No, really… that WAS for you!

Pensacola, Florida.  What a place.  From the moment I got there until about 2 hours before my plane left the place was utterly surreal.  From the white sand beaches, to the friendly southerners, to the drink specials (Diesel Fuel will forever have a different meaning in my mind); to the southern inbred trash that I still laugh about to this day, this place was a zoo.  Don't get me wrong, a few really shitty things happened there, but at the same time some really great times came out of there too.  Even though most times I went out I was just acting like a complete retard, I still managed to meet some really great friends.  Let me not even get started on this one amazing woman I met there as well!  I had a great time when my friends came to visit me there, and I also have material for at least 3 more blogs!  I cannot thank the city of Pensacola enough. 

Now, I was only living there temporarily, so I always had this feeling in the back of my mind that I could do anything and eventually I wouldn't even live there anymore and it wouldn't matter.  This attitude led to many incidents that normally would never have happened, like this one:

Seville Quarter (http://www.rosies.com/) is one of the BEST bar/nightclubs I have ever been to.  It's a complex of about 8 different rooms connected by brick passageways.  There is a pool room, a dueling piano bar, a hip hop room, an outdoor tiki bar, a reggae room, an Irish pub room, and I can't even remember what else.  You could easily get lost in there.  And there were women.  Most of them hot, all of them drunk.  This place was a bastion of drinking and debauchery the likes of which any bar worth its nuts should strive to be. 

One night my friends and I decided would be a good idea (what were we thinking?!?) to try to take a shot of Patron at every bar in this place.  This was no small feat.  EVERY room had a bar, and some had two or three.  Obviously, this led to some problems.  We attempted this feat no less than 6 times, and we fell short of our goal each and every time.  I tried it with different people, all of which were of different levels of drinking abilities, and it never happened.  Not once. 

The first night I tried this was St. Patty's Day, 2006.  It was a Friday night, and I was out with one guy and two girls we knew.  We had been drinking already, but were in one of those moods.  This was the "let's get fucked up drunk since we have a hotel room waiting for us and although we are just friends with these girls, you never know what could happen if we're all shitfaced enough" mood.  Yes folks, it was going to be one of those nights. 

We were in the dueling piano bar and had taken a shot of Patron a few minutes earlier.  We were about to go for another one when the idea hit me.  I turned to the other guy and suggested we go to a different bar and get another shot, and that we keep doing this until we had taken one at every bar there.  He thought this was a marvelous idea.  We walked to another room and took more shots.  We went to the bathroom, and hit one more bar before we got back to the table where the girls were.  At this point, I was really starting to feel the alcohol. 

Once we got to the table, my friend started talking to some girl, and he disappeared with her for the rest of the night.  Great, I thought.  OK, now how is the night going to turn out for me?  Let's look at my options.  Get drunk with the girls, and hope to hook up with one of them while the other one looks on?  Probably not.  Go and see if my friend's girl had any cute friends?  A quick look over there and I decided that I would rather fellate a hot curling iron than play wingman with that land beast she was with.  Continue my original plan of taking a shot at every bar solo?  Hmmmm… you know, I don't know what I was thinking, but I did think (for reasons I could never begin to explain even to myself, never mind people reading this) that this was a good idea at the time. 

I walked away from our table saying that I needed to go for a walk.  I walked through the room with the pool tables, through the reggae room, past the pub, and into the hip-hop room.  Great, I thought.  TWO bars in this room.  Well, I might as well get started. 

I walked up to the bar and ordered a shot of Patron.  As if I didn't feel bad enough taking shots alone as it were, the bartender asked me to repeat the amount of shots I wanted. 

"Just one, sir" I said as he looked at me funny.  Fuck him.  I am on a mission.  I took the shot as he watched me with a stupid grin on his face. 

I went upstairs in this room to the other bar.  I was feeling good, but I knew my time was coming.  I started to think that I might not be able to finish every bar here.  I start to think that this might have been a bad idea. 

Then I remembered who I am, and I was unafraid. 

I stormed up to this bar with renewed confidence and vigor and ordered a shot of Patron.  I ignored any looks the bartender might have had and looked for my credit card.  As I did this, a girl walked up to me and started a conversation. 

"What's that you're drinking?" 

"It's Patron," I replied. 

"Why are you drinking tequila?  It's St. Patty's Day!  You should be drinking something Irish." 

I looked at this girl for a second.  She had just made a very valid point.  Not only was she quick witted, she was also attractive.  I began to think I liked this girl.  I slammed down the shot and turned to her. 

"You're right," I said as I waved for the bartender's attention and turned to him, "Can I get a shot of Jameson?" 

I smiled at the girl.  She then said something that turned my stomach.  Now, don't take this the wrong way.  I will offer a drink when I am comfortable.  If I offer to take a girl out, I have no problem paying.  If a girl invites me out, she had better bring her wallet.  (more on that at the end of this story)  That's just proper etiquette, isn't it?  I think so. 

