Tag Archives: drunk

Names Shmames

7 Sep

We recently went out for Bakers birthday!  The drinking started at the beach bar in the early afternoon.  We had to request more soda for our drinks because they were that strong.  We were happy to get our moneys worth but damn, it wasn’t 5 o’clock anywhere.

There was a 3rd grader at the table behind us that was far too loud.  My first thought was she is going to be even more annoying as she gets older.  She was the youngest person at their table, thus probably the dumbest.  But she was dominating the conversation like she owned the fucking place.  If that was me, my parents would have been like “pipe down with your pre-adolescent bull shit.”  The little girl commanded the attention of the table like it was the state of the union address.  She then confidently said “Not that it would ever happen, like ever, but would you rather die by drowning or get eaten by a shark?”  First of all, it could happen. Florida is practically the capitol of unprovoked shark attacks.  Second of all, what kind of question is that? Aren’t you just a sadistic, little 7 year old? I don’t consider this to be appropriate lunch conversation. Third of all, DROWN! Duh.

We attempt to continue drinking at dinner, but that is a bust because they are out of House Margaritas? How does that even happen?

After dinner we hit up our favorite waterfront bar to meet up with more friends. We notice a random guy sitting alone on the corner of the deck.  We make up a story that he is a writer.  He keeps looking at us, probably wondering why we keep looking at him.  We are convinced that we just became characters in his novel.  I am drunk.  My friend dares me to go ask him why he is there alone.

5 minutes later he is coming with us to play pool at the next destination.  I’d like the record to show that I did NOT invite him.  In his words, he “overheard us talking about leaving” and wanted to come with us because he wasn’t a local. According to him, he was a fourth grade teacher.  Coincidentally, one of my friends is also a teacher.  They talked. Multiple red flags were raised. He was a weird one.  His name was Amun, “like the sun god”.  We asked him how old he was.  His response? “Do you know how old our Lord Jesus Christ was when he died? I’m that age.”  That at least answers the question of why he is there alone.  I think he had some sort of God complex.  Eventually, Baker started interrogating him about being a teacher. She told him not to bullshit her.  Not even God could help him. He got scared and left.

I go to the jukebox to play music.  I couldn’t get my bill into the machine, mostly because I wouldn’t put my drink down to straighten the crumpled dollar. A random guy, comes over and offers to help.  It goes right in.  Drunk.  He returns to whatever he was doing and I play Britney Spears and Bob Marley.  Can you dig it?

His friend approaches me and I introduce myself.  He says “I’m Luke, we’ve met before.” I argue  “no, I don’t remember you. I think you are thinking of someone else.” He continues to argue with me saying I have a face he couldn’t forget. Awkward.

Then he says “you were wearing a peach dress.”  Creepy. And awkward.

I’m still momentarily baffled because I have always thought that dress was orange. He knows my wardrobe better than I do.

Baker walks over and I introduce him “Baker, this is Lance.”  He corrects me, his name is Luke. Awkward.  I still don’t remember him.  He reminds me that the night I met him, I was way more interested in his friend.  Wow, Lance sure does know how to keep a conversation awkward.

The night I met him was the night I felt like a slutty cinderella.  There was a nice guy and a cute guy.  Guess which one he is.

Anyway, it turns out he is friends with the jukebox helper, Marcus.  Marcus confesses to Baker and I that he “has to be honest, he just got out of prison.”  Oh, fabulous!   Don’t only rapists and pedophiles have to be up front about that kind of thing? Clearly, we need to find new places to hang out.

Lance invites us to his beach house that is not far from there that is stocked with rum. Marcus will also be accompanying us.  Beach house? Sounds fancy.  Rum? Sounds like fun. I ask him what his name is again.  I’m way past beer goggles at this point.  I’m just straight up fucking blind. Then, I ask Baker if she is willing to go.  She agrees. Only because she is drunk. He gives us the address.  Baker says “Marcus, we will meet you at the gas station to pick up some cola to mix with the rum.”  He corrects her, his name is Maurice. Whoops.

We get to the gas station which looks shady as hell. But I guess all gas stations look shady at 3 in the morning.  She opens the car door and tells me she will be right back.  I tell her I want to come with her.  She says no, stay here and keep the doors locked.  Which is pretty much what every person says right before something horrific happens.

