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.

It started with the rain this morning.

Actually I woke up and the ground was almost dry, but it did start with the rain.

So I woke up late after pressing snooze for oh, forty minutes, hopped in the shower, and threw on some clothes.  And that, most specifically, is where it started. I put my rain boots on and folded my jeans, but got uncomfortable and tucked them in, but got uncomfortable, and… oh hell. Then I had to do my hair. Put it up, took it down, did it half-way, took it down, screamed some choice words, looked at the clock and ran out the door (but I was on time for class).

Made it through my first class and work, then opted to drag myself through the rain to my second class instead of high-tailing it home to my bed. And was in the middle of Psychology of Aging that I shed tears number 1, 2, and 3. My professor showed a documentary on Alzheimer’s and for some reason it was upsetting, and I don’t want to see anyone I love going through that, and the moral of the story is I never want to get mother-fcking old.

On to Anthropology (my final elective… EVER). Where I get a text. From the girl that I used to work with that was supposed to go with me to our boss’s wedding? Yeah, she wasn’t going to make it. And the other coworker that was to be my saving grace? Yeah he wasn’t going either.

Fast forward to my freaking out because what the hell am I supposed to do about that? when I arrive at the tailor to pick up my dress for said wedding.

Which is not wearable.

Because the zipper that was hidden that needed fixing?

Was now HUGELY VISIBLE and FIXED and LOOK, I DID WHAT YOU ASKED!

No, kind sir, you mother-fcking DIDN’T and now I CAN’T WEAR THIS!

So then fell tears 4-3o,875,430.  Yep, starting right there in the tailor’s and ending somewhere over an hour later in my bed on the phone with my parents. Both of them. On speakerphone. Telling me that it would be FINE for a 22-year-old girl to go to a wedding BY HERSELF! FINE I tell you, and you never know but you might meet someone there, and they might hit on you! OK ENOUGH ALREADY.

…

So here I am, a few hours later with a massive headache, no dress, and a mani/pedi that my parents (ok, my mother) insisted I get to cheer myself up.

And I guess I feel better, but I shed tears 3o,875,431 and 3o,875,432 just thinking about this stupid debacle.

Maybe it doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Maybe it isn’t a big deal.

But Internet. Go to a wedding BY MYSELF?!

I think I’m going to the humane society to pick out some cats first, because it seems like I’m destined to become a cat lady any day now.

[BY MYSELF?!]

I can’t make this stuff up

if I supported drunk facebooking, I’d change my status to…

It’s 12:30, the bars close at 2, and I’m already at home
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KEEP ME OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF YOUR DAMN CONVERSATIONS
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Just tell me how you feel already
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Along the same lines, WHYYYY
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Stop talking, I don’t want to be in the middle of this conversation!!! SHUT UP!
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REALLY, because why did you just text me that if you don’t plan on responding to me?
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I suck at life.
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ANSWER ME DAMNIT!
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My heart is going out to four families tonight
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WHYYY do you have a girl-that’s-not-a-girlfriend-but-i-still-don’t-know-what-to-call-her-but-you-are-still-off-limits FML
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That is all.