Monday, August 1, 2011

I might've "shit where I eat"

Or in my case, "pissed where I drink."

It's Monday, and I have yet to tell you about my Thursday. Let me just remind you that I was drinking on Tuesday, and I was wasted last Wednesday, so it was only a natural progression to get shithoused on Thursday in preparation for my Friday off. (I took a personal day to take care of my mom).

As you know, Thursday started miserably. I was incredibly hungover and couldn't eat for the first 8 or so hours of being awake.

Things did get a little better though when I had my year review at work and got a 7% raise because they love me here. If only they knew about this blogging situation I've got going on here, maybe they would think I'm a little less productive. However, my supervisor is not here this week and thus I can take my sweet ass time doing EVERYTHING. You can be jealous.

So by 3pm I had managed to force a large bowl of soup down my throat and half of a sandwich. My stomach preparation for the evening was in full swing.

The Mexican and I were scheduled for our bi-weekly manicure, but fortunately, how I was feeling there did not relate to how I would be feeling later. I didn't even get my free cosmo, guys. I got a cup of tea and prayed to the Dashing Diva gods that my stomach would be settled enough to commence drinking in an hour. B texted me while I was getting a manicure. She was shitfaced already. Three incoherent messages and an "I love you" and I didn't know what I would show up to when I got to Honey.

The Mexican and I parted ways and I moseyed over to Honey. It was about 7 when I got there. Chris and B were there. I had reserved us all a table because I'm besties with the Maitre'D. He finally remembered my name. I must've been slurring most times I spoke to him because he called me Kim, which if you throw an accent on a shortened version of my name, I can understand the mishearing.

When I arrived I got hugs galore and...well I started ordering drinks. I mean seriously, that's why I'm there. Bring on the booze! We got a little bit of food. Chris got Mozzarella sticks (I had one), and B got wings (I had one). B was still drinking but I think after about 4 more drinks she had drunk herself sober. I, however, was just getting started.

I was wearing a dress and sweating my ass off. I swear I was sitting like a classy lady with my legs slightly spread while sitting on the stool, HOPING a breeze would find it's way into my panties (the only thing I would allow in my panties that night, but I will get to that). So we're drinking and drinking. B tells me she's leaving at 10. I'm unhappy about this, but whatever. We go inside, give my bag to the manager (let's call her D for now, because it's so hard to keep these nicknames in order and I can't remember what I called her before.) She took my bag and put it in "coat check" because I guess some other girl was trying to check her shit and they wanted to charge her. They just gave me a number though, free of charge.

So here's where things start getting interesting. At 9pm we make our ways inside because we want to dance. We settle up the first check. I've seemingly had 10 cosmos by this point. I still have a long night ahead. Nyeg is on her way, so B will be relieved of her friending duties.

The multiple times I've gone to the restroom downstairs, the bathroom attendant has been flirting with me. They all do. He's shorter than me, and I think it's cute. (Keep this in mind).

Something else happens upstairs though. The owner of Honey, whom we met a few weeks ago, starts hitting on me. Mind you, I'm 5'9". He is...MAYBE 5'4"? Jesus, I don't even know. He's so little, and I say this about a million times, because I have no filter.

So the owner asks me if I want him to drive me home. Well of course I want a ride home! The train is shit at night, but I tell him I can take the train, but if he really wants to drive me home, sure! He tells me to let him know when I'm ready to go. I guess I gave him my number at that point because I ended up with a text saying "Hot Stuff". Smooth, I swear. Oh yeah, he's also probably in his mid to late 30s.

Speaking of which. I was talking to this group of guys that just apparently graduated from Apex (LMFAO...sorry). I was only talking to them because the tall one was cute and I wanted to introduce him to B. He ended up being a dick, but his friend, this Jamaican starts talking to me. Oh yeah, because I ask where the dick is from and he's laughing and says "Jamaica". OBVIOUSLY not (as I am well versed in Jamaican men and their language). Then I ask something else and his stupid fucking friend is trying to be funny too, so I turn to leave and their other friend who is ACTUALLY Jamaican, starts to talk to me. He says he wants to take me to Jamaica. Again, obviously I want to go to Jamaica because fuck, who doesn't? (Except most gay men, because they frown upon that there.)


We're chit chatting and I ask how old he is and he says something like 38. I ask him how old he thinks I am, and he says something like 32. I say "I'm offended" and walk off never to speak to him again. I am fickle when I'm drunk.

Nyeg shows up, and we're dancing and I go get drinks. Long islands and lemon drops (because that's the natural progression of things as well). B and Chris leave. Nyeg starts talking to this charming young man and I'm standing kind of near her and the side of the bar. There is a security guard there who is so big he scares me, but I start chatting him up about something. Turns out, he's the biggest sweetie and we exchange BBMs. Next to him, is the owner who wants to GTFO of there, but in the meantime, is smoking a hookah.

I don't smoke, guys. At all. I don't smoke anything. So this is what I tell the owner when he offers me hookah. His response "Really???? Why???" I read his expression. "You really want me to smoke the hookah?" He nods. And so I do. I smoke the fucking hookah like a pro. Somehow I figure out how to French inhale, and play it off like I'm the best at this ever, and so I teach him. That was where my personal level of morals was at that moment...no where to be found.

