All this blogging has triggered my memories.
One of my neighbors was a party girl and she always had lots of people at her place. Since she lived below me, it was really convenient for her parties to spill outside, and up the stairs, to outside my place.
There was this one guy that came over to her apartment a lot, and he took a liking to me.
He would watch Georgia games on my TV.
He would call his friends (and not leave messages) from my phone. His friends would then call me at 7:00 AM on Sunday mornings during football season wanting to know who called and why. The Julia Sugarbaker in me came out and they sincerely apologized.
He would ask for me to make him a Scarlett O'Hara - in a big cup - and only drink a few sips.
He would knock on my door, wanting to know if I had any of that "Rocky beer."
It got to the point I started hiding my liquor and beer when he came around. And I kept the big, thick, complicated books lying around as a constant excuse not to hang out. (According to him, it would only take me, like, 15 minutes to read The Prince.)
And he always asked me when I was going to let him take me out.
I finally had to say something to my neighbor when I had to cash in some change to buy ANOTHER bottle of Southern Comfort.
"I'm tired of wasting my alcohol on this guy and he's annoying me," I told her one evening.
"Aww. Why?"
"Well, see, I don't mind sharing my alcohol with him, it's just that he never drinks it. And then Rolling Rock is expensive."
"I think he has a crush on you."
"And that's another thing. He keeps asking when I will let him take me out."
"So? Are you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He's a bum. I would end up driving us to the drive through at Wendy's and I would have to pay. That's not him taking me out."
"I get your point. And it's probably true."
Dude quit coming around soon after that, and my Scarlett O'Hara habit was back in full force.
