I'm tellin' you!
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For a while, I was debating how to describe in here some finer details of last Saturday night. As a fake writer, I attempted approaching it from many different angles: I considered making a very long and protracted rundown of what happened (and did not happen). I considered being extremely vague -- annoyingly, extremely vague. I considered setting up a sort of short story, establishing an initial setting for myself, walking home alone from the Russian/Finnish/Laplander movie, in the biting cold, underneath the stars, and actually, finally (!) not minding, perhaps even enjoying being so alone in the situation. (And look -- ha! I just established a setting. WOO-HA! Got you all in check.)
But not four steps away from arriving at my dorm building, I happened upon two guys also walking back to the dorm, one guy being a film studies classmate and the other being his friend visiting for the weekend. And within about a minute of the friend's asking of my name, I was upstairs in one of the TV lounges with the guy. I'll try not to glut this story, for it is not so much a story as it is a happening-in-my-life, but the guy was putting "the moves" ... on "me"! My heavens! My pants!
It seems that my avoidance skills have, over time, been honed so keenly that they are now edging out my unknowingly-or-unintentionally-keeping-eligible-males-away-from-me skills. So know that I picked up on his signals fairly early, despite my relative lack of experience with this sorta thang. (I have seen a ton of cheesy romantic comedies, though.) See:
touching of leg
complimenting of smile, seemingly out of nowhere
executing of Bar Tricks such as unwrapping a Starburst candy with one's tongue, and wondering if there would be a 'prize' for successfully unwrapping one
... and man, he did unwrap it! For his "prize," I, Smooth Operator Extraordinaire, gave him a Baby Ruth candy bar wrapper that was lodged in my handbag, just as I'd promised before he performed the trick. At least I didn't lead him on.
(If anyone is wondering, I can't completely do the Starburst candy thing myself. When I've tried it -- on several occasions -- I usually do it as Darren did during a geosystems class last year and end up eating paper.)
The point is: usually, the only people who overtly flirt with me are either overtly shouting something from their passing car or being all-around Creepy/Shady characters. I don't mean to make the guy from Saturday sound like a loo-zah or a sleaze; in fact, he was .. not, as far as I could tell for the two hours that I knew him. People started trickling into the TV lounge one by one, though, so eventually everyone ended up watching TV (or resting one's eyelids, as I chose to do at times). He told me little bits about himself and his taste for dorm-room-brewed strawberry wine. I asked him if he stomped the fruits himself, too, but, alas, he does not. I don't know if I can be impressed by anyone who brews their own alcohol within their dorm room unless I can picture them with their pant legs rolled up and their feet covered in squashed fruit. And maybe singing a working song all the while too. And yet, he was still quite nice, and fairly easy to talk to. Geez, I am either a cold bitch or a lukewarm weenie. A darling combination, no?
This webpage definitely feels like the wrong sort of venue for this post, which is dumb dumb dumb. Hence, title of post.
Perhaps I saved him from any further trouble or awkwardness. Upon a first impression, I may not seem type of girl who listens to Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" upwards of seven times a day. (But, in the past few days, I have restrained myself to a mere twice-a-day, simply because a prospective college student / high school acquaintance stayed in my dorm at the beginning of the week.)