Archive for August, 2009

Calling "Dibs"

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

I am an odd and quirky girl. Thus, many odd and quirky things happen to me. Either that or I just seem to recognize and appreciate the weird that happens in life more than most folks.  I have funny stories surrounding strange situations and even more eccentric people.

There was that time I got hit on by that guy in that bar who was literally crawling with bugs.  Promptly after writing down his phone number a cockroach crawled  across his shoulder. He grabbed it, squeezed it dead, and shoved it in my face, proudly declaring, “I’m covered in bugs!”

And I ended up on several websites devoted to bad dates after that date that ended up at Wal-Mart to buy a gun rack.

But Sunday, I had an even newer odd experience; I got “dibs-ed.”

Now “dibs-ing”, if you’re not familiar is akin to calling “Shotgun” when you want to ride in the front seat of a car. You may remember seeing an item of clothing and calling “dibs” so that none of your friends showed up to homecoming in the same dress.  Or fought with siblings and called “dibs” because there were three of you and only two donuts left.

Notice all of these examples are things that haven’t happened to you since high school?  “Why?” you may ask.  The answer is simple. Because just like your retainer and that odd desire to go to Phish concerts, no one should “dibs” anything after they hit a certain age.  I’d love to hear my coworkers running down the hall “dibs-ing” the last cup of coffee or roommates “dibs-ing” the television.  Because “dibs-ing” is something that, if you’re going to do it, makes sense to do with things, with inanimate objects.  Not with people.

Or so you may think…

It’s Sunday, late afternoon.  There I am, in a booth, working these big brown eyes and pouty lips as best best best I can.  I’ve cozyed up to a guy I rather fancy and am showing him silly videos on youtube. We are sharing headphones–he with one earbud, me with the other.  All is going according to plan and I’m about to make the grand phone number getting move when I was cock blocked.

I was cock blocked all right, by another cock!

“I see what you’re doing. I see you putting the moves on my woman,” another man-shaped person glared into the booth at us.

Party over. Cozy snuggle abandoned.  Object of my lust at that moment scoots further and further away from me. Hope of phone number get is completely lost.

I look up at the cock-blocker. “Did you just dibs me?” I ask in awe.

“Yeah,” he says, a little defiantly. “I guess I did call dibs on you.”

What are you? Five?  I am not a donut.