The owner buys us two shots and says that he wants to leave, are we ready? We're going down the block to a bar. Fine, no problem.

I start to make my rounds of saying goodbye. A hug here, a kiss on the cheek here, a "see you next week". I go down to see the bathroom attendant and he gives me a hug. But not like a normal hug. A, here let me grab your ass with both of my hands and squeeze while kissing your neck, hug. I'm laughing almost hysterically at this point.

The owner comes down the stairs just as we release our hug. I get my bag from D and we are out the door with a few more hugs and kisses.

We go down the block to this little bar because the owner likes to pay for his drinks sometimes. Whatever man, it's your money. So he buys Nyeg and I each a pineapple vodka. I end up drinking mine and most of hers. He has half of a beer. Nyeg and I dance to "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus, and the bouncer at the bar flashes a flashlight as us to highlight our smooth moves.

The owner is ready to go. I part ways with Nyeg because she's going somewhere else and says she'll be fine (turns out, I also left my camera with her). We go to the owner's car.

Now, I'm not an idiot. I know what he wants. He asked me earlier in the night if I had roommates and if I could have company. I said yes, and yes. I didn't mention that said roommates were my parents. What the fuck ever. So he's driving me to Brooklyn and not being the safest driver, which kind of freaks me out and gets me a little angry because he's the kind of dick driver I want to play bumper cars with in real life.

He also has his hand up my dress THE WHOLE RIDE. Yup, felt up in the car. We're close to my house and he starts to fucking complain about how far it is. "15 minutes is so far, blah blah blah blah" So now I'm getting annoyed, and little does he know, but I have no intention of doing anything with him. However, I give him a complementary feel. I massage him through his jeans. His size is not impressive and I am even LESS likely to do anything with him at this point.

I have him pull up to my corner, and he asks where to park. I tell him, he doesn't have to. He gets annoyed. I apologize, get out of the car and go to my house.

Mind you, I was texting with Steel Pans this whole time and had planned on him coming over. However, when I get in the house, it's a done deal. I pass out almost immediately upon undressing. I miss Steel Pans' and Nyeg's phone calls and the owner's text.

His text reads like this "I wish you just left me for a cab money. Wasted my time and your time" (I helped him grammatically a bit here, because the messages came in a little jumbled).

My response 7 hours later was "I'm sorry."

I might've just pissed where I drink. I just really hope that there are no issues on Thursday. He was not happy with me. I would've taken the cab money, GLADLY...but I didn't know that was an option.

Oh and here's a little snippet from Sunday night.

Went to B's family BBQ and really wanted to get some afterward. I seem to have a lot of potential hookups in the Bronx, so I hit up two of them. I decided on the really buff guy because I was in that kind of mood...if you know what I mean. It was about 11pm when I finally left B's after going back and forth with this kid for a half hour about when to come.

Turns out, he had been at the beach that day. What I didn't know though, is how fucking hammered he got there. We cut the foreplay relatively short, because who needed to waste time. I wish we had just stuck to that though, because the sex...terrible. He was positioned awfully and was being so lazy, so his massive pecs were pressing against my chest in a mostly painful way, but he's so heavy that I couldn't really readjust underneath him. Dead fucking weight. Also, since he's a bigger guy, I was expecting something a little more...aggressive.

He must believe slow and steady wins the race. 

FUCK THAT. I told him that he was going to need to get it together and do his job. He started making comments about having the spins and not feeling so well. 

I literally said "What the hell do you work out for if you can't do this? What is this muscle for?" I yelled at him, quietly, and then started to push him off of me. He stopped, said he couldn't do this and was going to be sick.

I told him to go throw up and drink some water. I put my pants and my shoes (that took forever to get off) back on and left.

He actually gave me a kiss on the cheek when I left.

Are you fucking serious? Most disappointing shit of my life. I swear I want to write some snarky shit on his facebook, but I don't think he'll get it.

Thus concluding my weekend.

You are currently up to date. I have a date with the Dominicatian tonight. I thought I was done with him, but he wants to take me to dinner and a movie, and who am I to complain. He's not bad company, he just wants something different from what I'm willing to give to him. I'm just going to be 'that bitch' for now.

Karma will bite me. Actually, I'm pretty sure that my sex Karma is back in balance after the shit I pulled on Thursday and what happened on Sunday.

5 comments:

Maxwell said...

On a note unrelated to anything here, you should probably start investing in cherry tomato stocks. I'm fucking addicted now. I blame you.

Monica said...

I am going to say that you have a good balance with Karma right now considering you were served some shitty sex. But don't push it before some other retched sex shit happens to you!

KG said...

@Maxwell, just polished off two pints myself. It's a sick sick delicious delicious addiction. Do you have a favorite brand yet? I'm all up in the "Sunripe" shiz.

@Mo, I better. I need not push my luck. Ever.

B said...

I'm a giant just like you and I really can't handle the short guys. Hopefully he doesn't hold bad feelings and you can keep going to Honey.

Jas said...

Damn, girl. Those were some close ass calls.

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