We are going to fall in love and it is going to be horrible.
My friend is visiting from out of town, and since she is a mom we had to go to Costco. Moms love Costco. You must have had a mother once, so you know how that is. From the look of you, she probably died of heartbreak. I’m getting ahead of myself.
We were standing outside of what you certainly know as the slowest elevator in Hollywood. I think we stood there a full minute before you appeared and my life changed forever. I immediately spotted you, because you were the only moving object in the area. The sexual tension between us was instant and palpable. My friend knows me well enough to have felt it also, which she described as being pretty uncomfortable. She’s sort of butchy; I was afraid you would think we were lesbians. I suppose that could work in my favor.
You stepped out of apartment #204. Imagine my shock! When I moved into this building, your apartment was home to a small Mexican family. When did you get here? You were carrying the smallest bag of trash I have ever seen in my entire life. What was in there? It was the small translucent sort of bag people normally reserve for bathrooms. When I am finished typing this I am going to lower my friend down the trash chute so I can find out if you’re single. I can tell you are probably a musician, because you look miserable. Your greasy black hair hung in limp fettuccini strands to your tolerable jawline, and yet even that glory couldn’t distract me from your shitty tattoos. I love shitty tattoos and hate showering. See how much we have in common? You avoided eye contact with me as you pried open the door to the trash chute and dropped in your miniscule bag of indiscriminate waste. Was it because of my high-waisted shorts? Regardless, our magnetism was strong enough to elicit from you a reluctantly grunted, “Hi.” You briefly looked at me, but my cheap sunglasses shielded my rapidly-dilating pupils. I didn’t catch the color of your own eyes, but it’s enough to know you have them. They were right there in your face. It was four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon—this Saturday afternoon—and I can only assume you needed to hurry back into your apartment in order to make some terrible coffee or perhaps take part in a little recreational drug use. You are too fleshy to be using all the time, but let’s face it. You’re a sad bastard, and you love drugs.
I heard the sound of breaking glass as you went back into your apartment. I think it was my heart. This relationship is going to totally fuck over the both of us, but we shouldn’t try to resist the inevitable.
Things you should know about me:
I am full-time student, and can’t afford to spend much meaningful time with you. That’s okay, because your band takes up a lot of your own time. I won’t be the sort of clingy girlfriend that freaks out on you for coming home smelling horrible, because you won’t be the kind of douchy boyfriend that expects me to do banal Suburban shit, like wear pants.
I am some kind of freaky Relationship Whisperer. Are you looking for The One? I’m the girl for you. Not because I’m Ms. Right, but because Ms. Right has a tendency to pick up my sloppy seconds.
If you think you might be interested, hit me up. I can’t offer much, but I do have a good supply of Lean Cuisines, PBR, and light cigarettes. We can sit on my couch and tastefully ignore one another again. My friend promises not to interrupt our awkward silence, but she may correct your grammar. In your reply to this ad, please let me know what you think of the concept of the proposed universal dollar’s affect on the global market.