Chicken Boy

Moral of the story: AC Trumps Beer


There's a multitude of reasons that it didn't work out with Chicken Boy. And surprisingly enough, none of them had anything to do with the fact that my friends called him Chicken Boy, despite my very real fear of anything feathery or chicken-like.


I was leaning against the counter, waiting for my best friend to finish her sidework when he came around the corner from the kitchen. Dressed in classic Applebee's black and carrying a disgustingly fragrant tray of steaming fajitas, he did a double-take at the cocky little smile I shot him and circled back by a few minutes later to ask if I'd been helped. Which in cute boy server talk really means, "Is there anything my tongue can help you with in your mouth? Because I really don't give a shit if someone has been by carside to take your boneless wings order."


I remember smiling, tilting my head and saying I was waiting for my girlfriend, which worked out perfectly as Sharnae rounded that corner just in time to fling herself into my arms for a hug. He smiled sheepishly and walked off, but not before turning over his shoudler to get one more look. In true classy Kayt fashion, I winked. For some reason that night, I was feeling particularly flirty. Call me a romantic, but there's just something about dirty tables in the 50s and 60s, alternative rock and children chucking crayons across the restaurant.


Eventually, introductions were made and we started to 'see' each other on the weekends when I was back from school. Having mutual friends helped and we spent late nights in big groups laughing by his pool, drinking and smoking hookah. He was social and charming, which was a nice change, but eventually, I started to be concerned he was a little too social with his drinking.


Red Flag 1


Sharnae and I were cruising around Chandler in our normal fashion, screaming out the lyrics to all the songs on our Summer Jams mix CD and drinking large smoothies, when I got a call from the Chicken Boy himself.


"Hello?" I answered. All I could hear was loud music and a little mumbling, "HELLO?"


"Baby," he slurred, "Can you come get us?"


"Come get who?" I questioned, letting the 'baby' comment slide with a mere roll of my eyes. Endearments when drowned in a large amount of Budlight didn't seem so sweet.


After about five minutes of acting like a 911 operator talking to a toddler, I figured out where he was located and Sharnae drove over with me to pick them up. I watched him stumble across the parkinglot to her car with one eyebrow artfully arched.


"Hi baby," he hiccuped when he finally reached the car window, "I missed you all day today. Can we please go get some tacos?"

1 hour, 14 Jack in the Box tacos and the last shred of my patience later, him and his friend were laying face down on his apartment floor snoring while Sharnae and I stood over the bodies.


Sharnae, "Is this real life right now?"


Me, "No, this is a nightmare where bromances go to die."


Sharnae, "Want to position them so that they are in each other's arms?"


Me, "YES."


Needless to say, I'm sure they were VERY confused when they woke up.


Red Flag 2


A much more sober Chicken Boy asked me over to watch a movie. After renting some at Blockbuster and picking up Chinese food, we made it back to his apartment and I was starting to feel the stirrings of a real relationship. We held hands in the car, he asked me how my day had been and by the time, we walked into the apartment, I was feeling slightly better about the epic failure of a few weekends ago. He called for the stray kitten he'd recently taken in, which I found cute, although I was convinced the cat was a snooty bitch, but not being able to find her, we ate our Chinese food and then headed into the living room to watch movies.


In the middle of the second movie, I started dozing off. Yawning up at him, I asked if we could watch the third in his bedroom so I could fall asleep and he could keep watching it. He kissed my cheek and we headed into the bedroom, him in front of me, until he came to a dead halt causing me to run straight into the solid muscle of his back.


Disoriented, I let out what sounded like an inhuman screech while he whipped around, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing me, "We're going to have to make a bed on the living room floor."


Confused as to why we were whispering while in an empty apartment, I lowered my voice to match his tone and questioned, "Why would we sleep on the floor?"


"She's asleep," He answered simply, pointing his finger at where the kitten was curled in a tiny ball on the gigantic king-sized bed.


"She's a cat," I countered, "She can sleep at the end of the bed." I would have offered to have her sleep up between us, but considering I was mildly allergic, I thought it best to not be consistently inhaling feline fur throughout the night.


His brow wrinkled dramatically while he studied the bed. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.


"But she looks so comfortable," he sighed, moving to rub a loving hand over her fur. True to her nature, she swatted at his hand, gave a half-hearted meow and turned away from us.


"She'd be comfortable on the couch, too. I am not sleeping on the floor when there's a bed right here for us to sleep in. Just move her down to the end of the bed or make her a bed on the couch," I started trying to problem-solve, hoping to hide how completely ridiculous the whole situation seemed to me.


