December 19, 2005

Three Strikes and I'm Out

1. I had a study date with Footsie Boy this weekend. It didn't really go well. Well, I guess it did go well, as I'm pretty sure I'm well-versed in TV and Cinema history. We were sitting together at a table and went over all our notes. Or rather, I went over my notes and retaught him the entire semester, as he kinda didn't get a lot of it. And then one of his friends came along and sat with us, and then they went for a cigarette, and then we finished going over my notes, and that was it. No footsie, no flirting, nothing. It's okay, though. Over the course of the study session, I realized that Footsie Boy really isn't that smart, which knocked him down multiple pegs. Strike One.

2. Remember how I said that there was a guy online who wanted to give me a foot massage, and I was thinking about letting him? Well, I talked to him online once or twice, but he said he was going to go take a nap or had friends coming over soon. He hasn't initiated any conversations since then, and I think he's lost interest. Strike two.

3. A friend of a friend was staying here for the weekend, taking a pit stop on the drive from Savannah to Minnesota. My friend invited me over, since she always thought he had gay tendencies, and she wanted to find out for sure.

I walked in, and saw that he had an impeccably coiffed fauxhawk, multiple rings, a white belt, bracelets, and a habit of rolling his eyes.

At the bars (which were really empty due to it being finals week), his phone rang, and I went in for the kill: "Wow. That's a really gay ringtone."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not trying that hard to be straight."

"Good, because you're failing."

We kept talking, and then we all went back to her place to grab some vodka to bring to a holiday party. I don't remember the conversation exactly (damn that special on cherry old fashioneds) but I remember enough. I made fun of him for wearing a white belt with his outfit, and then he replied "Well, if you don't like it, why don't you take it off for me?" He thrust his hips towards me.

With a drink my drink in my right hand, I awkwardly undid his ugly white belt. "Then you'll have to undo my button." Again, tricky with only one hand, but I managed. "And then unzip my pants" I did. He was wearing ugly bluish grey boxerbriefs. "And then.... " I snapped the elastic waistband. I didn't get to see anything, except that I'm pretty sure he's shaved.

"Let's just wait until later, big boy." I said with a wink.

I suppose I should mention a couple things at this point. Yes, there were other people in the room at the moment. And no, I wasn't attracted to him in the slightest, personality-wise or physically. But this was a 'straight' boy, and he wanted me to unzip his pants. What else was I going to do?

This all changed when we got to the party, being held by his cousin. As soon as we walked in the door, it was a total 180. Butcher than a sports metaphor. He was jocular, fake wrestling, boob talk, football references, the whole ball of wax. It was fascinating.

At least it was fascinating until after the party, when a bunch of us went back to my friend's house to watch a movie and for him to pass out. Unfortunately, while we were watching Fight Club (his choice), I left the couch to go to the bathroom, and he was making out with this other girl by the time I got back.

Of course, she moved from the floor to my empty spot, and he was pretty out of it at the moment, and, according to the story I got the next morning he passed out after about 2 minutes of making out, and there was no grabbing of her boobs or anything. Oh well. It's still strike three.

I'm out.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.