A couple minutes later she comes back to the car with a 2 liter of cola with a frustrated look on her face. Apparently, Lance made a comment that it was a lot of soda for his amount of rum.  She is pissed because she felt we shouldn’t even go if the rum is that limited. I agree but it’s too late now…we bought the soda.

Just because the town has ‘beach’ in the name does not mean the house is literally on the beach. I got shafted.  The house was poorly decorated and smelled like the 1950’s.

The four of us took a lot of group selfie pictures.  All of which confirm that I drank too much.  None of which I wish to share.

Around 5 a.m. Lance/Luke and I went into his kitchen to put the rum back in the fridge.  There was old, rotting corn on the stove.  It was definitely time to go. Baker had also had enough of her conversation with the felon, who she found out had a couple kids that he really loves.  Whatever.

We say our goodbyes and hightail it outta there.

The next day Lance text messages me multiple times. I do not respond.  The day after that he calls me multiple times.  I do not answer.  The third day he sends me a text that says “Are you not interested in talking to me?”.   What gave it away?  Was it the fact that I’m not talking to you?

Idiot.

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Alexander Graham Bell, this is your fault.

5 Apr

It dates back to the prehistoric times of the Caveman.  The males approach to women doesn’t seem to have changed that much.  The caveman knew how to sweep a woman off her feet — beat her over the head until she falls flat on her back.

I know that men were put on this earth to create chaos in a womans mind.  I don’t understand it, but I’ve come to accept it — only because I have to.  We’re lucky if they change their underwear let-alone change their strategies of attracting women.  Here we are in the year 2012, and men still believe the best way to get a lady back to his cave is by messing with her head.  The only thing that’s changed is that now women beat their own heads against the wall.

Like men weren’t confusing enough, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell had to go and put hot sauce on a jalapeno and invent the telephone.  Which leads me to the topic of my post and the burning question, will he call?

This should be a very simple question to answer.  If he says he will call, then yes, he will.  But that wouldn’t get us to beat our heads against the wall, now would it? So, they’ve made it into an impossible guessing game because every case is different.

Classmate Example A:

Run into classmate at a bar:

“Hey, can I have your number? We should catch a movie tomorrow night.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

He doesn’t call.  I bet he was really tired from staying out late last night.

I see him again in class and he continues to talk to me, but for embarrassments sake I do not ask why he bailed the other night. After all, it wasn’t set in stone and I don’t want to seem like a clinger. and then:

“What are you doing later tonight? Lets get together, I’ll hit you up.”

“Okay, I’m down.”

Is my phone on silent? I bet his phone ran out of battery.  Is my phone out of battery? He’s said he would be home, he should have a charger.  Maybe he isn’t getting service.  Am I getting service? I don’t even know if I like him. Why am I so worried about his call? I just don’t understand why he would initiate hanging out with me only to leave me hanging…alone. Just shut up. I need to just shut up.

The next time I’m walking out to my car, staring at the ground in a daze, only to look up and see him in his car waiting to talk to me.

“Hey, what class did you have today?  What are you doing later? We should go to the beach or something.”

“Yeah, just let me know.”

Oh, no. I feel it. My brain is going into over-drive-over-analyze mode again.

I don’t think our phones can connect for some reason.  I bet he found some other girl to go to the beach with. Why is he doing this to me? Do I deserve this? I bet this is karma for all those fake numbers I gave out. FML. Why does he act like he’s interested and then pretend to do something about it?  I knew I shouldn’t have worn these jeans today.  They make my ass look huge. What a fucking dickbrick.  I hope he knows how to use his dick better than he knows how to use a phone.   Fuck you and fuck Alexander Graham Bell.

That’s where Classmate Example A ends for now.

Let’s continue.

Random guy at a bar Example B:

Run into a friend at a bar who introduces me to Example B.  We hit it off and have a great time.  The night ends around 4 AM with a drunken, short, good night kiss.

“Can I get your number?”

“DLFKAJS;LF yes alajdfas;lij”

I know I said yes, but like I said– 4 AM – BAR– I’m lucky I remember the little that I do.  Besides, that fuckers never going to call.

