Monday, January 31, 2005

A Story About Four Boys In Jersey

Friday night, The Bar At Tenth And Willow.

11:35 p.m.
Me (to bartendar): Can I get a Red Bull?
Boy w/ spikey hair: You have really shiny hair.
Me: Thanks!
Boy: What do you use on it?
Me: This intensive conditioner stuff, I don't know. And some shine enhancer stuff.
Boy: It's just that a lot of girls have this big hair.
Me: I guess. (Awkward silence. Get Red Bull.) Well, I gotta get my friends.
Boy: Later.

1:45 a.m.
Boy w/ green sweater: You look really sober.
Me: I am.
Boy: That's cool. You have good karma.
Me: Thanks. (He then proceeds to rub my shoulders and those belonging to all of my friends, including guys.)

2:50 a.m. Outside TBATAW.
I spot Courtney talking to two guys.
Me: Don't talk to her! She has a boyfriend! She's married!
Boy #1: Hey, you're cute. Wow, you're really cute.
Me: Wow, thanks!
Boy: I saw you inside. Hey, I have a beach house in Belmore. (He's already making plans for us! Why do boys make plans like that? Then they just stomp all over your really cute heart. I'm a drama queen, sue me.)
Me: That's cool. I'm Tina.
Boy: I'm Joe Renaldi. (Or something like that.)
Me: Is that Italian?
Boy: Yep. Hey, can I get your number? I might call you in two days instead of three! (Referring to the Three-Day Rule. Bold move, I like it!)

It is now two and a half days later. I don't really care. I had my fill of Jersey Italians last year. What was that kid's name? Sam? On our third date, he made up some excuse as to why he couldn't take the train back to Jersey, and the sweet kid that I am, I said he could come to my Brooklyn apartment. He never called again when I said I didn't want to do "that" with him.

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