The Colombian and I were invited to yet another self-thrown birthday party in a bar last weekend, and I had to go. And by "had to go," I, of course, mean, "was forced to go" by the Colombian. "My friends will be there...I never get to see them anymore...It'll be fun" were just some of the things I thought I heard her say after I whined that I didn't think I could stomach another get-together in some loud bar with people I barely know. I'm starting to think that I should start drinking, since these gatherings only seem to be fun for the inebriated attendees. For me, they're as exciting as NPR on the weekends. Although the Icelandic Xylophone festival (or whatever the hell that was) I was forced to listen to while in the shower recently -- because I didn't want to get the floor wet, walking from the shower to turn off the radio on the other side of the bathroom -- was slightly more entertaining than most self-thrown birthday parties I've been to. So like NPR does on Saturdays and Sundays, I said "Fuck it," and decided to go through the motions, making the least amount of effort possible. I'd go to the party, be polite, and nothing more. I was not going to be "on" and try and impress her friends.
Before the party, we stopped off for Chinese food, and when the waiter pointed at what little was left of my chicken and broccoli and asked, "Does gentleman want to take home for later?," I thought: Fuck yeah! At $15 a dish, you're damn right gentleman wants to take home for later! Gentleman might get the munchies when he gets home! So off we went with the smallest size take-out box they had -- half filled with a few slivers of chicken and a handful of broccoli florets-- stuffed into my jacket pocket. It wasn't until we got home after the party that I realized something was rotten in the state of my winter coat.
"What's that smell?" I asked.
"Don't look at me. It's you," she said.
"I know I was the first to smelt it, but I didn't dealt it."
"Huh?" she asked confused. (There's that language barrier thing again).
"Wait a second," I said, sniffing, pulling the leftover Chinese out of my pocket. "I've been walking around smelling like a fart all night and you didn't say anything?"
"I thought it was from what you ate. What was I going to say?"
"It wasn't from what I ate. It was from what I DIDN'T eat! Shit! No wonder your friend Lisa was looking at me funny the whole night. She thinks I'm a farter."
"Ah, so what? Who cares what she thinks? "
"Why, did she say something?"
"What should she say?"
"That I was cool, funny...handsome."
"Next time make more of an effort...and finish your food at the restaurant."
Nah, I thought. Let her friend think what she wants. She probably won't come near me anyway the next time I see her...if there is a next time. I finished off my leftovers and fell asleep to two guys banging on wooden planks on NPR.
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Before the party, we stopped off for Chinese food, and when the waiter pointed at what little was left of my chicken and broccoli and asked, "Does gentleman want to take home for later?," I thought: Fuck yeah! At $15 a dish, you're damn right gentleman wants to take home for later! Gentleman might get the munchies when he gets home! So off we went with the smallest size take-out box they had -- half filled with a few slivers of chicken and a handful of broccoli florets-- stuffed into my jacket pocket. It wasn't until we got home after the party that I realized something was rotten in the state of my winter coat.
"What's that smell?" I asked.
"Don't look at me. It's you," she said.
"I know I was the first to smelt it, but I didn't dealt it."
"Huh?" she asked confused. (There's that language barrier thing again).
"Wait a second," I said, sniffing, pulling the leftover Chinese out of my pocket. "I've been walking around smelling like a fart all night and you didn't say anything?"
"I thought it was from what you ate. What was I going to say?"
"It wasn't from what I ate. It was from what I DIDN'T eat! Shit! No wonder your friend Lisa was looking at me funny the whole night. She thinks I'm a farter."
"Ah, so what? Who cares what she thinks? "
"Why, did she say something?"
"What should she say?"
"That I was cool, funny...handsome."
"Next time make more of an effort...and finish your food at the restaurant."
Nah, I thought. Let her friend think what she wants. She probably won't come near me anyway the next time I see her...if there is a next time. I finished off my leftovers and fell asleep to two guys banging on wooden planks on NPR.
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5 comments:
Hahaha lol dude I would be so totally embarrassed if this happened to me. Like it wouldn't be able to get outta my head O_O But I totally understand where your girl is coming from. Telling your friend/boyfriend that you smell like fart might hurt his feeling and make him feel self conscious for the rest of the night.
So does it bother you still?
baha. This is something that would totally happen to me. *sigh*
Absolutely hilarious! I wonder, have you ever read any of Phil Torcivia's books? I think you would like them. I acutally did a review of one of them, just finished reading one and am starting on another. The review is at http://whats-your-legacy.blogspot.com/2011/04/phil-torcivia-nice-meeting-you-book.html I loved this book and I really think you would too!
I think this are something that would happen to me it's not easy to be an dating freak LOL, cool or funny or just an turn off ?.
Eh, I say its only human! No shame required!
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