About a dude

Hello my loyal subjects and welcome people who have wandered onto this “blog” by accident or the numerous ‘hot guy’/’Christian Bale’ tags. How y’all doing? As much as I’d like to continue making banal inquiries into your lives, here’s the dealio. I’m considering starting a series of short stories about meet-cutes. This is a sample of what that series might entail. By this I mean the portion under that dotted line. If I seem less than genial today, it’s probably on account of the fly I found in my soup. Whatcha gonna do though? Life goes on. Leave comments, hopefully the kind that’ll brighten my day.
 
In other unrelated stuff, how cute is this drawing of Gus & Hazel from TFIOS
The Fault in Our Stars

The Fault in Our Stars

Source: http://umcafeeumlivroqualquer.tumblr.com/

 
 
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The name’s Fiona. I’m not exactly the girliest girl around, but that’s neither here nor there, just some context, sorta. This is about a guy. Let me paint you a picture, I’m no artist either, but this should be easy enough. The day was August the Thirteenth, it was a Friday, and I was about to turn 21. I was also in one of those moods, you know the ones where you get all contemplative, and attempt to “take stock of your life”. What have I accomplished? Will drinking legally be fun? What if Game of Thrones gets canceled?(I know it will never actually happen, but still the thought irks me sometimes). 

 
Those were among the more profound concerns swirling through my mind as I made my way to the lobby of the W Hotel. It was the final destination of the rigorously planned treasure hunt my friends had set up leading to an even more elaborate “surprise” party. The receptionist handed me a tiara, and insisted I pose for a picture wearing it, before she handed over the final set of instructions. I was mildly content if not ecstatic, I was also making a subtle statement by pushing the envelope with my non-conformist outfit. Dress code is smart casual? Let’s see you stop me from wearing my boyfriend jeans(brand new from Macy’s and not my actual boyfriend’s) and lacklustre tank-top. Fortunately for me, my birthday was the one day I was let off the hook for my unabashed and purposeful ignorance of social, fashion-al, and behavioral norms. 
 
‘Go to the rooftop and there your greatest gift awaits’
 
The elevator was empty when I stepped in, I caught a glimpse of my tiara-donned reflection. I could’ve easily been mistaken for a drunk Bachelorette party stray. THe thought amused me and as I allowed myself a slight smirk the elevator stopped on the 6th floor. A man walked in, he was just the right amount of casual, and he had the looks of a guy who could play a vampire on TV. I managed to put down my arm, it had been making its way upward of its own accord, towards him, in what could have either been an attempt to shake his hand, or something less lady-like, we’ll never know. Well he’ll never know anyway. 
 
He seemed to give me the once over, eyes lingering on my tiara and spurring the urge to explain. 
 
“It’s my birthday”
 
“Mine too.”, he had the voice that you would imagine Adam Levine would have, if you hadn’t ever actually heard him sing, and had just seen his face. He didn’t seem overjoyed though. I liked that, he was chill, not too perky.
 
“Happy birthday!!!”, believe me I actually said the three exclamation points, he must’ve noticed too, he smiled. Now when I describe this, try to picture it the right way, it was as if the left side of his mouth kinda twitched and curved upward and someone hit the pause button on his face, mid-twitch. The result was absolutely spectacular. 
 
“Um, happy birthday to you too…uh?”
 
“Osman. Fiona. Like in Shrek, except less Ogre.”. We shook hands.
 
“Sam,” he smoothed over the awkwardness that peeked out at my mention of Ogres. 
 
I kid you not, we were somewhere between the 42nd floor and the 43rd when the elevator stopped. And the lights go out. Okay, maybe that’s a lie, the lights did not go out, they flickered.
 
So there we were, locked in a claustrophobic metal box, on our birthday, sans cellphone reception. I had nothing to complain about, and nothing to worry about either, except for the delay in my birthday festivities and possibly the fact that I was now exceedingly conscious of the gaping silence within the elevator. 
 
“This is convenient,” he said grimacing. Safe to say he was about as peeved at this situation as I was delighted. 
 
“Yup. My friends will not believe me when I tell them about this,” I sounded nonchalant and for pulling that off I gave myself permission to spend 5$ on in-app purchases in Candy Crush. 
 
“I won’t get paid if I show up late to this gig, it’s some snotty shindig on the rooftop bar. I’m supposed to be tending bar and I’m four…ty five minutes late”. 
 
And that my friends is how my absolute fantasy meet-cute with a gorgeous bartender who shared my birthday deteriorated quickly into an anti-climactic anecdote that I embellish with each passing year. I always whip it out at every single occasion where an open bar is involved. Thank you and Good Night. 
 
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Also how awesome is Bastille? If you haven’t heard Pompeii yet 
 
 
 
 
 
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