The Worst Chatting Up Ever

So this weekend, I trotted back over the Irish Sea to visit some pals in Reading and London.  


I know I've been neglecting this blog, but it was broached by some on Friday that I ought to blog more, so...here we are.  I probably could write about a lot of things, but in the spirit of reflecting reality, there's only one event that is sticking in my mind.


On Saturday, I went to London to see a friend's band play.  They were called Move and Fire, and were super awesome, in The Good Ship in Kilburn, North London.  Unfortunately, amid the sea of smiling waving faces when I entered the bar, one smiling waving face stood out.   My stomach froze and my heart did the congo.  I never react to people like such a geek, but this particular boy- I met him once years ago and just thought he was IT.  I mean, he's a nice boy and certainly not unfortunate looking, but my reaction to him is totally irrational.  


I mentally cursed that he was there on Saturday because I knew it would turn my (already slightly) drunk self into a gushing idiot.


Oh, how well I know myself.


Within very little time I had introduced him to my friend with what I can only imagine was a very loud stage whisper 'Yes, and this is the boy I will marry one day....'.  These sort of stage whispers, coming from me, who is always such a quiet girl...yeah.  Frig.


 Were that not bad enough, we got to chatting.  The stupid boy indulged me.  Come ON!  You never indulge the dickheads!  We got to chatting about his course at uni- architecture.


Me: So, How's it going at school?
Him:  Yeah, really well....*blah blah blah*
Me: (gazing earnestly and blearily up at him) You should work for Kitsuné though.  
Him: Ehh... is that an architecture firm?
Me: Oh no.  Its a record label in France.  Very cool.
Him: ?
Cat:  (lost in my soft focus view of him)  Yeah.  Definitely.  You're....you're handsome enough to work for them.


I swear to God, I shouldn't be allowed out.  I NEVER get on like this, its just this boy makes me go crazy.  Frig.  What a complete tosser I am!  Surprisingly, this didn't sink like a lead balloon, in fact, it was only the following day when I remembered the word 'handsome', that I recalled with horror what a schmoozy tool I am.   I also woke him up later that night at about 5am with the whispered words "Hey [   ].  I'm bored, tell me a story?".  TELL ME A STORY?!  Ugh JESUS.  I clearly have ALL THE MOVES.  Thank God he's English and so dealt with me politely.  I know plenty of Irish lads who would've lobbed at pillow at my face and told me to piss off!


Wan


Ker.


Seriously.  Thank God I only see him once or twice a decade.  Maybe thats my lifetime quota filled, and for his sake, I hope it is.  I don't like being a buck eejit!