At Least He Likes Me

It’s just thirteen extra dollars a month but I won’t shell out for HBO. Even though I love it.

I realized only after I moved exactly how much I love HBO. Now that I don’t have it, I barely watch TV, which means that all I watched when I had it, was HBO.

Last Sunday, I found myself back in the Upper West Side in front of a TV with HBO. It was a community lounge and when I walked in, two guys were already on the couch gearing up for HBO’s tremendous Sunday night line-up (It’s the new Must See TV).

It goes: True Blood, Hung, and then Entourage (the season finale).

I LOVE TRUE BLOOD, which is not all that different from saying…I LOVE TWILIGHT. It’s basically just Twilight with sex and boobs and Southern accents.

Looking back, this should have been my first red flag, but I was so excited about HBO, I missed the most telling sign.

I sat down and it might have been my imagination, but I felt like the guy next to me was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I was wearing my UCLA T-shirt, so I thought maybe he was an alum.

On a slow scene, he leaned over and introduced himself as Doug.

“Hey Doug, I’m Chris.”

“Are you a fan of True Blood?”

“YES. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to see it so this is really nice.”

“Me too. I fucking love this show so much. It’s so decadent.”

I mean, I like True Blood…I don’t ‘fucking’ love it. And what kind of word is decadent to describe a TV show? Now, a pretty pivotal scene was coming up and if this guy was really a True Blood fan, he would have been paying attention. But he just continued on.

“So how come you don’t have HBO anymore?”

“I moved out.”

“Oh, where do you live now?”


“Oh wow! I love the Greek food there.”

And here again, Sookie was about to make ravenous love to Bill Compton and this guy kept talking on and on. Something is amiss, my subconscious whispered, but it was drowned out by my annoyance that this guy kept talking during True Blood.

Soon enough though, the whispers turned into shouts.

“Hey Chris, you know…my friend and I, we’re here every week to watch the HBO shows, maybe you should join us?”

Now, I may be slow on the uptick and my radar may not be what it used to be, but I feel like an Amish housewife could have pick up on these vibes. I mean seriously. Like I’m gonna haul my ass all the way from Queens, take two transfers on a Sunday night to come watch HBO on the Upper West Side with a guy named Doug and his friend?

That’s a booty call if I ever heard one.

If this isn’t obvious enough, the guy is making uncomfortably intense eye contact in my direction, completely ignoring the ravenous sex that’s happening on the television screen. (Sidenote: When did Anna Paquin go from ‘Fly Away Home’ to bi-sexual fang-banger?)

Look, guy or girl, you never want to be in a position to be mean or cold or have to be the guy to turn them down.

Having said that, this was the first time I’ve ever been hit on by a guy. The go-to lines that are ususally used on girls don’t apply in this situation (If you’re curious as to what these lines are, I can’t tell you because I might have to use them on you one day. HA!)

Nor can I be like…hey man, I’m actually straight. Cuz that’s pretty presumptious. What if Doug was just a friendly hetero-dude looking for someone to watch True Blood with? Or what if he wasn’t into me in that way? If you think about it, telling him I was straight would be the equivalent of telling a girl that I’m not interested after about 5 minutes of meeting her. It’s just rude.

So what to do?

To my everlasting shame, I said the following line:

“Man, Anna Paquin has the most amazing tits right?”

I KNOW. I KNOW. It was classless, borderline misogynistic “FRAT GUY” kind of language that I abhor and vehemently condemn. It gives me no pleasure to share that with you. I hang my head in shame, an albatross around my neck. (Just four hours after church too, Lord forgive me).

But in my defense, it was also a measured, calculated proclamation of my sexual orientation. If he was going to send me signals, it’s within my rights to send him signals right back.

Apparently, he got the message. No more questions, no more invitations to True Blood viewing parties, no more intense eye contact.

When True Blood ended, Doug and his friend got up to leave.

“Not staying for Entourage? It’s the season finale?” (Uhhhh…did you just ask him to stay?)

“I’ve never seen Entourage” (pshh. Typical)

“Alright man. Have a good one.” (NICE. STRONG. MASCULINE.)

“Ok, see you around.” (Unlikely)

I learned two things from this. One, no matter who it is or why, its a nice ego-boost when someone shows interest in you. Perhaps you can say…that I’m a dual threat?

Two, I should probably stick to Entourage.

Sloan has better mammaries(?) anyways.


1 Comment

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One response to “At Least He Likes Me

  1. ❤ wish i could have heard you say tits

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