I met a cute boy with a beard last night. And I’m pretty sure he’s over 21. Although the beard could be misleading. Whoops!

So I go to The Room to meet up with my friend Erica from Miami.

Erica and I were the geek girls in high school but she wasn’t really geeky because even at the age of fifteen people would come up to her and tell her she looked like Kate Winslet. She is also one of my sweetest friends. The type of friend that would drive thirty minutes just to pick my lame ass up and then go hangout at Borders because where else do you hangout at fifteen? Anyway, she is still as sweet and beautiful as ever because she shows up to the bar with a bag of brownies from Chelsea Market!

Dear Future Boyfriend: If you want to know the swiftest way to my heart then bring me baked goods from Chelsea Market. Oh, and a burger from Shake Shack. With fries. Can you tell I’m hungover?

So Erica and I go outside to smoke a clove and as we walk back in I notice this cute boy coming in behind us. Hummana. Hummana.

The boy is sitting to my right at the bar and he is chatting with his friend. But I can’t tell if he’s straight or gay because he is drinking rose. I don’t know how to do the little accent mark on this computer but I don’t know if you caught the observation that he is drinking rosaaaay.

So Erica and I are chatting and I’m mulling over the boy’s sexual orientation when he turns to me and asks me a question.

Scene:

Boy: Have you ever had a Snickles?

Me: What is that?

Boy: It’s kinda like a snickers but instead of chocolate it’s crack cocaine covered in crushed ecstasy pills.

Me: Are you drinking Rosaaaay?

Boy: I’m straight. Really.

So I chat with the boy and his friend and then I turn to talk to Erica about god knows what you talk about after like ten belgian beers. The boy taps me on the back and asks what’s my name. I tell him. He tells me his name and it it SUCH a white boy name. And I’m only over generalizing because I have never ever met a minority with this name. Here’s a hint: It rhymes with Burt.

Erica leaves and I end up chatting at the bar with the boy and his friend. I think at some point I keep muttering No Homo. I think I am muttering this because the boy is drinking rosaaaaay.

And then I did my classic Jinius move where I order a drink, take two sips, then leave without saying goodbye.

I get home and I text: Sorry had to go. Lets party. If this is your real number?

Dear readers, I am pretty sure you are intelligent. Afterall, you read this blog. A blog that only requires a third grade reading level and if it were in book form it would be made of cloth and placed in cribs.

But can you read this text and tell me what the hell that means because I have no freaking clue!!!!!!

So the boy miraculously understands my text and replies: I would love to party with you again. Text me later this week babe. You were alot of fun.

Cute, right?

But do I leave it at that? Do I allow my evening to end on a cute, positive note????

Oh, nooooo. I just have to be funny. Like I’m Tina Fucking Fey. I try to respond with something like “Oh, yeah, lets drink rosaaaay” because that is my humor at 2 in the morning. But because it is 2 in the morning and I have no motor skills, I end up dialing his number and calling him.

So the boy probably has like a hundred missed calls from me. Okay, I’m exaggerating. Maybe less than a hundred.

Whatevs. If he wants to tap this ass then he’s gonna have to deal with my lack of texting skills and my propensity to drunk dial at two in the morning.

On another note, I’ve been listening to alot of John Legend and he is freaking awesome. If you get past that horribly cheesy song “Ordinary People”, the rest of the album is hot. It’s the kind of album that helps you get your groove back. Only to lose it at the end of the night.

Drats.