I also have this thing for athletes, and for football, and, well, that’s just a loaded combination).

I digress.

So I spot him as I’m walking out the door, and one of the 234,085 drinks I had that night told me it would be a good idea to call his name and say hi.  And that is precisely what I did. And all of a sudden one of the guys I was with absolutely NEEDED to see more of this guy. And I had to show him who I was talking about.  So I may or may not have pointed him out and called attention to A PERFECT STRANGER. Because that’s just what I do?

It didn’t occur to me to be embarrassed (read: humiliated, like want-to-dig-a-hole-crawl-in-and-die kind of embarrassed) until Sunday morning when I realized that, OH YEAH, CLASS MONDAY, where there are all of 20 people, and I’m one of them and SO IS HE, yeah I’m going to have to see him again.

I mean, it’s not like I saw Peyton Manning walking around and I was an adoring fan so I called his name, oh no. This kid is a college football player. Sure he might go pro one day, but right now? No one cares. Except me.

Needless to say I was mortified walking into class this morning. I totally lucked out as I walked in at the last minute and we watched a movie in the pitch black room for the entire class, but for the next ten-ish weeks I’m going to have to relive my horror on a tri-weekly basis.

Verdict: It’s no f*cking wonder I’m single.

per usual

My roommate: “(Girl) goes big or goes home. But she doesn’t go home.”

That might explain the massive hangover that lasted until about oh, HELL, as we speak. Last night was so worth it though.

FML

Y’all. Drunk post of the century right here. I’ve already made three corrections in the first sentance, but damn it to hell if this post isn’t the most gramatically correct one I’ve completed in a while.

Anyways.

Tonight I went out with a few neighbors, friends, and The Boy. And Internet, The Boy is just NOT turning out how I want him too.

For starters, my sweet little SBR and my closest neighbor A both think The Boy is Gay. Not such an easy one to swallow. But tonight, when he started “flirting” with someone else (a girl who is in love with another neighbor, so it doesn’t really matter but it kind of does and it still makes me jealous/sad/mad/WHATEVER), I just lost it. As in, quit talking to him, quit looking at him, whatevs. So when The Boy’s new girl starts flirting back with her neighbor boy (can you even follow me here?), and The Boy starts chatting with me, and I’m all “oh E, let’s CHAT, you are so COOL, FML I HATE THE BOY ACROSS FROM ME,” well y’all. That’s all I got. E went to his house, The Boy went off with my boy neighbor, SBR never came out, A (who thinks The Boy is gay to begin with) came home sad that HIS boy didn’t come home with him, and here the fuck am I, trying, hoping, praying, wishing, and so-help-me-Lord-typing-gramatically-correct-in-my-drunken-stupor ALONE.

FUCK. MY. LIFE.

Honestly.

I’m trying to keep the faith. I’m trying so hard. And I won’t give up, not now, not ever, and not because I know I shouldn’ t.

But sometimes life, LOVE, is hard.

OH and FML x2 when my phone vibrates at 2:32 in the morning, and my stupid self, eager to see who it might be, finds a txt from BANK of AMERICA, telling me my daily balance.

REALLY?!

I may or may not have….

posted completely drunk

waved a ridiculous “hello” to the college Basketball team’s badass player who was riding in a VW bug (who doesn’t know me, BTW)

kissed every boy i knew hello AND goodbye

told my friend, a swimmer from UF, that the Olympics made Ryan Lochte a bitch, all the while meaning that Lochte made the olympics HIS bitch

partied at the gay bar with my favorite cousins and favorite gays

called our resident cabbie Omar and told him how much I loved him

talked in the Old Gregg accent for a bit too long

and developed a huge(R) crush on someone.

—–Oh Lord help me.

A Lame Attempt At Sober.

It took me three or four tries to type the fucking title.  So here I am, 2:59 a.m., finally in my bed after a crazy night. I had high expectations, and all I can show for it is the damn good grammar that might just take me an hour to get, but believe you me, I will do it.  Anyway, we started at Rye Bar where I met the publisher of a local magazine of which my friend is the editor.  I told my friend that any editorial needs they had? I would cover.  I got the publisher’s card later when he offered me his seat, happily telling me “his mother would be proud” that he had offered it to me.  I didn’t take it. But I sure as hell took his business card.  We headed to a few bars, one of which looking for my Cute Bartender, who wasn’t working but was on the deck, so I learned as we were leaving.  Such is life.  Met some bitches in the bathroom, I remember that.  I had a Mr. Boston’s Vodka Tonic–always said Mr. B makes me angry, so I’m sure I didn’t make friends with the bitches in the bathroom, just remember they were bitches.  Other than that I had a fun night.  Caught up with friend Justin at another bar, danced a bit, and declined the after-party invitation for a free ride home.  Finally I made it back, just have to figure out how to get my car in the morning.  We’ll see what the weekend brings.