23 February 2010

THE TEXTER

So, I met a guy on the weekend. I know I said that I was going to slow down on the booze, but Rome wasn't built in a day. I was pretty pissed when I met him and I'm quite surprised I managed to even get my name out, let alone my phone number. It all started with a bottle of wine here and a couple of pints there, then a short stumble to an establishment not worth mentioning. My memory is shadey, but I think I was being face raped by someone who may or may not have been a hobbit, when The Texter decided to intercept, saving me from eternal pash rash. So cavalier. And, from what I remember, he was cute. Black hair and...um...ah...ok that's really all I can remember. I may need to ask him to carry a red rose for our next meeting.

So I gave him my number and he said, "I'll call you". I'm glad he did because I was in no shape to operate a tricky mobile phone. I didn't invite him home because of two things: I have learnt my lesson when mixing alcohol with sexual liasons. Let's use an analogy for what usually happens: imagine, if you will, a microphone that is not working and someone tapping the head and saying, "hello, is this thing on?" Roger that? The other thing is that unlike most of my peers, I sleep in a single bed, which isn't as shocking as it sounds: there are certain perks to sleeping in a single bed, when people hear about your single bed, they usually wanna take you back to their place thus eliminating any awkwardness in the morning if they are slow to leave; when you say you are going to be on top of them, due to the surface area of your bed, you actually will be on top of them; spooning is compulsory; and after one night with you in the ultimate singletons bed, you will never ever see them again. Which can be handy but here at Project New Boyfriend, I am trying to keep him, not repel him. So i am working on this, but until this time, I shall be giving up home ground advantage.

So as I pinballed my way down to Trafalgar Square and eventually onto a bus, he texted me

The Texter: Hey Mr. Wish I'd gone home with you x

I hate to tell you, you probably would have have thought twice about that after catching sight of me on my single bed, tapping the head of my penis like it was malfunctioning microphone. I texted him back something sexy-drunk like

mehb3lllahy

And then forgot about him...until the next evening when he texted me again

The Texter: Hey sexy, what are you doing?

He thought I was sexy? Well, I was gving him my best one eye open, one eye closed, Paula Abdul impression that wasn't really an impression, it's just how I am when I am drunk. Perhaps he thought it was a long wink. Hmmm, I thought, maybe there is something to this guy: if he thinks I am sexy when I've got a million drinks under my belt, then wait'll he sees me sober. I didn't even have my cute-butt-jeans on! I have so much more sexiness in reserve. So I texted him back and said I was going out to meet some friends and if he would like to join that would be faboosh (I didn't actually use that word, didn't wanna totally queen out on him before the second meeting).

The Texter: My friend Jon (the birthday, drunk one from last night) has got completely bollocksed so I think i'm going to have to look after him in his flat tonight. Do you fancy meeting up tomorrow for definite lunchtimeish? Leave it in your court x

A couple of things..
1. You texted me and asked me what I was doing, assuming you wanted to meet up that night.
2. Who gets that drunk they need someone to nurse them through the night? I have always been of the school of thought, if you broke it you fix it. Even at my most wasted, I am resourceful enough to be able to get up and vomit without the aid of a friend. This smells like a blow off - but he texted me!
3. Definite lunchtimeish - we said nothing about a day meeting - I prefer to keep everything shrouded in darkness until at least 3 years into the relationship. As Cheryl Lee Ralph once said, in the evening the real me comes alive. And what the heller time is "definite lunchtimeish"?
4. Leave it in your court - so he's obviously a bottom.

So I say no worries, blah blah blah (figuratively of course).

The Texter: Would be lovely to see you again. So angry with John, came all the way from Bristol for him and to go out tonight but instead i'm looking after him x

Bristol? Bristol?! What the fuck?

So left it and then texted him when I woke up. 2 hours later:

The Texter: I've only just awoken!

That was it. No suggestion of what to do next considering I had laid out options for him in my previous text. For someone who seemed quite keen he was suddenly playing it quite cool. So I left it and then texted, whats happening? Nothing more, nothing less.

The Texter: Sorry, today's been a fuck up. Didn't get up until a short while ago. Still in Angel at mo, what you doing? x

What I am doing is waiting for you to get back to me fucktard! This is about 630 at night BTW. So basically I told him I was in for the night and I'd catch him next time he was around:

The Texter: Ok going to head to Paddington then. Will text you when i'm around next - probably about a fortnight x

I will never see him again.

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