Erika (my roommate), Khara and I met a guy salsa dancing.
He told us he was a musician and we should come enjoy one of his shows sometime.
He qualified his music as Spanish or Latin Rock or Pop…we were intrigued.
Even now I sit listening to his sweet lullabies on Myspace even though I have no idea what he is singing about because it is in Spanish
[I was going to put a link here and decided that was mean]
His next concert happened to be in Pasadena.
Khara and I decided to go.
1. It was not great.
2. Had we not been there – no one would have.
3. He has two friends with him and one of them sang along [passionately] to every song. Weird.
3. Afterwards he kept asking us what we thought [It is really hard to keep coming up with nice lies]
“that song ‘Los Angeles’ is super catchy – I think I still have it in my head” was one of mine.
Afterward he came and sat with us for a bit.
I had on my sweater that is notorious for shedding.
It is bright blue.
He had on black.
You see what’s happening.
Yeti “I am so sorry. My sweater just shed all over you”
Musician “That’s ok. I would sacrifice my whole wardrobe if it meant rubbing up against you.”
Musician “Except my jeans…don’t touch my jeans.” [I wish I could tell you he was making a joke.]
The evening ended with him asking if I had his number.
Musician “Do you have my number?”
Yeti “No, I don’t. You just gave it to Erika.”
Musician “You should get my number.”
Yeti “Actually, you should probably get my number if you ever want to hang out. Because, to be honest, I would never call.”
I don’t think the rest of the conversation really matters. He didn’t want my number after that. I should learn not to be so honest…