Hit The Floor

Seduction.  In high school, I always imagined that a boy would try to sweep me off my feet.  I didn’t quite think that these strapping young men would take the sentiment so literally until I found myself hoisted above Tom’s shoulders while he attempted to spin me.  Less then five seconds later, this involved me slamming my head on the floor when his hands slipped.  At least beer is good for your hair.

The Unwilling Accomplice

Went out last night with Amanda, which was an experience.  We loitered awkwardly outside the party her in a cute top and jeans and me, for some misguided reason, in a white T-shirt and cutoffs.  I know my way around party attire…  Two guys came up to us, using the excuse of “yeah, we’re in the same class together!  No, we’ve never talked to each other…” while I was prepared to roll my eyes and walk away.   One, Alex may have been his name, leaned forward and in the most awkwardly lascivious way, oozed “I have Smirnoff.  Girls like Smirnoff, right?”  Well with lines like that, who can resist?  I opened my mouth to retort, but was beat by Amanda, who leaned forward and said, “Sounds like a plan.”  Wait, did she just wink at him?  But I don’t want Smirnoff. 

As we followed them back to their room, I relayed this sentiment only to receive a muttered “He’s hot and has alcohol” in return.  Such standards.  After examining the lone grimy shot glass and refusing, I somehow ended up outside this young man’s room while the two of them remained inside.  His blonde roommate, who had started the evening with an “I have mononucleosis” sat next to me, dejected.  “Wingmanning sucks, doesn’t it?” he grunted, looking down at his hands.  “What?”  Was I a wingwoman for accompanying this salacious act?  The affirmative reply led to several ponderings.  First of all, if they both clearly wanted to lick each others’ faces, then why did I have to come too?  I understood being there for the initial conversation, but following them back to his dorm?  As exciting as making small talk about the Backstreet Boys is, I would rather be eating glass.  And second, how long was I supposed to wait outside in the frigid weather?  Until they finished?  Until I received a text message indicating that I could leave? Or was our extremely stealth exit to play ultimate Frisbee my cue to go home?  Was I his roommate’s consolation prize for being kicked out?  Because while I felt bad for the kid, there are some things that a girl just won’t do.  

Potentially unrelated: Did you know that an accomplice is always tried with the person who committed the crime?  Even if the perpetrator killed someone while the accomplice was sitting idly in the car, unaware of and unwilling for such an act to take place, he would be tried for being part of the murder as well.  Just saying.

But...

I’m pretty sure that I’m slightly possibly completely obsessed with the guy on the floor above me who has nothing in common with me.  Right, I may have neglected to mention him.  We can call him Sandwich Boy.  This is because he is in my literature class, and he never has time to eat lunch because his history class is right before it, so I once thought of making a turkey sandwich and wrapping in a napkin to bring him.  I never have the desire to make people food.  This is terrible.

We’ve spoken about three times in the elevator, but he’s got these long-lashed big brown eyes that remind me of Lindt truffles and hazelnuts, and this perfectly pink, almost girlish mouth that’s balanced out by his stern jawline.  Oh god.  You just became a trashy romance writer.  These descriptions are reserved for novels like Stella’s Choice, or The Lady and the Rogue.  Perhaps we can banter and then make wildly passionate love against the hull of his ship.  I don’t actually know what part that is, but it sounds appropriate.