Billy Bob

I'm a terrible blogger, as it turns out.  Great apologies.  That are fairly insincere, as I am in grad school and have piles of homework as my excuse.

This past weekend, my lovely roommate and I went to celebrate her last day at a horrible job.  We had a fabulous dinner of pizza and wine, and then we went to hear some "rockabilly" (which turns out is music previously sung by Buddy Holly and Elvis) at a local bar.  We were pretty excited, cause Lauren and I both love live music.  But we are girls that tend toward hipster styles, and apparently people who frequent rockabilly concerts are prone to dress more like punk 1950s teenagers.  I say this because it means we stuck out like sore thumbs.

However, we were having a great time.  Lauren's friend, Hope, had also joined us, so we were gabbing about boys as if we were 16 and having a slumber party.  The only difference was that we basically had to scream all this, and we were drinking chocolate martinis and whiskey instead of whatever 16 year old girls drink at slumber parties.  It was a great night, and we were very proud of our celebration.

And then I went to the bathroom.

I should preface this by saying that it seems whenever I go to the bathroom, I come back to something strange.  I don't know how it happens.  Once I went to the bathroom and came back to find my friends partying with Steve Winwood's saxophone player.  No joke.

This time I walked back to find my friends surrounded by 3 guys.  Two of which looked fairly normal.  The third had some intense foo man choo.  Luckily (or just mildly fine), I then started talking to a normal person, who bought me a drink and let me tell him I wasn't interested without getting pissed and throwing things.  But when I realized my friends were looking less than amused, I told my new friend I had to leave.  As I tried to gather my things, the boy sporting the 'stache (Billy Bob) started grabbing at my earrings.

Remember how I said Lauren and I lean toward the hipster?  Well, my earrings were feathers.

"Are these REAL?"  He yelled, clearly past drunk and into belligerent.  "Oh, man, did you make them?"

"No.  I think I got them at Target."

"You totally made them!  You should tell people that, at least."

"Please stop tugging at my earring."

"You can tell them you killed a seagull.  You grabbed it, wrung it's neck, and plucked the feathers for your earrings."

"That's disgusting."

"NO!  It's so cool!  I mean, seagulls are like the pests of the world."

"Actually, that's pigeons.  And you mean of the bird world.  Cause the world as a whole isn't terribly concerned about pigeons.  Or seagulls."

Billy Bob would not let it go.  He kept trying to grab my earrings, screaming about how I'd killed a seagull.  At one point, he then decided I should tell people it was a bald eagle.

We left so fast, I forgot to close out my tab.  Going back was possibly the hardest thing I've had to do.  Luckily Billy Bob was being questioned by the cops about a block down from the bar when we pulled up.

Allan Part 2

I have been remiss.

I apologize.

In order to make it up to you, I will tell you another Allan (Creepfestos) story.

Remember how he bought us those presents?  Well, that was just the start of his gift buying days.

My birthday falls the day before a national holiday.  Alright, alright.  I'll tell you.  It's July 3.  What do you do for 4th of July?  Picnic?  Camping?  Vacation?  All those options are regular picks for everyone I know.  What does not usually come up--celebrate Quinn's birthday.  And yes, I'm bitter.  I love my birthday.  It's a whole day where I don't feel the guilty need to pretend like I'm not a narcissistic American Millennial.  I want a big, amazing party.  I want to wear a dress.  I want it to be a surprise.  I want presents.  But not from Creepfestos.

On the day of my birthday in the year of Creepfestos, what I wanted was to not be with Creepfestos.  So we began an elaborate plan called "Avoid Creepfestos." (Yes.  We are the most creative people you will ever meet.)  It involved hiding in the boys' basement apartment of our house.  JT (one of the boys) hung out with Shauna, Angie, and I while we watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  You know.  The old one with the singing and the chocolate river that looked more like the diarrhea I had the year I had a stomach flu that made me lose 6 pounds.  (Too much information?  Sorry.)  It took us approximately 5 hours to watch it.  Because about every 20 minutes, we would hear the outside door open, which sent the three of us girls flying into JT's room and lock the door.  We would hear the footsteps go up to our apartment door, the knock, and then the footsteps come down to the basement apartment door.  JT would open it, pretending to be just arising from a nap (and yes...for all 5 hours he was just arising from a nap...), and tell Creepfestos that he did not know where we were, but that he would tell us Creepfestos stopped by.

That night, getting ready for my birthday dinner to the Olive Garden (cause we party right), Creepfestos found us.  And presented me with my birthday present.  A $100 bottle of perfume.  And by "presented me with it," I mean he came into my room, said, "Here," and threw the plastic bag on my bed.  Then walked out.  He also came with us to the Olive Garden.  Again, if I could figure out how to to that eye block out that supposedly makes people anonymous, I would post you a picture of my most awkward birthday dinner ever.

Bucky

Just as an important side note, I did not change the name of this one.  Because his name wasn't legally Bucky, but that's what we all called him.  I do not know why.

Bucky was actually friends with my friends.  They set us up.  The beginning to every blind date story is that your close friend decided to set you up with the only single guy they know.

