So dear readers, I think don’t know if you’ve gathered or not, but my sleuthing skills are incredible, unmatched. The FBI has heavily recruited me because of my God given skills*. I just wanted to tell you all a little story about my greatest feat of creeping yet. And this is how it all went down. It’s football time in [the state I live and attend college]. Our rivals to the northeast invaded the time-honored tradition of Gameday. This brought in hoards of fans, which in my head I had made to be hideously disfigured mountain people of the Appalachia. Since this game was such a momentous game, I came all decked out, including a homemade button that read, “Beat [rival].” The weather was reflecting my general mood being that it was dark, stormy, windy, and rainy. Since none of my friends share the necessity I feel to get to the stadium before kick off, I was looking at the very real possibility of sitting by myself because my shambly sorority little, Whisper** was tailgating with a dead phone. Being true to herself, I knew which fraternity she would be fraternizing with. Thank God, just this once, fraternity boys are loud and flashy because it didn’t take long to find the stench of beer and clatter of poseur cowboy boots. I spot Whisper** milling about the boys and was greeted, not with the typical shouts of “Who do you know???” but with a demand to “take off that button,” in a friendly banter that I was not expecting. “Hey, I paid good money for this,” I said stupidly, because what else would you expect from me. This guy in a rival’s shirt, standing at the tailgate, decided to indulge me by asking how much it was. “Three fifty,” was my answer, but in my defense it’s not easy to flirt about the price of buttons. “You paid three hundred and fifty dollars for that button?!” He was cute, but apparently the education he paid for didn’t include common sense. Being the clever, cool girl I am, I retort “No I don’t care about it that much.” If we’re being honest these few sentences are the longest conversation I’ve had with a man since the White Elephant in the Room episode. But wait, it gets better; and better in the way that benefits my love life and not this blog. During our conversation I was able to find out his age and where he currently lives. Why did you not ask his name? any person with a brain would ask. Well, I answer, his chest hair. Honest, his chest hair was pretty far up on the list of things I want to rub my face in. I think I made eye contact with his chest hair more than I looked at his face. Perfectly quaffed chest hair popping out of his button down is still ~doing it for me~. But alas it wasn’t meant to be because Whisper** made me leave to trek all the way across campus to basically go pee. Subtle, dramatic sighs are lost on her because she never suggested we go back. Any normal, sane person would say that this man was gone for the ages. However we all know I’m not ‘bout that life. Armed with the three facts about him, one of which was not his name, I sought him out on facebook. The naysayers said it couldn’t be done. It was just a simple case of looking up his alum fraternity, finding a picture of when he was active, looking at who liked the picture, and looking up every male who liked the picture until I found him. Cold case solved. Now I know his name and don’t have to refer to him as “the hot [university] guy.” But my soon-to-be ex-best friend Jess*** did what any true friend does and added him on facebook for me. I’m horrified and also depressed because he, surprisingly, has not added me back. Updates to come.
*that’s a lie
**def not her name, but close.
***also not her name, she watches a lot of New Girl tho