You'll Want to Date Me After Reading This

I'm realizing that a couple of recent posts I've written have made me sound like I am all that and a bag of jujyfruits when it comes to romancing the dudes. You know, the motorcycle boyfriend and the m&m-thrower and all of that. I feel that I need to share with you some sort of story to even the score a little bit, so you all will know the truth of the matter, which is I am just as big of a dork as the next girly out there. In fact, in thinking about writing this post, I am all overwhelmed by the sheer volume of dorky dating stories that I could reveal to you. It's like a tome-size menu of delicious options and I hardly know where to start. I guess I'll just pick one. Here's one that I like to call I Am Buster Keaton, How Are You?

First of all, let me start off by saying this story involves a Hot Boy named, oh, let's say his name was Sam. Sam was Mega Hott. The reason I say this is because the freakishly stupid behavior that spews out of me in this story must be measured by this fact. The boy's hotness was like a Stupidity Magnifier. All of my behavior was like, larger than actual size.

Episode One
One of the first times Sam and I hung out alone together, we went on a long walk. I guess you could call it a hike, although I wouldn't have at that time because I was a quintessentially city-only girl and hiking was not a part of my vocabulary. In fact, the first time that I went on a hike that was called a hike, I distinctly remember having this thought: wait just a mothersucking minute. Hiking is just...walking. I'll be damned if hiking ain't just a fancy word for walking! Who knew?

But I digress. So Sam and me. Walking/hiking. Having a good time, and I'm very excited about this prospect. A little too excited, as it turned out. We ended our walk/hike after a few hours, starving and more than ready for lunch. We found a place to sit and spread out the two sandwiches that we'd brought. I take my sandwich out of my little baggie, and unwrap it...and proceed to drop it on the ground. Let me elaborate on this for one moment, please. Because I didn't just drop
it. In my hungry unwrapping of said sandwich, I somehow opened the wrapping so hard, that the sandwich flew out, in much the same way potato chips fly out when you accidentally open the potato chip bag too hard. So the sandwich flew, coming apart in the air, and landing spectacularly in the only puddle that was present for miles around. Bye bye sandwich.

Sam felt bad for me. "Here, we'll share my sandwich," he said, handing it over. "Thanks, Sam," I replied. As I reached for the
sandwich, I swear to you I had some sort of hand-conniption, because instead of taking the sandwich, I KNOCKED HIS SANDWICH out of his hand and onto the ground. At least it wasn't in the puddle, right? We could've eaten that sandwich off the dry grass, right? Wrong. Because my hand-conniption turned into a feet conniption. "Oh, oops, I'm so sorry!" I said, as the sandwich fell and we both scrambled to grab it before it hit the ground. And, in the scrambling, I somehow managed to step on the sandwich. Smooshed it right in the dirt. Did I mention we were starving? And in the middle of the woods?

Episode Two
This one also involves food. Maybe the moral of the story is I should not be allowed to eat in public? You be the judge. Sam and I were walking through the city one day, and we happened to walk by a Wendy's. "Oh, Frosty's!" I said. "Remember those from when you were little? Let's go in and have one!" So we did. We each had an order of fries and a chocolate Frosty. And when we were done, I took his tray and my tray. And as I walked by another table where people had just left their trays, I took those too. Why was I all of a sudden cleaning up after strangers? I'm telling you, the hottness was overpowering me and I was losing brain matter. I went over to the garbage receptacle, talking to Sam the entire time. And I was talking so hard and so fast that I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. So, instead of throwing away the garbage and putting the trays on the stack on top of the garbage can, I just threw it all in the garbage. Like, the trash and the trays. All of it. In the garbage.

Sam: Um. You just threw our trays away.
Me: Ha ha, what? You're so funny! I did not.
Sam: You did. The trays are in the garbage.
Me: Oh. (starting to reach my hand into the disgusting fast food garbage)
Sam: We could probably just tell someone that we did that, so you wouldn't have to fish it out.
Me: Oh. Right.

See how nice Sam was being? Saying "we did that" instead of "you did that, and what the heck is with you all the time, you big spaz?"

Episode Three
One night, Sam was driving me home from work. We pull into the parking lot of my apartment building. I said goodbye, and opened the car door. But then. Oh man, even telling this is bringing back the sheer stupidity of it all. I opened the car door and started to get out. The heel of my shoe caught on the floor of the car as I was getting out, and I fell out of the car. Ass up, and face down. You think that's the worst part, don't you? You don't think there's any more to say, right? Let me cap this off by saying this. My pants split. Oh hallelujah, save me Lord, they did.

Hey listen. I'll guarantee you. Sam never forgot me.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl