so i was out last night at this really trashy dance bar, because obviously i'm so fucking terrible at life that i don't have friends who go out on saturday night.
anyway, i run into this absolutely stunning indie looking chick with this tattoo right above of her tits. not only that, but this chick had some smart fashion sense, and she was an inch taller than me, but i'm fucking dead set on this.
so i'm talking, cracking jokes, she's laughing, i'm flirting, she's flirting back. she's actually pretty fucking cool. then she mentions her boyfriend who is right in front of us (flirting).
her boyfriend is some goofball who:
- needs to have his girlfriend buy his fucking clothes for him and dress him because obviously he's not good at doing it himself.
- should look into getting subscriptions to complex magazine, nylon for guys, and other quality publications that tell you how you probably should be dressing.
- is also dancing around drunk, like no one ever told him that he couldn't dance, and it probably isn't a good idea for him to be dancing.
- did i mention this guy does not know how to fucking dress himself.
i was shocked.
in my usual "you know i'm the shit" tone, i said "<i>that's</i> your boyfriend?" i'm actually in a bit of disbelief.
she looks away, almost regretably, and says something along the lines of "yes. it's my job to make sure he gets home okay."
i'm not exactly replying. i'm just observing his wonderful display of non-dancing.
still looking away, and almost as if to justify why she isn't single, she says, "but he makes me laugh."
"oh really? are you sure about that."
admittingly she says, "he really doesn't know what he has."
note that this is still right in front of him.
i tell her, "i really don't think he does. i don't know why you're not single right now."
she says it again, "he <i>really</i> doesn't know what he has."
parting ways, she does her wonderful girlfriend duty of scooping up her goof of a dude up off the dancefloor and getting him home.
poor girl.
anyway, i run into this absolutely stunning indie looking chick with this tattoo right above of her tits. not only that, but this chick had some smart fashion sense, and she was an inch taller than me, but i'm fucking dead set on this.
so i'm talking, cracking jokes, she's laughing, i'm flirting, she's flirting back. she's actually pretty fucking cool. then she mentions her boyfriend who is right in front of us (flirting).
her boyfriend is some goofball who:
- needs to have his girlfriend buy his fucking clothes for him and dress him because obviously he's not good at doing it himself.
- should look into getting subscriptions to complex magazine, nylon for guys, and other quality publications that tell you how you probably should be dressing.
- is also dancing around drunk, like no one ever told him that he couldn't dance, and it probably isn't a good idea for him to be dancing.
- did i mention this guy does not know how to fucking dress himself.
i was shocked.
in my usual "you know i'm the shit" tone, i said "<i>that's</i> your boyfriend?" i'm actually in a bit of disbelief.
she looks away, almost regretably, and says something along the lines of "yes. it's my job to make sure he gets home okay."
i'm not exactly replying. i'm just observing his wonderful display of non-dancing.
still looking away, and almost as if to justify why she isn't single, she says, "but he makes me laugh."
"oh really? are you sure about that."
admittingly she says, "he really doesn't know what he has."
note that this is still right in front of him.
i tell her, "i really don't think he does. i don't know why you're not single right now."
she says it again, "he <i>really</i> doesn't know what he has."
parting ways, she does her wonderful girlfriend duty of scooping up her goof of a dude up off the dancefloor and getting him home.
poor girl.