So I went to the Brew Fest with my roommate on Saturday, and after sticking pretty closely to his side for a little while, eventually he introduced me to a group of Cronell people that he knew. (Cronell being, of course, Mythaca's premiere institution of higher learning. Google robots be damned!) And then I lost track of my roommate altogether, but it was ok because I soon struck up a conversation with a tall, bearded engineering student, who then introduced me to his tall, not bearded engineering student roommate. And so we walked around together, and they spent the next few hours fetching me beer and escorting me to the portapotty line and generally being very sweet and accommodating, considering we had only just met each other. At some point the three of us stretched out beneath a tree for a rest, and the conversation turned to movies, specifically, top five of all time. I gave the non-bearded one a hard time for having Ghostbusters and Die Hard in his top five. "Oh, what do you like," he said, "The Notebook or something?"
"Oh come on," I rolled my eyes. (Although honestly? The Notebook? Gets me every time. *Sob*)
"Titanic?" asked the other.
"Ok, I have to admit I did see Titanic in the theaters like three times when I was seventeen," I said. "And whoops, I just gave away my age there."
"Oh, I don't know when Titanic came out," they said, looking at each other. "But you can't be more than twenty-five," said one.
I smiled. "I think I love you."
"Er, twenty-seven?" he asked.
"Sure," I laughed.
They looked at each other, becoming visibly more uncomfortable. "You...can't be...thirty?" he said. I just shrugged. "Well she's not going to tell you now," said the other. I smiled inscrutably and gazed off into the distance.
From there the beer fest tapered off, vendors stopped serving, and the conversation turned to other topics, namely, our ravenous and beer-fueled hunger. "We have some Tuscan beef stew cooking in the slow cooker back at the house," they said, which was just so adorable that I had to say so. "You should come, if you want." And, since I was hungry, and I didn't know how to get back to my house, and I seemed to have lost my roommate for good, I went with them, their neighbor coming to pick us all up and drive us back. Walking into their apartment was like being transported back in time: a fridge in the kitchen, another one in the living room just for beer, t.v. held up on boards and cinder blocks, playing an episode of Futurama. It was college all over again. The Tuscan beef stew was, as promised, delicious.
Here is where things start to get sticky, as soon thereafter I found myself tagging along with them to a "party" (a bunch of first-year Cronell grad students sitting uncomfortably in chairs crammed into someone's off-campus apartment), and I realized several things, simultaneously: a) after consuming beer all afternoon followed by a rib-sticking meal, I was no longer able to keep my eyelids from closing, b) I wanted to go home, c) I didn't know where I was, and d) I didn't have my car and had no idea how to get back. Ok, and e) I didn't have a map or f) money for a cab. Things were not looking good. The non-bearded one, who seemed to have won some unspoken coin toss or rock paper scissors at some point during the evening, and thus was allowed to sit next to me while his roommate busied himself elsewhere, offered to walk me home. We borrowed someone's iPhone long enough to figure out where we were, and I pointed to where I lived, and we both decided that it was far. "Yup, that's far," we said, but since we didn't seem to have much choice, we started walking. And so we walked. And we walked. And we walked. We walked across Cronell's campus, we walked past streams and waterfalls, over hill and dale, past deer grazing and undergrads partying and down streets I had never seen before, and still, we walked. Three miles, one solid hour, and two disgusting and fluid-filled blisters later, I was finally home. "Well," I sighed, "let me get my keys and drive you home." So I did. But not before responding to the seemingly innoculous question, "Do you like bluegrass?" with "yeah, sure," and thus getting roped into attending a bluegrass concert with him on Thursday. Though for some reason my "Yes I will go to the bluegrass concert with you" wasn't convincing enough, as he has since re-confirmed like six different times already. Yes, I said I would go with you so yes, I'll go, even if I am regretting it a bit now, yes I know it's on Thursday, yes, just stop asking me already! I mean, I've heard of guys not taking no for an answer, but this is ridiculous.
"We're grilling steaks and corn tomorrow," he and his roommate both told me at dinner. "You should come over!"
Internet, I think I've made new friends. (Help!)