Guy: So... I have a question for you. What's your name again?
Guy: Ok, I thought so. This may sound weird, but are you Romanian?
Me: Uhm... no... not that I'm aware of.
Guy: No? Well, still... you have a very beautiful name.
Me: (internally) Well... that's a first. (spoken) Thanks.
What makes someone think I'm Romanian? I don't know... I think my features are distinctly hispanic-y... but maybe that's just me?
|Porn-tastic Latina pose, although I skimped on the cleavage|
Poor guy gets points though... for still trying to talk to me after seeing I had my "bored bitch" face on.
Obviously it wasn't because I was bored, but I'm still... all flustered over writing statements of purpose. I spend the majority of my time re-editing my shit in my head, constantly trying to come up with interesting sentences (I've re-edited my "I was supposed to go to Med school" opening line about four times. Still not happy with it, clearly).
These two gay dudes totally weren't my fans...
Oh, I should probably clarify this all went down at a Halloween costume party where I was a Notre Dame football player ("Play like a chick today," since those boys are fuckin' up this season and playing like girls, not champions. I was going to be a Cowboy's football player, but I do not own a single piece of Cowboy's paraphernalia)-- explains the "eye black" on my cheeks.
Anyway, back to the gay guys, they hated me. They called me boring because during my turn on "Apples to Apples" I chose "poison ivy" as opposed to "Brad Pitt" and some other guys for the "organic" subject. My reasoning was "well, technically, I'm a biologist... so..." I was their fucking pony the rest of the night.
Then sitting directly to my right was the guy who thought I was Romanian... and by directly, I mean "He was on me." His leg was resting on my leg, then his foot was on my foot, then his hand found his way to my (outer) thigh.
Um... o...k... you do know your own leg works just as well when it comes to resting your hand, right?
He was handsome, with freakishly light blue eyes, fine features... and he was an English teacher, but he had one giant flaw:
He was wearing an Argentina soccer jersey.
Giant fuck up right there, homie. I'm starting to hate Cristiano Ronaldo because he rocks a Real Madrid jersey-- regular dudes in Argentina jerseys run worse luck.
Plus... I think he was gay. What dude likes a chick wearing a football jersey and eye black?
Did I remove his hand? Nah. I did remove myself for a while, then returned to move my seat a little closer to my friend (guy dressed like a sexy female gypsy, so I doubt that helped)... but English Teacher found a way to scoot close to me and rest his knee into my leg once again. I just gave up and let him keep invading my bubble. At least he wasn't going for my boob, or even my inner thigh.
While I don't mind the male attention... I can't really react to it, either.
My brain was saying "HANDSOME! He has blue eyes, AnoMALIE, BLUE EYES! He's sorta smart and all over you! GO! Touch him back, idiot! At least flirt, for fucks sake!" but my body (and heart) was like "Eh. Thanks. But who cares?" up until my brain decided to give up.
Hooray for self-sabotage!
Then again, he was wearing an Argentina jersey... there has to be something wrong there... right?