So remember when I told you about Bar 13, well here's the story I mentioned.
Let's rewind to New Years 2010. My friend from Chicago, T (as Mo refers to her, and thus I will too), was visiting NYC. She wasn't here to visit me, per se, but being here when she's typically elsewhere, I was obviously going to make the effort to go see her.
It was a few days after the New Year, let's say the 3rd, when I got a text from T saying where she would be with her friend (who she was staying with). I thought, hey, good idea! Let's go.
Prepare yourself for a bit of a back story that might not be completely necessary, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
At that point in my life I was still mostly jobless (part timing as a medical assistant doesn't really pay the bills) and also, I wasn't big on spending money on alcohol (pre-gaming will always be my first love). Bambu is wealthy. She comes from a very wealthy family, and has no problem throwing money down (or so it seemed). I didn't really drink much at the bars, but whatever, I guess I was supposed to buy everyone drinks because they were offering to buy drinks? (A lesson I learned later). Anyway, one of those nights when we were drunk, Bambu called me out for not buying drinks. She actually made me feel bad, and like a user.
Having been used for lots of things my WHOLE LIFE, I took this to heart. I boohooed, right there in the bar. I told her I never wanted anyone to think of me like that, and then I sobbingly and begrudgingly, purchased a round. I thought we were past this. I thought we had discussed why it bothered me that she said what she said and I thought she knew I wasn't trying to use her for her family's money.
Welp, I was wrong. On January 3rd, B tells me she's headed to Bambu's apartment in midtown and that I should come. I message Bambu, see if this is OK and this is the jist of what she says..."If you're coming, bring whatever you want to drink. I don't have enough alcohol for everyone and I'm not paying for everyone to drink." By everyone, she means me, because it was only going to be me, B and her and she already told B that she didn't need to bring anything. Secondly, I was planning on bringing a bottle to share with everyone, because I have no problem with that. A bottle will cost me less than $40 and will get everyone shnocked, while a round of drinks at a club will cost more and do nothing for anyone.
I was offended to say the least. I responded with something like "I thought we went through this, I'm not trying to use you for your money or alcohol. I have my own, thank you very much. And you know what, I don't want to come to your apartment anyway." And I didn't. I couldn't forgive her for that bullshit. Something about how she acted time and time again offended me more than any other person has offended me in my life before. It got to my core, and it sat there.
(By the way, the story from that night is pretty EPIC too. I'm pretty sure I was so beyond wasted I did things that I don't want to talk about with a boy whose name I'm having trouble remembering, in a neighborhood I would prefer never to go to again.)
Side note: this kind of blows because it made things a little weird for B, and it does bother me a little every time she says she's hanging out with Bambu, or that she's going to be in her wedding party, or that I haven't really hung out with 'Bino at all because they're besties. I would like to get over this and be civil. I even started telling B to give her my best wishes...etc, but I just don't know.
Back to the main story. So Bambu says this shit to me, B says she can't handle the drama and is just going home (I actually think she went to Bambu's anyway, but whatever...) So I was pissed at B, because at this point she hadn't met T, but was refusing to come out and I was pissed at Bambu, because she says stupid shit. So what did I do?
I drank. I drank a lot. I drank a lot VERY quickly.
I was fucking HAMMERED on the train. I talked to a guy about his shoelaces. We exchanged numbers. I lost the number. I was sad.
We decided to leave. Well...someone did, I don't know if I was really in the decision making mindset.
T's friend had driven. Beatles and I were in the backseat, T's friend was driving, T was in the passenger seat.
I want to say the next bit is blurry, but it's not. Beatles and I had been eating each others' faces for the past three hours, obviously there was chemistry. So in the backseat of the car, with two other people there, my dress went up, his khaki dress pants went down, and some circus act maneuvering began to take place.
He was not a small boy and I was so dehydrated what I don't know how it all worked, but it did.
T's friend drove purposely like an asshole with stopping short, making the door handle in my back all the more uncomfortable. T is a dirty freak and she definitely watched at some point, or at least was an ass and made it very clear that they were aware of what was going on in the back seat.
I rode on his lap at one point because it made more sense. Don't worry folks, the top of my dress was still on.
Wait, let me mention to you that I had been at my friend's wedding earlier in the day so I was wearing a silver dress, fit for a wedding, and probably not car sex. (I'm so classy).
So we get to T's friend's house. We get into the apartment and T said "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT ALL OVER YOUR DRESS? AND WHAT'S ON YOUR PANTS?!"
Way to make an already awkward situation, more awkward.
It was not my time of the month. I was shwasted, and I was unsure of what was going on, but lo and behold, Beatles and I are covered in blood. Not just any blood, my blood. But I later found out, it was not period blood. It was blood that comes about when large things try to enter not so moisturized orifices.
I was embarrassed, and T is an asshole and was making it worse than it needed to be. I quietly took Beatles' pants, determined to work magic, and work magic I did.
Somehow I scrubbed all of the blood out of his khaki suit and out of my silver dress. Everything was hung up to dry in the bathroom. I had sobered up for a cool 15 minutes.
This did not last.
I don't know what made us decide to continue doing what we were doing, but we had a lot more sex that night. A LOT. We moved the whole couch 8 feet across the living room, into the wall. Did it this way and that. I had stopped bleeding mind you. Well, for the time being. We woke up the next morning having rearranged the living room.
Everyone awkwardly watched sportscenter together before Beatles walked me to the car - it was his car.
(unlike my dignity), but the backseat of his car looked like a crime scene. There was literally blood everywhere.
His suit was still damp and he was freezing. He had to cover the backseat of his car with newspaper so he could take it to the shop to be cleaned and so people wouldn't think he had committed murder.
He drove me to the train station, the last stop on the 2 train. It was an almost silent ride. I offered him money for the cleaning. He didn't accept.
That was the last time I saw Beatles. I got to think about him on the shameful 2 hour, midday Sunday subway ride back to my house.
Sex, blood and shame...