I met this guy at a party this weekend and he kissed me at the end of the night. I think he was pretty drunk, but he got my number and hasn’t called yet. My friends are all totally over-analyzing this but I just want to know if he’ll call?
Wax on, wax off, turbo.
The dating game, like your sex life, is a long and boring process. Which is why many of us don’t follow the rules and just hop on the ride before he can buy us dinner.
Don’t wait by the phone. It will tear your insides out like a pint of Tobasco-laced Wild Turkey.
(Plus, while you’re rubbing one out in the shower to party dude’s face, you’ll wind up destroying your wifi antenna after over-excitedly dropping the phone in the tub when a text dings, only to find it’s mom, “How’s your yeast infection, sweetheart?”)
Sad to say, most of us will forever wait by the phone until the day we rot. (Even then, some will still be on hold for St. Peter or Beelzebub.)
Try and take your mind off of it, or it will drive you nuts.
Just the tip: Over-thinking is a girl’s worst enemy. I’ve found that having three or more vaginas over-analyzing ev-ery-thing makes the shitshow flow like a dry tap in the Prohibition. You’re dating the guy. Not your pals.
You’re a big girl. Keep your pants on. If he calls, play it cool. Don’t poop in the refrigerator. If he doesn’t call, so you lost some saliva. Go get it back this weekend.
My mom can’t get over the fact that I met my boyfriend in a bar. She keeps asking what we’d tell the grandkids. She won’t let it go. She met my dad at a church retreat, so that’s what I’m dealing with.
I know we all hold tight to a covert desire to seek approval from our parents until the day they die (unless we kick it first with cirrhosis), but there comes a point in life when we have to let go.
Plus, your story is way hotter than mom’s. So she met him at a retreat. They held hands and prayed the rosary. Neat.
You went to a bar, danced on the table, stumbled to his loft and walked around the next day like you rode a stallion through the Oregon Trail.
Put that in your bong and smoke it, grandkids.
Where in the wide world we meet our one true love doesn’t matter. It’s how in the wide world he waxes our woman warranty is what matters.
Whatever that means.
Follow Christy: twitter.com/fantzypants