The time I fell in love with a guy named Joe

This is going to be one of those blogs that I will regret either when a) the subject of the blog finds it b) a future boyfriend finds it (pausing for laughter) or c) spoiler alert, when the subject’s girlfriend finds it. hahahaha. With all that said, here goes nothing.

7:37 p.m. Nov. 9
My friends and I are inside Quarter Bar, our first stop during Buzz Bike. We are being loud and annoying charming and fun, when I spy two males standing awkwardly by the jukebox. I approach them and make small talk. I don’t remember what was said. I have slept and drank since then, so honestly, who really knows.

10:56 p.m. Nov. 21
My friends and I are once again at Quarter Bar. This time we are outside of it, though. I am standing there in the cold while the bouncers look over my ID (no matter how many times I go there, they still feel the need to look at my ID ok). Two men walk outside because they are exiting the bar. I look at one and he looks at me. He then goes in for a hug. Then he hugs me. I hug him back.

I look at the bouncer and say who was that? Why did that man just hug me?

I then spend about four to six minutes trying to figure out how I knew the stranger hugging me. He looked a lot like an actor in one of the funniest movies ever in the last year, Believe Me. I then Google the actor and find out he’s from Dallas. I think, oh em gee, why did that actor just look at me and hug me. Maybe he was just drunk? Maybe he knows I’m a world-renowned journalist and knows my work? Maybe he saw me from afar and developed a brief crush on me and decided to hug me? God, he does a great Tom Cruise impression. I then search his Twitter and Facebook and Instagram to see if I can learn anymore. He is social media dead. Nothing. Hmph.

the actor who i thought hugged me. miles fisher. like ok. hi.

I am mainly able to move on with my night. I see someone from high school, I meet a friend’s new girl friend, and I successfully take three sips of my cider before deciding I’m too tired to troop on and then I go home. I don’t think about mysterious man again.

8:12 p.m. Thanksgiving Day 2015
Fast forward again to last night, Thursday Thanksgiving Day, Nov. 26. I’m at Quarter Bar again because what is precious family time during holidays when there’s beer around the corner.

I spy the mysterious hugging male and his friend again.

I walk right up to him and say, ‘Hey, how do I know you?’

“Oh, you’re the birthday bike girl. You told us your name was Taya Kyle.”

And now, readers of Just PMSing, meet Joe. He’s not the actor Miles Fisher, but that’s ok, I guess. We’ll call him Honest Joe for reasons I’ll explain in about 10 seconds. He has longish brown hair that was wet from the rain that he kept running his hands through. He graduated from Highland Park High School (but he wasn’t stuck up because he was talking to me and my Chuck Taylors), then went to KU, has a girlfriend that was vacationing in New York with her mother, and has this kind of lisp/underbite/accent thing that I find mildly really attractive.

We are calling him Honest Joe because a) his name is Joe and b) he was so honest I actually slapped myself in the middle of the bar because his words were that profound.

And by profound, I mean, he told me all men are full of shit and don’t really care about our feelings. They care about us, sometimes, and because of that, they try to care about our feelings but most of the time they don’t.

He also told me all women are crazy and all men are assholes. This is something my father has probably told me since I was 14 weeks old, but when Honest Joe said it, it just really hit me.

He also also told me that women have what men want, if you know what I mean, are you catching my drift, are you picking up what I’m putting down, are you still reading this, and I said well yeah. He said all women are in control because of that and I said HONEST JOE YOU ARE A PROPHET WITH YOUR WORDS.

He then told me to not respond to a guy snapchatting me and I said Honest Joe, I won’t, for you.


Girlfriend, if you’re reading this, he didn’t hit on me. You might not even be real. He could have made you up to get me off him. And Joe, if you’re reading this, I hope you have a good sense of humor because lol, and thank you for the slap in the face that men don’t care. I needed to hear that. Thank you.

**This post gets the my third boob label because I mean, seriously.

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