Remember that story about how I responded to the best makeout I’d had in a long time with “NEAT!”? And how I was so very mortified and wanted to die?
I’ve topped it.
I called a boy by the wrong name this weekend. Pretty much in the way you’re thinking of. I think I made it up to him, but oh my god I can’t believe boys talk to me at all.
That being said, I’m gonna hold off on talking about this one in detail and handing him a nickname (though I have one in mind) until things progress a little further.
EDIT: We’re going on a DATE on Saturday. Because he called me up and asked me out. On a date. It was pretty much the cutest thing ever and I guess my name-mix-up fiasco wasn’t as terrible as I made it out to be in my head. Yay! Since when do bar hookups EVER lead to anything good??
Just to provide some sympathy, I’ll remind you of the time my boyfriend at the time, (”Got to get your message tonight…”, that boyfriend), came to bed as I was sleeping in it, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I love you, (Ninja).” I lovingly smiled and replied with, “I love you, Stan.” Uh yeah. I awoke to being shaken by the shoulders and asked, “WHO’S STAN??”
It happens to the best of us…
Yeah … when I was in college, I was making out with this boy who I had lusted after for months (his name was Steve). And when I finally started making out with him, I couldn’t stop calling him Jason.
Bad news.
How I preemptively deal with such situations: I rarely call someone with whom I have any sort of bedroom relations by anything other than pet names (babe, hon, etc.). Real names are reserved for serious conversations and social situations.
Ultima Dea – Well. It’s less bad than you’re thinking, I’ll shoot you an IM and fill in the details. It’s less bad than I made it sound, but I wrote it when I was still extra mortified.
this might be one of the best posts i’ve ever come across upon first seeing a blog. it also reminded me of the time i did exactly the same thing.
D – That’s AWESOME. Not that you did the same thing, but that’s it’s the best first post. The whole “wrong name” thing is just plain tragic.
I dunno, if this is any indicator thus far, bar hookups = pretty damn awesome.
mine was a while back, never admitted, and she’s had a baby since, so i think i could maybe reveal on my blog now. i know her friends read though, so i’ll have to be stealth.
that’s funny
It’s funny NOW – especially given the circumstances (He was reading my drunkenly-typed away message over my shoulder and was all, “Who’s THIS about!?” And I said, “You!” “But that’s not my name.” “Oh my god, I’m retarded.”).
But then? Wanted to die.