Four of my undergraduate years I spent at the beautiful University of Washington, up in Seattle.
In those four years, I never made it to a single football game. Not one. Lord knows I tried to. I woke up at 8:00 am like the rest of my fraternal brothers to wear our purple and gold and guzzle enough shots of Barcardi 151 to kill a small elephant. The tailgate parties were legendary, but I would either get too sick or pass out in a bush when it was time for kick off. I'm a great catch, what can I say?
But not this time. This last weekend was my first Husky football game and I made it through the entire game!
Our usual crew bought the necessities for a great tailgate: packed the bbq, 30 pack of suds, half g of some random vodka, a tattered football.
We got a good spot on the Rosebowl fairway. And to our surprise, 3 cute UCLA girls randomly stumbled upon our site and set up camp a few feet away. We told them to come party with us and they fit in quite nicely with us.
Tacos were consumed. Beers were shotgunned. "Go DAWGS!" was bellowed.
But I digress. This blog isn't about my drunken college football escapades. It's about starting over in the dating world at 24 years old. That part of the story came much later game.
When we got our seats, we got separated from our new UCLA friends. But at halftime, I stumbled (literally) into one of the girls. Cute, little blonde. Funny. My height (hollah!). We exchanged words and at this point she grabs my hand and at our combined height of 10'5", we swerved in and out of the crowd to go back to her seats.
Here's the thing. A girl hasn't held my hand since... well, my ex-girlfriend. And I'm not looking into it like it's a big deal; it was two drunk people trying to find their way back to their seats. But I'd be lying to myself if I didn't at least acknowledge that I had a some kind sensation: A cute girl was holding MY hand.
I thought to myself, even in my inebriated state, "Oh shit. Is she holding hands with me? Or did I just boldly grab her hand? Am I creeping her out? Maybe I'll let go of her hand and see if she re-grabs mine; that'll confirm it. No wait, that'll just show that I'm not interested. Oh fuck. Whatever."
My thought process hasn't matured since elementary school. What a boner.
My tip-toe-through-the-tulips moment lasted about 2 mins before we found our seats. Phone numbers were exchanged; I'm a bit fuzzy about how that happened. And "nice to meet you, we'll call you next weekend" texts followed the next morning during a pounding hangover.
It's always fun making new friends, right?
Now playing: BloodHound Gang - A Lapdance is So Much Better When The Stripper Is Crying