Blast from the Past, Part II

Well, I thought the story was over…

But again, the Universe had other ideas.

Thursday morning, I woke up, slapping my pink Razr phone as it buzzed and rang to wake me up. Flipping it open, I saw a new text message. It was that 646 number again:

N: We fucked right? Or atleast tried too lol

Ew. Ew. Ew.

I never thought of it that way. “We fucked right?” Ew. What a vulgar way to put what…we…did. Or “tried to” do.

And why, oh why, are you STILL texting me? It’s been three days’-worth of texts, and you still haven’t quite figured out who I am? LET IT GO.

But all of this got me thinking about that word, and left me to wonder: am I the type of person who “fucks?” And what is the difference between fucking, screwing, humping, scrumping, doin’ it, having sex or hooking up? Basically, nothing. But the word “fucking” as it applies to me and what I do in the bedroom [and bathroom or living room, from time to time] makes me really uncomfortable. Yes, I was drunk. Yes, it was a one-night thing. No, I really didn’t know the guy. [Wow, this story is shaping up to make me appear really classy]. But I still feel like trying to accept the idea that I “fucked” a guy is next to impossible — and something that I’d really rather not do anyway.

Ew. Ugh.

I much prefer “hooking up” or “gettin’ it on” — the latter especially in texts to a friend at 2am when a dude is in the bathroom and I’m excited for what I know is about to happen.

Regardless, I obviously did not respond to N’s text. And several days later, I’ve heard nothing else from him. Thankfully.

END OF STORY.

I hope…

Blast from the Past

Sometimes I don’t understand why things happen to me. It must be the Universe just sending me good material for stories. Because you just can’t make this shit up. I guess someone really creative could, but with the shenanigans I get myself into, no creativity is necessary — just a transcript of events [with my own commentaries, of course].

The following is a true story. Names changed to protect the guilty.

Last night I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a 646 area code. I don’t even know what that is. It said:

Mystery Person: So you out tonight?

I racked my brain. 646? Who is that? I on a quasi-insane whirlwind of cell phone address book deletions one afternoon a few weeks ago. Did I know this number? I thought of ignoring it, but decided to write back:

Me: Who is this?

Mystery Person: N* [also known as hot bartender I hooked up with in July]

What!! I had deleted his number, and wasn’t even entirely sure he remembered my name. Now, over three months later, he’s texting me randomly? I had to find out why.

Me: Holy shit! Thought you forgot about me! Nah i’m home studying. You?

N: out for a few

Me: What made you decide to text me? It’s pretty random.

N: Is it?

N: Wait, maybe i got the wrong person, where did we meet?

What!! Wait. Didn’t HE text ME? How could he be confused on who he texted? Are you fucking kidding me with this?? I decided to end this trip down memory lane:

Me: Hahaha…take care N.

N: Don’t do that, it’s a simple question

Me: Well who did you think this was?

N: Wow, getting complicated. It’s no big deal. Wanna tell me or no?

Now, I am not the one who made things complicated. I was perfectly content to let N remain one of the One Hit Wonders of Summer 2008. [Sadly, I avoid his bar now, one of my favorites, missed especially on Thursday nights when a fun 90s cover band plays.] But he came out of the blue with that random-ass text. Now he’s trying to insinuate that I’m making things complicated because he won’t tell me who he thinks he texted??

So I left it alone and did not respond.

But ah, you think the story ends there? We are talking about me here. Of course there’s more!

This afternoon, while I was in class, I got a text message…and a missed phone call:

N: So? Can you refresh me?

At this point, I had no clue what to do. Apparently he really wanted to know who I was. He even called me and obviously listened to my outgoing message…which says my name. So I finally decided to go ahead and give him a run-down of our night together three months ago:

Me: It was july. You couldn’t maintain an erection. Does that ring a bell?

N: To often, ha ha ha

Umm…wow. I’m speechless. So I didn’t say a thing, thinking, again, maybe he’ll just leave it alone.

Of course not:

N: I’m sorry you must be cute though, i’m thinking i met you through your guy roommate?

True story! It seems like maybe he actually put the pieces together. Probably still doesn’t know my name, but he knows the connection. Nice choice of specifying the gender of my roommate — if he didn’t I would have suspected that he was just fishing.

Me: Bingo! Irish dude. Sadly he’s back in ireland now. Still don’t understand — you have number but don’t quite remember me?

N: out w a couple of friends, wondering if you’re out bring some friends

I am absolutely beyond confused. Why would you booty text someone you don’t even quite exactly remember? Either way, I am totally not interested in hanging out with someone I kind of, awkwardly, erectionlessly slept with this summer and who may or may not be drunk texting random numbers in his cell phone address book that may or may not have the correct names attached to them.

Though it would make for a better ending to this story…

No. No real ending necessary.

More Threesome Invites.

This time it was a dude and his male roommate. They wanted an Eiffel Tower.

[ahem.]

I repeat: dude and HIS MALE roommate.

I repeat: Eiffel Tower.

WTF??

What about me screams “freak nasty?” Seriously. I get more comments that people are surprised that the word “fuck” comes out of my mouth. “You just look so wholesome!” they say. Or, “You’re just a sweet Southern belle!” they offer. Well, thanks, but erroneous! Erroneous on both accounts! That is quite far from true. But still…Eiffel Tower? Really? Me?! C’mon. The chick and her boyfriend had a much better shot, and that still never happened.

Best part is, I gave him my number. The three of us actually had lunch on Saturday, and all they talked about was this hypothetical threesome situation. They then explained that it was all a joke, haha, isn’t that funny? OK, I felt more at ease. But then the Dude kept texting me this evening, about what I was getting him for his birthday [which is actually today], saying very lewd things via text, propositioning me. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good dirty text, but I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU. WHY are you doing this?? And keep insisting on the Eiffel Tower??

It stopped being funny after the first eighty times you mentioned it. Grow the fuck up. Gahhh.

Boys are so moronic.