Bucky picked me up in his very large pick up truck.  We went to the Olive Garden for lunch.  I distinctly remember sitting there and thinking, "Wow I wish I was anywhere else right now."  It wasn't anything specific, but one of those times when you just know you aren't going to click with someone.  And the way the conversation was going with Bucky, I knew we'd never talk again.

However, that's not the story I want to tell you.  I want to tell you what happened when he picked me up.

See, I was in college.  And as we all know, college is a weird time of life.  I lived with two other girls, but our neighbors, we'll call them Pinky and The Brain, were almost always at our house.  They were the kind of guys that would just long board on down, and never leave.  Or shower.  But they were fun, so we let them stay.  So of course, they were at the house when Bucky came.  And they were not thrilled about me going on a date with someone they didn't know.  Because for about 2 minutes of our multiple year friendship, they decided to be protective.

I was getting ready when they showed up.  And when they found out his name was Bucky, they went into full big brother mode.  And how do you suppose they decided to show Bucky that he'd better be nice and watch his back?  By removing their shirts.

Lest you think this may actually be intimidating, these were two of the lankiest, skinniest boys I've ever known.

They walked around our house, practically beating their chests and grunting ape sounds, for 20 minutes until Bucky came.  Regardless of my pleading to be normal.  They answered the door when he rang the bell.  I believe they said, "Oh, you're here for Quinn?  Well, what exactly are your intentions with her?  What are you planning to do with her today?  You know, we can find out where you live."

Thank you, Pinky and the Brain, for making an awkward date have to start with the conversation, "Um, who are those guys?"

Geoff and Seamus

I have been neglecting this poor blog.  Did I tell you all I'm in grad school?  Cause sometimes (not often, but usually around the end of the semester) I actually focus on that.  Sometimes.

But a fabulous thing happened the other night, and I must share it with you all.

Lauren (my roommate, remember?) and her friends wanted to go to this brewery in town.  Living in the particular state that I live in, breweries are pretty common.  But they are usually a pretty chill place to hang out, so I tagged along.  And I am so glad I did.

Not two minutes after walking in, this red-headed man (we'll call him Seamus, since he had such bright red hair) came right up to Lauren and I and asked if we would join him for a game of pool.  After some hemming and hawing, we accepted.  Except Lauren didn't play, so her friend Molly took her place.  Molly and Seamus teamed up, leaving me with Seamus' friend Geoff.

The best part about this is that both Seamus and Geoff were characters all of their own.  While Seamus and Molly kicked butt at pool, Seamus put some hard core (though rather gentlemanly) moves on Lauren.  And while we were losing, Geoff was pretending he had game.  Now, an important fact about me is that I am terrible at pool.  So most of my shots not only didn't go in, but I often didn't even hit the ball.  Yet, after every miserable shot, Geoff would say, "That was perfect!  Great!"  And then he would high five me.  Only his hand, the one I was supposed to hit, was usually awkwardly placed at his hip.  So...not so much a high five as a hip five.

Meanwhile, Lauren was being serenaded by Seamus.  Yes, that's right.  Serenaded.  Here is the best lyric of the song he sang:  "I smell the colors, and they're beautiful."  He then grabbed her and started waltzing around the room, dipping her about every two steps.  At the end of this completely hilarious dance, he kissed her hand.  And then said, "Middle of next week, I'm going to take you on a date.  It may not be a great date, but it'll be awesome."

Guess what that date was?  A session of Core Yoga.

They were too sweet to actually be labeled as creepers, but it was a hilarious story, nonetheless.  And I'm still a little sad that Lauren got the singer, while I got the hip-fiver.

Brandton

My friend and commiserator in attracting creepers, Lacey, had a friend that wanted to set her up.  She hates being set up, but equally hates being single, so she agreed if she could bring me and thus it be a double blind date.

I really "appreciated" this, as she set this all up before talking to me.  As this was early in our friendship, she didn't know how I attract creepers and that I have a strict no blind dates rule.  (By strict, I mean I follow it loosely.  Sometimes that free dinner is just too good to pass up.)  Since she already set it all up, I begrudgingly agreed to go.

We sat in the restaurant for 20 minutes waiting for the supposed firemen to show up.  We almost left when two guys wearing matching acid washed jean jackets walked in, but luckily they seemed to be on a date with each other.

When they finally showed (after we'd been sitting at our table for enough time for us both to down a glass of wine each), we discovered all the ways we had been deceived.  1) Neither were firemen.  One of them talked about how he'd like to be a fireman, but didn't seem to be actively pursuing that.  I believe my date was a low man on the totem pole at an oil change stop.  2) Neither of them seemed to possess personalities.

Lacey and I are quite hilarious, really.  I mean, alone we're a good time.  Put us together and we are basically a high class comedy act.  We're quite humble about it, too.  We were pulling out some of our best stuff that night, too.  Especially aided by the now 2 or more glasses of wine.  At one point, our waiter was having such a good time, he stayed at our table laughing with us for at least 10 minutes.

Those boys, Brandton and Dale, never even cracked what could be interpreted as a smile.  I distinctly remember, when explaining to Brandton that my car's name is Lola--she used to be a "prostitute" (aka rental car)--he looked at me and said, "I don't get it."  I'm not sure where the complexity of that joke comes in.  I believe it was then that Lacey and I took a trip to the bathroom to discuss our options.

