No Booty Call Text Should be Written in a Jamaican Accent

I had a crush on a guy, we’ll call him Creed, in my sorority’s brother fraternity for about two years in college.  I use the term ‘crush’ loosely because I can have 36 of those at any given time.  Essentially what it means is I always wanted to hook up with him but never got myself out of the friend zone (as we get to know each other a little more, you’ll notice that this is a recurring theme in the history of my life).  I graduated from college nearly five years ago; Creed and I had exchanged a few texts over the past few years, said hi to each other through mutual friends that we’ve bumped into at weddings… but haven’t seen each other since graduation and in no way have really stayed close.

Creed found out I was leaving The City and had always wanted to vacation there, so he booked a ticket to come visit before I moved.  I tried not to get too excited, because after all… he was coming for a free place to stay in a city he had always wanted to visit… Lord knows that didn’t work out well for me.  I was mortified and every coffee break convo for an entire month consisted of Ryan coaching me through the text messages and internal arguments I was having with myself.  Have I gotten fat?  What if I’ve gotten fat?  Will he think I’m funny?  Am I as funny as I was in college or have I become a working drone?  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.  Ryan’s advice always ended something along the lines of:

“Sarah.  YOU ARE A GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL.  YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING.  Just don’t fuck it up.”

Right.  Don’t fuck it up.  I’m a girl.  All guys ever want to do is hook up… I shouldn’t have to do anything!  So I decided I’d give this mentality a shot.

Creed landed on a Friday night at 11p which happened to be the last day of Ryan and I’s busy season at work.  What that means is we were already shitfaced by 8p and I made Creed take a cab from the airport to come meet me, Ryan, and the rest of The Bros at bar #3 for the evening.  Ryan and The Bros played wingman that night and although I don’t recall much of it, I know I owe it to them for getting Creed caught up on drinks.  Night 1 of Creed’s visit ended with us quite literally passed out on the sidewalk in front of the Liberty Mutual Building.  We made out.  A lot.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details from Nights 2 & 3… but I will say it was an awesome weekend.  I got into work Monday morning and high fived Ryan for giving me the bro confidence… the I’m-A-Girl mentality totally worked!

our babies would be ridiculously good looking… jus sayin

The story doesn’t end there.

After that weekend I felt a sense of accomplishment… a new life purpose, if you will.  Not with Creed… with every guy I’ve been friend zoned by in my entire liiiiife.  Lookout world!  Also, I’m not the psycho girl that gets attached… the situation with Creed was more about conquering an old crush than starting any kind of meaningful relationship.

So Creed and I have kept in touch since that weekend, but I was pleasantly shocked the other day when I received this text:  “I miss The City!!!!”  It’s been about two months now… was I supposed to read between the lines here?

Be cool Sarah.  Be. Cool.  Here’s how our conversation went:

Creed: I miss The City!!!!

Me: That makes two of us.  New City?

Creed: Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

Me: Come teach me how to surf Queef Cheek! (inside joke)

Creed: buahahahaha!  I’ve seen like three movies based in The City 😦  I’m in ATL this week… had a Portuguese muffin for breakfast this morning (sidenote: while he was in town I got him this baller breakfast sandwich on a Portuguese muffin and he loved it)

Me: That’s neat.  I had a dream I did a triathlon and woke up only to realize my fat ass had been asleep in bed for 8+ hours :/ White girl problems.  What’s in ATL?

Creed: Haha!  Here for work.  Blah.  You have an office here… come work here for the week!

Me: Alright I’m sold

Creed: I got a room ready for ya!

Me: I’m only coming if there are bunkbeds.

Creed: That’s the only way I request my rooms!

Me: So much room for activities!! K.  Fort on bottom, sleep on top?

Me: Makea da bunkbeds shakea???

AND HE NEVER RESPONDED.  WTF, SELF?!?!?! Bunkbeds?!?!?! Jamaican accent?!?! REALLY!??! Ryan, who is usually extremely supportive just repeatedly said ‘Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy’ and to that, I have no answer.  He then started making fun of me via chat.  I’m in a new office and I had to mask my laughter of his jokes by continuously coughing so people didn’t know I was getting absolutely no work done.  The moment Ryan said “You’re like a female version of Bob Marley… haha Barb Marley! I’m going to start calling you Barb!” is when I actually lost it.  So much so, that the man sitting on the other side of my cubical wall reached over to hand me not one… but an entire bag of cough drops.

And that’s just ten minutes of my day.  Get excited for more posts to come… Ryan and I are looking forward to sharing our ridiculousness with the world, one failed relationship at a time.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “No Booty Call Text Should be Written in a Jamaican Accent

  1. Pingback: I Went To Buy A Mattress And Got The Salesman Instead | Can I Get Ur Number?

  2. Pingback: The Art of Texting | Can I Get Ur Number?

  3. Pingback: Hot Surfer S-E-X | Can I Get Ur Number?

  4. Pingback: There Was Absolutely No Shame In That Walk | Can I Get Ur Number?

  5. Pingback: The West Coast Chronicles: Sarah’s Rendition | Can I Get Ur Number?

  6. Pingback: Entertaining Texts… Courtesy of Sarah’s iPhone | Can I Get Ur Number?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s