He turned, his jaw set in the moonlight, "If you don't want to sleep on the floor, I guess you can just go. I care about her way too much to just throw her down there and make her sleep on the floor, like she's just an animal."



Nt even caring to get into the fact that A) she was an animal and that B) he was more than willing to throw me down on the floor, I exited stage right quickly, muttering something under my breath about Demon Cats and Bitch-Boys.


Red Flag 3


The mind reels that there could be something after the cat incident, but he apologized the next day and I chalked it up to a ridiculous story that I could share with Sharnae, who upon hearing the replay, stayed curled up in the fetal position laughing for a good ten minutes.


A few days later, I realized I'd left a necklace over ar his place and an old purse that Bitch Cat liked to curl up in like her own personal bed. He told me at the time that he thought it was because she could smell her "mama" on it. It took me about five seconds to realize that he was acting like he was the father and I was the mother of said Bitch Cat and I spent the next thirty seconds coughing up the large drink of Diet Coke I'd just taken.


When I tried to get in touch with him to get back my stuff, he was nowhere to be found. I started hearing from mutual friends that he'd been partying more than normal and hanging out with lots of different girls. Resigned and basically relieved that he'd found a new "mama" for Hell Kitty aka Bitch Cat, I still swung by his apartment to try to get my stuff back on my way out of town.


He answered the door, shirtless with bloodshot eyes. Squinting against the light like he had just been born onto the surface of the sun, he questioned, "Kelsie?"


"Kaytlyn," I provided, nose wrinkling at the smell of stale beer, "I just came by to see if you had seen my necklace. It's a compass locket kinda-"


"I think it's in the bathroom," he answered, moving to the side so I could step inside.


I walked quickly to the bathroom and found it sitting on the counter, next to a bra and another bracelet, neither of which belonged to me. Bitch Cat who was laying in the doorway to the bedroom looked up at me with a smug knowing look.


"Goddamnit!" he shouted from the other room and I rounded the corner.


"What's wrong?" I asked.


"My fucking beer is warm," he said, handing me the can, which was pretty toasty.


"How long ago did you put them in the fridge?" I asked, stupidly trying to problem solve, while Bitch Cat purred her way across the room and started to rub up on my black skinny jeans, leaving hair and hatred all over the place.


"Last night," he answered, sounding like a whiny little boy, "I bought a whole fucking case and now it's disgusting!"


I opened the fridge and felt no cold air. Moving across the kitchen, I tried to flip on the light to get a better look at the catastrophe of the kitche, but nothing happened, "Your power's out."


"I know," he answered, "I didn't get around to paying the bill yet. I spent the last money I had on that case."


"Well, that's why the beer isn't warm. The power isn't on," I concluded, convinced this was a Nancy Drew book that never saw publication: Nancy Drew and the Case of the Lukewarm Beer, "You should probably pay your power bill before buying beer."

"I don't understand why you think that the power has anything to do with my beer," he answered with an annoyed sigh.

"Because without power, your fridge isn't on and therefore cannot keep your beer cold. And again, you should probably pay your power bill before buying beer, anyways," I finished, fighting the urge to punt Bitch Cat across the room into his extensive DVD collection.

"Yeah because then at least the beer will be cold," he answered.

Rocket scientists, I tell you. I. date. rocket. scientists.






UPDATE:

After I published this post, I remembered that:

A) Lindsay totally bought Bitch Cat a bunch of stuff at PetCo so her little furball-ridden ass wouldn't die. Homeboy was feeding her a mixture of Lucky Charms and leftover bar food when we first saw her and despite his insistence that he gave her an actual bath, we could smell the strong odor of Febreeze on her fur. At least, Lindsay could. I didn't go near that thing. So, kudos to Lindsay, for loving cats and for still trying to help a (supposedly) sweet little animal despite the ownership of said demon cat. You're a champ, Lindsay Jean, and I love you.

B) Nae reminded me that almost directly after Chicken Boy and I parted ways, he met the love of his life and they've since gotten married. More on THIS phenomenon later-I'm the female Good Luck Chuck, y'all... anyways, I wish those matching little lumberjacks a lifetime of bliss and very cold beer. I even hope that Bitch Cat is still doing well, spreading her hatred and hair balls all over the place.

Sidenote: I found the perfect representation of how Nae and I used to cruise around Chandler.

Did we just become best friends?

YUP.