The best part, though, was that this was the one time I didn't attract the creeper!  About 30 minutes after arriving home from this pitiful excuse for a blind date, Lacey called to tell me that my date, Brandton, had gotten her number from Dale and called her.  Apparently Dale wasn't into either of us.  So I was off the hook, Lacey had to turn down the robot that was my date, and we got some free Italian.

Not too bad of a blind date, in my book.

White Man

You never know when or where a creeper is going to appear.  This is why you must always be on guard, and why you should always have a friend as your designated "creeper detractor."

A creeper detractor is someone you can call whenever you need to be occupied so as not to talk to them.  Like if your cashier at Safeway is a regular creeper, you call her (or him, I guess) and talk to her whenever you check out.  If she doesn't answer, she knows what's going on when you leave her a message going, "Yeah!  I know, right?  It was so bizarre.  I mean, who even does she think she is?"  This creeper detractor is also useful when you feel there is a creeper stalking you and you need someone to be on the alert in case the police become involved.

The latter is what my creeper detractor, Angie, did for me today.

Yes.  Today.  I'm not even exaggerating.

I innocently went to Safeway (and as I type this, I am beginning to think Safeway and I should go our separate ways) to get milk and bread.  As I parked my car, there was a regular, middle aged white man with glasses (just so you know how not-creepery he seemed) was walking past me.  He stared into my car, and then continued walking.  I was not concerned.  Yet.

As he walked into Safeway, he kept turning around and looking at me.  Intently.  As I walked into the Safeway (mistake number 1), he continued staring.  At one point, he literally just stood in the entrance staring at me.

I decided to take the long way to the milk and bread.  Also, I'm new to the area, so I don't really know where the bread is in this Safeway.  (Mistake number 2: always know exactly where you're going when being stalked.  It makes for quicker getaways.)  As I wandered, mostly lost now, around the Safeway, he popped out of aisles no less than 3 times.  Each time looking at me intently.

I say "intently" because there was nothing subtle about his stare.  It was one of those "I'm memorizing your very face" type of stares.

I found the bread, quickly grabbed a loaf, and began to leave.  But I wasn't quick enough.  This time, he spoke.

"Hi.  How are you?"  He said, staring.

I think I grunted something and then left quickly.

The check out process was rather difficult as I was flustered and trying to leave faster than I really could.  It didn't help that he got in the lane next to me.

I left the store, called Angie, and jumped into my car.  And then I saw him leaving the Safeway.

With not a single item purchased.

Sniper

My dear friends Larissa and Beth wanted to go out.  Beth was new in town, and she'd never been to our "downtown."  (It's not much of a downtown.  There's a whole block of stuff, and then nothing.  Thus, the quotation marks.)  So we said we'd take her down, show her the 5 bars, get in a little country line dancing maybe.

We started at this bar that usually has a great live band.  I mean, cover band, but they're still good.  (It's not much of a town for the music scene either.)  Sadly, some kind of alien abduction must have happened, because we were three of a total eight people in the bar.  I'm not even exaggerating.  So we sat there, having our beers and talking about where we'd go next.

For some reason, I started telling a creeper story.  It's what I do.

Then, two girls behind Beth and Larissa started making out.  Now, I have nothing against this, but it's an important part of the story.  And also, it did take me a little aback.  Just like I would have if it'd been a straight couple.  I pointed it out, the girls took a 2 second look, and we went back to my story.

Then an entire glass of beer landed on Beth.

Turns out, the girls thought that these three guys (also behind us) had taken a picture of their little make out session.  And while punching and actually trying to strangle one of them, the girls had accidentally thrown a beer on Beth.

For some drunken reason, Larissa decided to buy the poor beat up fellow a shot.  And then the three boys decided to follow us around for quite some time.

In events following, I somehow found myself the newest recipient of "Sniper's" love.  He got ahold of my phone, and thus phone number, and began calling me.  Not the next day.  That same night.  Whenever I was out of his sight.  (Once I was in the bathroom.  It was not a pleasant conversation.)

I informed Sniper that he was alone in his feelings.  He told me that he was in the army.  (That's the normal pick up line for our town.)  I told him I didn't care.  He told me he was a sniper.  I told him to go away.  He asked me to go see a movie with him.  I told him I thought he was a dbag.  He told me I was sexy.  You get the point.

The following day, I received no less than 30 text messages from him.  Asking if I'd like to come "hang out in the barracks" and other such things.  Occasionally, he must have gotten confused about what "sent" and "received" meant, because he would text me, "I think ur sexy," and then say, "I think ur sexy, too."  And a number of other such one person conversations.

At some point, I decided enough was enough and texted him that there was no way he was ever going to see me again, and that he should just stop.  He then texted me no less than 10 messages about how I must be bipolar, as I had invited him to the movies and called him sexy earlier.

Creeper and stupid.  It's a wonder he's not snatched up yet.

As a side note, I recently found some pictures from that night.  He is lurking in the background.  It's a terrible shame such cute pictures have gone to waste like that.