While I was working at Buckle a guy came in, cue flirting...fast forward a couple weeks...and we are date city party of two. It went great. He wasn't my type in the least bit: military, clean cut, all around prep monster. Whatever, I'm not one to judge.
Things progressed along a typical "dating" timeline. You know that super cheesy butterfly stage when you first like someone? Yeah, that. Which I hadn't had in forever so it made me want to spew my breakfast on a daily basis but I just let it happen. He had to leave to "play army" as I like to call it a few weeks later and while he was gone I received the i miss you, *insert number of days* to go!, can't wait to see you texts. Gosh how adorable.
Now let's fast forward again to the day after he got back/two days before my birthday. Our plans of dinner turned into "meeting up" downtown. If any of you have been downtown Nashville you know it's impossible to make it to the second story of Honky Tonk Central without at least a slight buzz. Let alone meet up after a few bars. Lucky me though, while my friend and I were working our way to the aforementioned buzz..oh! There he is! Grinding on that nice young gal whispering in his ear on the dance floor. Oh, okay. Now I don't jump to conclusions. It's loud in here...maybe that's why she needed her tongue in his ear to communicate. Hell, i've been out of the game for a while maybe ear licking is the new hello. However a whiskey shot marathon doesn't do wonders for being reasonable and I became a total girl. Pouring my heart out to him all over Broadway. Yikes, Sydni. But he followed me around and insisted on coming back to my house. "Oh come on over!" Says drunk me. Sober me is throwing a kick fit inside of herself I am sure because as many of you know I am a stick to my guns kind of gal. We wake up the next morning and he informs me he locked himself out of my building. In his underwear.
"What? Were you sleep walking?"
"No, but I don't know what I was doing."
"How long were you out there?"
"A couple hours. I slept on the stairs then your neighbor let me in."
"OMG my neighbor saw you?"
"He followed me. I went into the wrong apartment first but the dog wasn't Rigby then I found yours."
Oh, okay. My neighbor saw a delusional drunk man come into my apartment in his neon man panties. Cool. Awesome. After listening to compelling statements from this overgrown douche monkey such as "you just need me more than I need you," and him answering not one but two calls from squeaky, nasally voiced girls, the second of which he reassured "I'm coming, give me twenty minutes." I had enough. If I was a less level headed woman I would have hammer thrown his stuff off my balcony like the Trunchbull throws that little pig tailed girl. Side note do I look and or carry myself like someone who needs a male figure in her life? Absolutely not. Gross.
Basically he was a super douche bag. But that's not the worst part.
I have three closets. (A perk of not having a man in your life by the way) One walk-in which is right next to the bathroom. Apparently this is confusing for a drunk baffoon because today, four days later, I open the closet door to a wall of horrendous stench. I am talking knock your socks off bad. A familiar smell to any human however. I mean clothes hamper...toilet...I am sure he was easily confused before or after his stairwell debacle and just decided to whip it out and drench whatever laid behind door number two.
So if you find yourself thinking of hitting the town and bringing yourself a nice young stud, just don't. Think of me here triple washing four loads of my laundry to remove the urine.
OF A GROWN MAN.
0 comments:
Post a Comment