Is it really sad that I am sitting up, staring at my phone just sit there, totally inactive, waiting for it to light up telling me that someone in this world wants to actually talk to me at this fucking ungodly hour?
Yes.
I don't even like the person that may or may not call. I don't even know how we became friends. The last thing that made sense was my best friend liking him. And now, somehow, he's the last person I talk to every night. He's the person who asks me what I'm doing and if I want to hang out with him. When did it become me?
Oh yeah. The one night I was too unbelievably bored to be living in a college town, scrolled through my phonebook and saw his number, just sitting there kind of taunting me. "You know you want to... Kind of like my phone right now.
I just wanted to get drunk, damn it!
1:57 AM. He usually calls a little after two when he leaves the bar. I was supposed to hang out with him tonight, but instead I ventured home. He told me he would send postcards and telegrams home if he had to drive the hour and thirty minutes I do to get home. He's a wuss.
But a cool one. I don't exactly know what it is about him that is cool, though. We like the same music (excluding the fact he absolutely hates John Mayer and I haven't even mentioned my love for a certain boy-band). We're both sports nuts (Boston/Yankee/Kings/Lakers relationship). We both like to party. Somehow, we make an odd mesh of it all when we're together. 2:02.
His name is Josh. Joshua Chasez. He's a senior Marketing major at Northeastern State. He's Vice President of his fraternity. He's well known across campus. And the funny thing? He's totally frightened by the idea of asking a girl out. Therefore, I don't have to worry. And if he does seem to get over his lame phobia, I hope I am only there to congratulate him, not say "yes."
Why am I watching my phone, you ask? Well, with the time being 2:06 AM, I am sitting dead center of a house full of slumbering people. It is on silent and remaining that... silent. This is leaving the continuing question in my head, "Where shall I go to talk... if he does call?" We have guests tonight, leaving my very lovely mother peacefully snoring in my bed.
Okay, I lied. I may have had a thing for him. HAD. We made out once... big mistake.That's long over with. We don't talk about it, in fact, it's erased from our memories. Besides, I have my eyes on a new guy and he... well, has a huge thing for my old roommate but if you kick in his terror of taking a plunge, he's basically just sitting there un-taken. Is that a word?
Anyway... it is now 2:15 and I give up, but I know what will happen. Right when I am on the verge of seeing Mr. Wonderful in my dreams, I will recieve a text message that says something to the manner of "How was CSI?" That's what I told him I was doing tonight when he asked, watching CSI.
I will reply, "Amazing, as always. How was your night?" Now I know what you're thinking. If you didn't really care to talk to him, why ask another question? I'd like to know the answer myself.
His reply? "Okay, I went to the bar..." Like I didn't know. No one was in town and I was your entertainment for the night. Then this is where he gets into a drunken confusion and starts asking what the hell I am talking about. I start to explain, triggering more confusion. This all ends in me calling him, tired of racking up a ten cent per message bill, and having to explain every single part of our "conversation." He then replies, "Whatever. If you say so."
Those seem to be his favorite words. I always reply, "That's right. If I say so." He loves it. I know it.
As you can tell, we get in the same spats time after time. It's fun. It's occupying my useless time. It's... comfortable. And when we stand in a group of friends, I smile on the inside knowing that we have our own little thing that they have no clue about.
But believe me. I'm far from liking this buttface... again. He's hopeless.
2:30. And yes. My phone is brought back to life...
Number of reviews: 1
Print:
