It is rarely, I think, a good idea to give your phone number to the guy you met 30 minutes before last call, whom you initially approached because you wanted to touch his cashmere sweater. Neither is it often a good idea to respond to said recently-upgraded-from-complete-stranger’s 2am “invite me over” text with the street address where you do, in fact, permanently reside. Yep, actions such as these are not recommended. Unless you’re looking to get laid. If you’ve prepared yourself with the correct protection (both prophylactic and semi-automatic), the aforementioned steps are as good a plan of action as any. But, if your ultimate goals for the wee morning hours instead include watching Tivo-ed Private Practice until 3am, ordering pizza, and then rolling over and offering your now-miffed stranger the blessed opportunity to play with your hair until you fall asleep, you should save everyone some heartache and tell the guy you’ll take a rain check. I mean, text. To the guy who left sometime between 3:30 and 4:30am, I’m sorry I was a tease. I’m also sorry I offered you a glass of water. I’m especially sorry that you redistributed said water on, in, and around my laptop. But there must be a perfectly plausible explanation for your mischief.
- After I passed out, you resorted to looking at porn on my computer and needed to destroy the evidence. For future reference: Erasing the web history would have been easier. - After I passed out, you resorted to looking at porn on my computer, and pleasuring yourself, and needed to destroy the physical evidence. In that case, thank you. - When the $36 pizza arrived at 3am, you were pissed my roommate and I didn’t have cash, and you had to pay for it. This would also explain why you took the pizza with you. - After sitting though an hour of Private Practice, you felt the need to try out your own resuscitation skills, by drowing my poor computer. You failed. I remember that you have a beard. Perhaps you are Amish and hate technology. - You are a PC. I am a Mac. - My iTunes switched over to my Wilson Phillips Playlist, which brought up some really painful middle school memories. Or maybe for you it’s college memories. I’m not sure. In the bright lights of my living room, you looked kinda old. - You remembered that I am a writer, and wanted to prevent a blog post such as this one from happening. Too bad, sucka.
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