IT’S ABOUT ME- FUCK IT.

The boy- Wess 

Preface: I feel like, so far, my blog sounds like I’m hating on men. The last three posts have been stories in which the guy is the loser, and the girl shines.

So I’m going to turn the tables and tell you a very embarrassing story about myself, where the guy shines and I am the loser. The (I promise!) uncharteristically, crazy loser. 

I’m 23 and single, and I’m good with it. Seriously. Like if I were sending you a text about it, I wouldn’t include a period at the end of my message, because we all know how that changes the tone…

 “I’m good” (Friendly- Seriously)

vs

“I’m good.” (Aggressive- Not Seriously) 

One of my best friends, Sara, is dating a guy who’s 31. I hang out with Sara and her boyfriend a lot, which means that I hang out with her boyfriend’s group of friends a lot… which means that I often times find myself in social situations with “mostly couples.”

New Years Eve is coming up, which is my absolute least favorite ‘holiday.’ I begged my parents to spend a stupid amount of money for all of us to go see the Billy Joel premier concert that night, just so I would have an ‘out’. My parent’s didn’t give in though, because its very obvious that I care/know very little about Billy Joel.

A list of literally every single thing I can think of that I know about Billy Joel:

• He’s gay
• He wears sequins
• He plays the piano well
• Robert Downy Jr. was in one of his music videos
• The melody to “Tiny Dancer” (Not so much the lyrics- Until very recently I thought the lyrics were “hold me close, I’m tired of dancing.” Which makes way more sense.)

*I know that is Elton John*

Because my parents don’t love me, I actually have to make New Years Eve plans…

I make plans with Sara to go to a New Years party hosted by one her boyfriend’s friend, which means that my plan is to spend the night with mostly couples. Spending a typical night with mostly couples is fine. Spending New Years Eve with mostly couples sucks. 12AM on Jan 1^st is the most polarizing time of the year. It’s either:

 “You’re kissing the person you’re going to spend the rest of the year with! Maybe even the rest of your life!!!”

or

“You’re not kissing anyone but everyone else is! You’re going to die alone!!!”

This is what’s going through my mind during the countdown, when everyone around me is preparing to kiss their significant other:

10- Fuck.
9- Oh, fuck.
8- There has to be someone.
7- Anyone?
6- COME ON.
5- Seriously?
4- Yea. Seriously.
3- Look at the floor.
2- Don’t look at the floor, that’s weird.
1- I’m single… and I suddenly care?

This party is catered (I’ve now learned from hanging out with 30+-year-olds that some of them actually make money and can afford to treat their guests to food and drink more extravagant than pretzels and generic soda). Post-12AM, after coming to the overly-dramatic (and thankfully fleeting) realization that I’m going to be single forever, I give up and I’m posted up alone by the table of food, aggressively stuffing my face with spinach and artichoke dip and pieces of California roll, when a handsome stranger comes over to me.

“FINALLY,” I think.

I have too much food in my mouth to chew and swallow in time to introduce myself, so I just shove the mayonnaisey mush into my right cheek and get out a muffled hello. I convince myself that it’s ‘cute’, what I just did. But it’s not. It’s actually pretty disgusting. Anyways, the stranger tells me that his name is Wess.

Wess and I talk for a few minutes until he politely excuses himself and walks away.

Then fucking Wess, goes over to another fucking girl, and he kisses her. HE FUCKING KISSES HER.

“HE’S PLAYING ME,” I think.  

Wess walks by me, because I’m standing by the food table located at the center of the party, and I grab his arm.

“I’M GOING TO TELL HIM OFF,” I think.

This is how my “telling him off” goes:

Meredith– HEY. I saw you kissing that girl over there.
Wess– Uh, yea…
Meredith– What? Is she your, your girlfriend?
Wess– Yes.
Meredith– But, you were talking to me before that?
Wess– Because you were standing alone for 25 minutes eating dip.
Meredith– YOU LED ME ON.
Wess– I was just trying to be nice.
Meredith– Yea. Well. WHATEVER.

“I WIN,” I think.

I’m kidding. I lost so hard. I mean, I was acting crazy. SO crazy. And I knew it, but I just didn’t care. I wanted to get mad at someone and Wess was that person. Sorry, Wess.

Moral of the (embarrassing) story- Don’t be the only single person at a party on New Year’s Eve.

Moral of my (embarrassing) post- My blog isn’t anti-male.