I fell for him the night I feared being gangbanged

Fun fact: Did you know gangbang is a verb--but spelled as two words, gang bang is a noun?

Now take what you have just learned and enjoy the tale of how Amandrew came to be.

I had been back in Pittsburgh for almost five months when I realized I still hadn't been to one of the most often talked about bars in the burgh--the Brillo Box. Matt, (aka Sk8rboi) my friend that I had met through MySpace (Don't judge. You know you've done it.) a few months earlier, promised to show me what all the fuss was about. I met him and a few other friends at the B Box for a drink or two. After soaking in as much of the hipster scene as we could stand, most of my friends decided to call it an evening. Reluctant to go home earlier than 11 o'clock on a weekend evening--my how the times have changed--Matt and I traveled to a second location to meet up with his best friend, Andrew, who was just getting out of work.

I had already stalked Andrew on MySpace (Ack. I hate myself.) so I kind of knew I was in for a very... um how should I put this... weird time. Andrew doesn't really seem like boyfriend material on paper. He talks about unicorn penises and challenging Stephen Hawking to rap battles entirely too much for some people's taste. But for me, he was such a breath of fresh air compared to the stuck-up conceited jerkfaces I had dated earlier that summer. I laughed and smiled so much that night that my cheeks ached for hours.

At the end of the night, Andrew offered to take Matt home. The guys walked me to my car.

"I just realized I have no idea how to get home from here," I said.

"Just follow us, we'll get you to Oakland and you'll know where you are," Andrew said.

I started my engine and followed Andrew's truck through a dark alley. Expecting the alley to come out on a well-lit major road, I was rather confused to be suddenly in the middle of nowhere, going through the darkest, windiest, gravel roads with no civilization in sight. As we crossed railroad tracks, I decided to call Matt's cell and figure just what was going on.

Ring. Ring.

Matt: "Hello?"

Me: "Hey... um... are you guys going to gangbang me or something?"

Matt: [laughter] Oh! Haha! No. No! [to Andrew] She thinks we're going to gangbang her! I told you she would think that...

Andrew [shouting into the phone]: She did look good!

Me: Seriously... where are we? [still navigating the abandoned bumpy road]

Matt: You'll recognize where you are in a minute. Maybe this wasn't the best way to go.

[turning on to familiar road]

Me: Ohhhh... Ok. Thanks for not gangbanging me.

When I got home I immediately sent Andrew a friend request.

Fabulously gang bang free since 2006.

His reply:
Glad to see that even though you've learned my sense of direction is sort of the worst thing ever you still want to be friends.

I believe I responded with thanking him again for not gangbanging me. To which he then replied: In my opinion, gangbanging hasn't been cool since the Reagan administration. Plus, Matt and I got out of the gang scene, and seldom run a train anymore. But, I guess you can't be too careful with strange men in ties these days.

I thought that was totally hilarious. I mean, who says "Reagan administration" in the same sentence as "gang banging"? This guy. And he's all mine!

Our next correspondence was a quick message to him from me with my cell phone number. I was very strict about how he was allowed to use this privileged information, though.

Please only use it in the event of random hilarious text messages, gang bangs, emergencies involving hair products, and/or passing on tips regarding good deals on any sort of citrus fruit or whole wheat products.

Thanks

Reply:

From: Andrew

Date: Sep 8, 2006

Subject:

i think i just need a haircut and some pert plus

Please know that I have saved your number under "Amanduh." I will try to follow the guidelines you have laid out, but cannot promise that I won't enroll you in one of those joke of the day text message clubs that I see advertised on tv all the time.

I can be reached at [redacted], but must insist that you only contact me for fashion advice, the proper way to pour scotch, generally bad stock tips, generally great roadside assistance, or to warn me of an impending race war/biblical plague.

In lieu of a housewarming, I plan to throw a gang bang at my new pad, and will surely keep you in mind, as I know how much you like that sort of thing.

Yours in Christ,
Andrew