J. was super fun in a loud/dumb sort of way (sounds appealing, right?), and as the night went on we seemed to like each other enough to continue the fun in the French Quarter because nine bars is not enough.
A group of us ended up at our favorite place, The Goldmine, drinking flaming Dr. Pepper shots and dancing to the Humpty Dance (don’t judge!). After a while, some woman in our group decides to go for it with J. I say woman because to me at the time anyone over 22 was a WOMAN, like, a grownup. I think she was the party photographer and in some creepy turn of events ended up out with us. She worked it, though. Out came the boobies, and she dragged him off to the bar for more drinks and to get away from me, I guess.
She was definitely a better match for J. They were the same age (old!). Plus, she was much better looking than me, and obviously better at attracting men than me, because while she was showing her stuff and buying J. drinks, I was slam dancing in the corner with my lady friends, sweating my tits off and ignoring the really cute guy who had been giving me attention all night.
But, the reality was I didn't give two shits if I ever saw this guy again. I had 4 months until graduation when I was heading to Europe for "cultural exploration" and I was busy having fun with my friends as much as possible. I wasn't into some sort of bimbo-off. I guess not caring enough to engage in a bimbo-off is really attractive to some guys, so I won the bimbo-off I wasn’t competing in. Which means I was. Competing, that is. I think.
We went back to J's car for a ride home, both me and my roommate, and when he stopped in front of a black T-Top Camaro with flames on the side, well, this was perhaps was the greatest gift you could ever give two post-80's East Coast gen-xers with major superiority complexes and no tact. I’m not sure when exactly I started laughing, but I know for sure we didn't stop the entire ride home. This poor guy is driving us home and all we can do is scream/sing “Bitchin Camaro” by The Dead Milkmen while laughing so hard at our own cleverness I almost peed my pants. (Fine, I probably did. Wouldn't be the first time). To his credit, he did not throw us out of his car. In fact, we ended up dating for three months. But, I will say, every single time I got in that car, I had to take a minute to gather myself together. Otherwise, I wouldn't make it out of the driveway without peeing my pants.