A Side Order of Meatball

12 Apr

Two weeks ago, my girlfriend and I brought back Thursday Double Date Night. A pretty self-explanatory endeavor developed last fall, she invited this little nugget-faced doll, Charlie, and his over tan and slightly whorish friend, Josh, out for drinks with us. Prior to the blind date (for me), good old Joshers (my date) Facebooked friended me, which I kindly obliged. Understandable, as you have to make sure that A. I met his standard of cool (not hard after meeting him) and B. I’m decent looking. I’m assuming I passed. Likewise, before attending this evening out, I was able to creep on him, and found out the following:

– He abuses Facebook with posts that either don’t make any sense (i.e. the weather is so nice out, happy sprimmer!) or are just not newsfeed worthy (i.e. I’m watching Animal House in my bed). I’m all about the mystery and knowing every dumb detail about his lackluster life on Facebook only makes me think that if we ever were to communicate like adults, I would immediately be miserable.

– At 1,300 friends, he probably Facebooks anyone whose name he can correctly spell.

– He might be able to spell.

– He’s southern.

The night of the date started out like this: Charlie, my friend and me arriving at 8:30 p.m. Josh showing up not a second before 9 p.m., with the excuse that he got lost. Oh, he just moved here from the south, he must not know his way around town, right? Wrong. He lives no less than six blocks away from our meeting point on the SAME EXACT STREET. It’s called walk six blocks north on Clark Street and you’ll get there, Josh. It’s called turn your head to the right and you’ll probably be able to see the damn bar from where you’re standing. Whatever.

I probably should have got up and left then, but I moved on. We awkwardly talked about the fact that we may have already met (I don’t remember), he told me he’s new in town, we discussed our favorite bars and we played quarters. Additional events transpired, but he ended up without my number.

Cut to a week later. Still no word from Josh. I mean, I thought I would have heard something from him by then. It is 2011, an era where you can figure things like out like phone numbers very easily. It’s really not rocket science. Long gone are the days where I’d be sitting in my kitchen waiting for the landline to ring, wondering if I had missed his call during the two minutes I was in the bathroom, and I was wondering what the heck happened. Although I am abrasive and often rude I was under the impression that he could hold his own and thought it was semi-endearing.

A few days earlier, my friend had sent him a message, basically making fun of his job (he’s a banker) and asking him if Epsilon stole the $23 she had left in her account. Really hysterical, actually. On Friday night, circa 8 p.m. he replies with some sort of bland response asking what we were doing this weekend. She texted my number back and no longer than three minutes later, I had two text messages from him.

Josh: Blah blah, this is Josh, blah blah [insert some dumb joke]

Me: Hey hotpants – we’re going to Social tonight, you should come

Josh: How about Old Town?

Me: No, we’re at Social. You can come here

Cue Josh and Charlie arriving at the bar. It was a fun night – everyone got along great, I was happy he showed up, lots of things to laugh about. But now it’s Tuesday and I’m left with six more awkward texts between us (two of his including LOLs, which make me want to scratch the screen off of my Blackberry). I’m clearly not sure what I think of him, but a little more attention wouldn’t hurt, right?

It feels like our overall lack of communication is a sign that I should run far, far away from the land of Choshes (Charlie + Josh) and chalk this one up as the official kick-off to spring.

We’ll see…


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