Next day:

“I wanted to know if you’d like to come watch a movie at my house tonight?”

“Yes.”

Well, the movie, ahem, went well. We share another kiss goodbye and I leave.

Why didn’t he mention calling me again? I am so stupid.  I have no self control. He doesn’t want to buy the cow. Fucking bastard motherfucker.

Next morning text:

“Good morning, How are you?”

Texts me all day. WTF. The guy who never mentions calling is the one who calls. The one who goes out of his way to say he will call me is the one who doesn’t.

That just goes to show you how fucked up the male psyche is.

I really need end this post because I think my head is bleeding.

No, I can’t hear you now. But Call me, maybe?

This song is so catchy.

Chocolates go on Sale tomorrow!!

14 Feb

Happy Valentines Day!

Love,  the bitchy truth

I’m not single, I am my own Boss.

13 Feb

It’s almost Valentines Day otherwise known as Single-people-can-go-fuck-themselves-because-obviously-nobody-else-wants-to Day.   Clearly,  it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year.  Between the flowers, candy, and other overpriced bullshit, I can hardly contain myself.  If you can smell sarcasm it’s because I’ve been soaking in it.  And it’s not that I’m a lonely old, bag lady.  I’m not jaded. I absolutely believe in love.  I have a heart, even if it is cold.

I just feel that love is misunderstood.  I want to slap people all day because of the mindless, dim-witted, dickshit decisions they make.  And then they want to blame their desperate acts of retardation and rejection on being blinded by love.  Your girlfriend was impregnated by your best friend.  I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t love you, or even like you.  And it’s probably because you’re a low-self esteem, doormat, who can’t say no.  Take a bitch’s advice and hop off that hoe train.  Unfortunately, my advice won’t be taken and they will continue their long, tragic, on and off again, mind torture they call a relationship.  I hope you really enjoy that mess of a broad and banging the cold, worn out cavern gaping between her forever spread legs.  And don’t worry, the clap is totally curable.

If that’s what love is, I don’t want any.

Of course, there are some decent couples out there.  They actually make me sicker than the doormat folk.  But it’s only because life isn’t fair.  Some of us have to wait to find love.  Wait, and wait, and wait, and fucking wait.  But that’s okay, I spend my waiting time being fabulously single, enjoying my freedom to bitch at anybody who crosses my path.  Because while love can be great and all, with love and relationships come rules.  And bitches don’t like rules, unless we are the ones enforcing them.

As soon as you commit to someone things naturally progress into owning one another.  A Marriage Certificate is just a fancy term for Bill of Sale.  Congratulations on your wedding! You’ve just become property.

1. You spend all your time together.  There’s only one person I can spend every second of my life with, and that’s me!  And I can only handle that because I drink a lot.

2. They constantly want to know where you are, what you’re doing and who you are with.   Well since you asked, I’m apparently on a short leash, waving goodbye to my freedom with the warden himself.

3. They think they can go through your phone. Bitch, touch my phone and we are finished. I’ve got way too much to hide.

4. You have to pretend to like what they like.  Golf? I can’t even fake it.

5. They get comfortable with you.  Comfortable is so unattractive. Sweat pants? Burping? Pooping? Absolutely not.   That’s why I always look out for others and try to make them as uncomfortable as possible.

6. You have to buy them stuff.  If I have to buy you a gift to reciprocate you buying me a gift then that counteracts the thoughtfulness of you buying me a gift because we might as well just buy our own shit.  So keep the gifts coming but I won’t be buying you anything because that way what you bought me will mean more.  You don’t have to understand it. Trust me, I’m right.

So, somebody should call the Nobel Prize people because I just disproved the theory that Love is Blind. It’s not blind, it’s stupid.  It’s all heart and no brain.  But there is no denying that it’s out there. Just waiting to get you in its grasp so it can eat your mind and soul.  Happy Valentines Day Bitches!

Then again, maybe love is blind, because it obviously hasn’t seen how incredibly fantastic I am.  All I know is I plan to spend this Valentines Day following my heart and spending it with the person who brings the most satisfaction to my life.  My bartender.

Love can’t be controlled.  You can’t live with it, you can’t live without it. It’s unstoppable. Love is your boss.   And your boss is a BITCH. ya dig?