‘Buy the ticket, take the ride,’
-Hunter S. Thompson
“Oh my God, so how’d you get rid of him?” Max asked, her blue eyes wide with horror.
“I told him I had an appointment to get my shirts stretched,” I said shovelling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.
Max burst out laughing.
“Maybe he’ll take the hint and do it himself. No really… what did you do?” she asked.
“Well I told him I had to leave because I had a breakfast date with you,” I said.
“And you called me this morning to go for breakfast...” Max said.
“So I wouldn’t be lying,” I finished.
“Got it,” said Max.
“But I gave him my number,” I admitted.
“Are you serious? Why would you do that?”
“I felt bad, he was all leaning in for the kiss and I said ‘uh, can I get your number or something’ and he said ‘can I get yours?’” I explained.
“What a fucker. Well what are you going to do when he calls?” Max asked.
“If he calls I was thinking I just wouldn’t pick up,” I said. “After all it was just one date, I don’t owe him anything.”
“Well have fun getting rid of this one,” she said. “Maybe he wont ‘believe’ that he called. Wait. Leaned in for the kiss? Did you kiss the bad-dressing, non-believing man?”
“Ewe, no! Don’t be gross.”
“Good,” she said. “You could have caught some of his ‘disbelief.’”
“In Stephen Colbert’s book I Am America, And So Can You, he makes this joke about atheists and what they would scream out during sex,” I said.
“What’s that?” Max asked.
“Oooooh nothingness!” I said in my quietest fake orgasm voice.
Max burst into fits of hysterics.
“That’s sexy, I think I’d blow as soon as he said that,” she said sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, me too.” I rolled my eyes.
“So what’s next for sexy Sadie the pick-up artist?” she asked with a smirk on her face.
Not only does Max know that I hate being called sexy Sadie, but she also knows I hate being referred to as the pick-up artist.
This was a name she coined during a spring break vacation when I just so happened to hook up with three different guys. I don’t see anything wrong with having numerous sexual partners; in fact I see more harm in trying to keep track of them all. Call me what you want but I just don’t give a shit. I love sex.
That weekend I bet her that I could pick up more than one decent guy, but only using cheesy pick-up lines that I printed out from the Internet.
Well I met three hot guys that week, had a lot of fun, got the guy's numbers and won fifty bucks. Max won the right to piss me off.
“Who knows,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “But I do have to go out and cover a rock concert tonight, this big event with a poor rock band forced to play cheesy ‘90s covers, you know. I’m covering it for the campus paper. Do you want to meet me when I’m finished working?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
And with that I headed home to get ready to meet up with the bands manager.
I open the front door to the house and an empty chewing tobacco container comes shooting past my head, bounces off the doorframe and lands at my feet.
“GOAL!” I hear being shouted from the living room.
I picked up the container.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s our hockey puck,” Allen said matter-of-factly. “You wanna go in nets?”
“Where’s the net?” I asked.
“The front doorframe,” Brian called from the living room. “We wanted to keep it simple.”
The boys and their two friends were all wearing safety goggles. One of them had a mini-stick, the other had the broom- that had been sawed in half to make the stick shorter- and Allen and Brian both had full sized hockey sticks.
“The other net is here,” Allen said, pointing to the empty milk crates on the floor.
“Impressive,” I said. “But I have to work.”
“Your loss!” Brian said as he dropped the puck in the centre of the living room.
So this is university life, I thought. I wonder how much of the house will be left when I get home tonight.
-Hunter S. Thompson
“Oh my God, so how’d you get rid of him?” Max asked, her blue eyes wide with horror.
“I told him I had an appointment to get my shirts stretched,” I said shovelling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.
Max burst out laughing.
“Maybe he’ll take the hint and do it himself. No really… what did you do?” she asked.
“Well I told him I had to leave because I had a breakfast date with you,” I said.
“And you called me this morning to go for breakfast...” Max said.
“So I wouldn’t be lying,” I finished.
“Got it,” said Max.
“But I gave him my number,” I admitted.
“Are you serious? Why would you do that?”
“I felt bad, he was all leaning in for the kiss and I said ‘uh, can I get your number or something’ and he said ‘can I get yours?’” I explained.
“What a fucker. Well what are you going to do when he calls?” Max asked.
“If he calls I was thinking I just wouldn’t pick up,” I said. “After all it was just one date, I don’t owe him anything.”
“Well have fun getting rid of this one,” she said. “Maybe he wont ‘believe’ that he called. Wait. Leaned in for the kiss? Did you kiss the bad-dressing, non-believing man?”
“Ewe, no! Don’t be gross.”
“Good,” she said. “You could have caught some of his ‘disbelief.’”
“In Stephen Colbert’s book I Am America, And So Can You, he makes this joke about atheists and what they would scream out during sex,” I said.
“What’s that?” Max asked.
“Oooooh nothingness!” I said in my quietest fake orgasm voice.
Max burst into fits of hysterics.
“That’s sexy, I think I’d blow as soon as he said that,” she said sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, me too.” I rolled my eyes.
“So what’s next for sexy Sadie the pick-up artist?” she asked with a smirk on her face.
Not only does Max know that I hate being called sexy Sadie, but she also knows I hate being referred to as the pick-up artist.
This was a name she coined during a spring break vacation when I just so happened to hook up with three different guys. I don’t see anything wrong with having numerous sexual partners; in fact I see more harm in trying to keep track of them all. Call me what you want but I just don’t give a shit. I love sex.
That weekend I bet her that I could pick up more than one decent guy, but only using cheesy pick-up lines that I printed out from the Internet.
Well I met three hot guys that week, had a lot of fun, got the guy's numbers and won fifty bucks. Max won the right to piss me off.
“Who knows,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “But I do have to go out and cover a rock concert tonight, this big event with a poor rock band forced to play cheesy ‘90s covers, you know. I’m covering it for the campus paper. Do you want to meet me when I’m finished working?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
And with that I headed home to get ready to meet up with the bands manager.
I open the front door to the house and an empty chewing tobacco container comes shooting past my head, bounces off the doorframe and lands at my feet.
“GOAL!” I hear being shouted from the living room.
I picked up the container.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s our hockey puck,” Allen said matter-of-factly. “You wanna go in nets?”
“Where’s the net?” I asked.
“The front doorframe,” Brian called from the living room. “We wanted to keep it simple.”
The boys and their two friends were all wearing safety goggles. One of them had a mini-stick, the other had the broom- that had been sawed in half to make the stick shorter- and Allen and Brian both had full sized hockey sticks.
“The other net is here,” Allen said, pointing to the empty milk crates on the floor.
“Impressive,” I said. “But I have to work.”
“Your loss!” Brian said as he dropped the puck in the centre of the living room.
So this is university life, I thought. I wonder how much of the house will be left when I get home tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment