Tag Archives: bacon grilled cheese

Lessons Learned: Never Leave the House When You Have a Crusty Zit

Friday night was one of those nights where I should’ve stayed in but instead I went out. My hair was greasy (I hadn’t showered in three days), I hadn’t shaved my moustache or chin, I wore workout clothes (even though I don’t remember the last time I worked out), my sweatshirt had a stain with an unknown origin on the front, and I had a giant zit on my chin (not even the small, forgivable, red kind; it was the angry, crusty kind because I had been picking at it). Man Friend was even like, “Hey, it’s totally cool if you want to stay in and order pizza and not embarrass yourself”. I should’ve listened. Instead, I fixated on eating at this new dinner place that serves bacon grilled cheese with a cracked egg on top because I am determined to get fatter in addition to already having crusty zits.

We got to the restaurant around 9 PM because it took me two hours to decide whether or not to stay in or go out and let the public see me in this state. When we finally arrived, starving and broken, the hostess had the nerve to tell us it was going to be a 45-minute wait. Dreams crushed, we decide to walk around and find another option. THREE RESTAURANTS LATER (one said they were open on Yelp when clearly they weren’t, one only served coffee and pastries, and the other also said they were open on Yelp when they clearly weren’t — Is this some kind of joke to you, Koreatown?! Do you enjoy tricking hungry Yelp users into coming to your closed restaurant?!!), we ended up back at the initial bacon-grilled-cheese-egg-on-top restaurant just in time for our name to be called. And that’s when I saw him. I was standing outside the restaurant trying to look like a patron as opposed to a homeless person when I saw Kyle (my Freshman crush whose nose I broke) walking towards me. In a moment of brilliant immaturity, I covered my face in my arms and face-planted onto the table. If he had called my name I wouldn’t have put it past myself to just cover my ears and yell “I can’t hear you!” My mentally-ill-homeless-person disguise must have either fooled him or scared him because he didn’t approach me.

I immediately found Man Friend and 1) told him the dramatic backstory and 2) gave him the once-over because all of a sudden he represented how much I was succeeding in life. He didn’t look much better than me. Man Friend responded by A) saying Kyle looked like a douche and B) not giving a shit about any of this. Feeling like our stomachs were about to eat themselves, we decided to stay in the restaurant and eat the meal, but not until I made Man Friend switch places with me so that I wasn’t in direct eyeline of anyone walking in (i.e. Kyle). I nervously scanned the restaurant, dreading when the waitress would seat him, and didn’t calm down until the tables on either side of us were filled because if Kyle was seated next to us I would have died an extremely painful death and brought the whole restaurant with me. Kyle walked in with a guy (AKA not a supermodel with a vagina AKA THANK YOU FOR SMALL MIRACLES) and was seated two tables over from us. This is when I experienced a series of what-ifs. What If, when Man Friend asked me to stay in, I had responded with, “YES, I will stay in and not terrify the rest of the world with what I look like right now.” What If I had groomed myself before going out? What If I had decided to eat out quicker and we left two hours earlier? It would have been so easy. But no, I had to have that bacon-grilled-cheese-with-an-egg-on-top because if I know anything about myself, it’s that food comes before dignity.

I simultaneously shoved half the grilled cheese in my mouth and asked for the check. Man Friend was disappointed he couldn’t eat more. I walked out of that restaurant so fast I think I may have actually burned a calorie. If Kyle saw me, he didn’t say anything. Briefly, as I was speed-walking away, I wondered if I should’ve said something to him if only to have a good blog post to write about. I quickly came to my senses. Am I really at that point in my life where I would willingly go up to a former crush with a crusty zit on my face just to get a good blog post? No. No, I’m not. (Give it a week or two).

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