#but first we get spontaneous alleyway makeouts

[firstdate-lastdate]

Redhead Fever

Some technicalities to get out of the way: First off, this was NOT a date. This was simply a drunken makeout at a bar. Secondly, I fully recognize that publishing this post will give the guy in the scenario a great deal of satisfaction. A part of me held off from writing it for this reason, but ultimately, I cannot keep this story from the world. And by world, I mean the 15 people who read my blog. So enjoy. 

Let me paint a picture of the guy here (drink every time I mention a red flag): He’s a couple years younger than me. Has a few famous friends. He really likes to party. Impulsive, spontaneous, say-yes-to-anything type and oh- he’s got red hair. 

Need I say more? I was sold at red hair. Nothing else mattered to me. I would stop at nothing. Best part? He didn’t want anything to do with me. In fact, for months, he didn’t acknowledge my existence. Anytime we were out with our mutual friends, I was entirely invisible. In a twisted way, this created a challenge in my mind. Again, we’re working with a ginger here - normal logic does not apply.

After a couple of months of wearing my invisibility cloak, we finally connected at a bar celebrating a mutual friends birthday. We locked eyes, both recognizing the tension between the two of us, and began dancing. And kissing. And kissing while we were dancing. Multiple people stopped us to tell us that we made a cute couple. It all felt very organic, and although I had my eyes on him for months, it felt like the perfect timing.

We danced together until the bar stopped playing decent music, and I found myself back at his apartment. After a little alcohol and a lot of dancing, I was totally starving. The cabinets looked fairly filled so I asked if he had any snacks in the kitchen. He paused. He took a quick look around the kitchen. He offered me ONE (1) fig newton. One single, solitary fig newton. The grossest snack known to mankind. Even in my drunken state of mind, there was no way I could eat a fig newton. 

I objected to the snack of choice, and thus, went hungry. I asked him to show me around his place a little bit (what else do you say at one in the morning?) and he silently walked into his room. I followed. He continued to walk to the balcony, reached down, picked up a single cinderblock, and chucked it off the third floor balcony. The cement shattered into a million pieces below in the alleyway, narrowly missing cars parked below. 

Still, he remained silent. In a state of shock, I exclaimed, “why did you do that?!” Without breaking eye contact, he said succinctly, “I have been thinking about that for a long time.” Which simultaneously answered all my questions, and created more at the same time. 

Later that evening (morning?) I decided to go home. It happened to be raining and very cold outside, so I asked to borrow a sweatshirt. He did the same half-assed look around move he pulled in the kitchen, and told me, “Sorry, all my sweatshirts are in my car.”

I looked at him. I looked at his open closet. I looked at a sweatshirt, clearly visible in his open closet. I looked back at him. Confusion filled the air. I announced to him I would be taking that sweatshirt and a T-shirt while I was at it. For my troubles.

In his defense, he was never mean, or rude, or disgusting to me, like some of the past men of this blog. And unlike the others, I had a great time that night, and other fun nights since then (albeit without any cinderblocks). To this day, he remains as elusive as ever. And you know what they say about ambiguity: “if they wanted to, they would.” 

#dating #single #comedy