But more about that in another post. I have an even better story to tell.
This evening, I was hauling in boxes into my new Sexy Dojo* and shoving them into my walk-in closet. I am an extremely nostalgic person (no shit) so I keep almost everything that can be tied to a memory.
As I am on my tip toes trying to push in this tiny box, a tiny scrap of papers flutters to the ground. I picked up the yellowish, fragile paper and realize it's a receipt. A receipt with the name "Amy" and a phone number on it.
Bust out your flux capacitors. We're going back in time.
Set to 2005.
When I moved to Los Angeles right after graduating college, the first thing I did was try and find a job. Leo and I graphed out a radius of where we were going to submit resumes and everyone knows you have to start off in the service industry if you're going to make it in LA. Leo and I both got hired on the spot as servers at a little restaurant in Hollywood (we would later find out that we both got the gig because our gay manager thought it was cute to hire a "gay couple").
I digress. One evening, our restaurant closed down for a private event. It's all a bit hazy, but from what I remember bus loads of college kids dresses as angels or demons came pouring out. I was busy all night serving drinks, but at some point the party got out of control and I stopped working altogether. I struck up a friendship with a small group of guys and girls; I remember that one cute girl, in particular, was really friendly. I started taking shots with them, chatting them up, taking more shots, etc. The group was a lot of fun.
At the end of the night, the friendlier girl said to me, "I'm going to give you my number!" She grabbed my server's book and scribbled down her name and number on the back of one of my receipts. I was extremely flattered, but dismissed it as she was probably just being really nice and really drunk. Besides, I was dating Lynn at the time so I thought nothing of it. I tucked it into my book and forgot about it.
Flash forward 3 years later; this very evening. In my hands was that receipt. So what do I do?
I made the decision to text her:
What the hell right? I swear sometimes I do these things for the sake of having blog stories. I'm sure that girl changed her number by now. Or lives somewhere else. Or won't respond to a random text message out of nowh--
Part II to follow...
* official name of bachelor pad to be decided at a later date