"What about one for me?  I need a shot too..." she said. 

"You're right, you need a shot too," I said.  "Sir, make that TWO shots of Jameson." 

While we were waiting for the shots, we were talking, she was trying to get to know me, and I was being a smartass (this should not come as a surprise). 

"So, what do you do for work?" she asked. 

"Well, I'm a lawyer, I just graduated law school, and I'm going to make lots of money so I can buy shiny things for my wife," I replied. 

You could see her face light up and then go to dejected as I was speaking. 

"Oh, you're married?" she asked. 

"No, I'm not married; I don't even have a girlfriend.  I was just planning ahead," I replied. 

Again, you could almost feel the gold-digger warmth and fuzziness come over her.  It was great. 

"Really," she said with her best Bambi eyes and cutesy smile.  "So what kind of law do you practice?" 

"Well, I'm a defense attorney.  I specialize in defending people accused of pedophilia." 

"Oh my god!  Why would you do that?  That's gross!" 

"Well, remember, we're all innocent until proven guilty… everyone needs an attorney.  And it's such a niche market that I'll get lots of clients.  And I can charge a lot." 

"Well, I guess you're right… in a way that almost sounds like a good idea," she said. 

"Of course it's a good idea!  And the best part is the fringe benefits.  Those guys really know how to party.  And talk about a way to meet women!" 

Blank stare. 

"Ummmmm… you're just messing with me, aren't you?" 

As we were talking, the bartender had put down the two shots of whiskey and I handed him my credit card. 

"So really, what do you do for work?" she persisted. 

"Well, I'm an author," I said as I took one of the shots of whiskey. 

"What do you write?" she asked as she looked at me suspiciously. 

As I was signing the bill I muttered a response. 

"What did you say?" 

"I said, I write HOMOSEXUAL EROTICA!" 

Stare.  Blink.  Sigh.  She was confused.  I didn't blame her, but she's the one who wanted something for nothing.  I figured I would entertain myself for a minute or two.  I grabbed the other shot off the bar and slammed it back. 

"Hey, I thought that shot was for me!" she complained. 

"Baby, that shot WAS for you!" 

Again, the look on her face was priceless.  You could tell she couldn't, or didn't want to, believe the things that were coming out of my mouth.  I'm sorry, but this is the 21^st century.  The days of chivalry are long gone, and women are to blame.  We work; you work.  We have bills; you have bills.  We go to school; you go to school (and get degrees in even greater numbers than men).  Who says that men should be expected to pay for everything, regardless? 

That's right, the people from your parent's and grandparent's generation.  The people who grew up with gender roles.  The people who lived in a day and age when women stayed home and had babies, and men went out and worked to support a family.  The days when women NEEDED men.  Those days are over, and people should start acting like it.  Frankly, I can't say if I am happy about that or not, I just don't know.  There are certainly positives and negatives to both scenarios, but in the end you can't have your cake and eat it too.  Either you need men or you don't. 

If a stranger offers you a drink, great.  If he doesn't, he just might be showing you some respect.  Take it as a compliment.  Personally, I would not offer that to someone I just met; not to be cheap, stingy, or selfish, but to show that I don't expect anything from them, because let's face it, nothing is free, there are ALWAYS strings attached.  I hate that.  How many people know of a guy, or are one themselves, who randomly buy people they don't know drinks?  Let me tell you another story while I'm on this topic. 

When I first turned 21 I wasn't the bar expert I am now.  I wasn't too sure how things worked.  One of my first nights of going out drinking I found myself with a group of people in downtown Boston.  We were 5 guys and 2 girls.  When we got to the bar, one of the guys went to the bartender and bought the first round.  The drinks were not cheap, $8.50 each.  As he is doing this, one of the girls went up to him and asked him what he is doing. 

"I'm buying a round," he replied. 

"Umm, you're with girls, you don't need to do that," she said.  "What are you guys drinking?" 

"Red Death," he said. 

"OK, we'll be back." 

The girls left us and within minutes they returned with two Red Deaths.  They handed them to two of us, and left again.  A few minutes later, they came back with two more.  Another couple minutes and all of us had our second round.  Before we could even finish those, the third round was on its way.  And so on, and so on, and so on.  When all was said and done, these girls had gotten all seven of us COMPLETELY trashed for free. 

One of the girls summed it up perfectly, "Guys are stupid, all you have to do is say 'hello' to them and they practically open up their wallets for you.  Well, those guys get exactly what they deserve, and that's being used." 

I learned a great lesson that night, and it's one that I've more or less stuck to ever since.  Even in the days when I used to make lots of money, even the nights when I was at dollar-you-call-it bars, forever, I was against buying girls I had just met drinks.  And honestly, it only makes sense. 

If you're a girl, and you want to talk to a guy, does he have to more or less bribe you? 

Is it reasonable for girls to leave the house without money in their pockets and expect to drink for free all night? 

Should you be suspicious of a guy who is offering to buy your next drink, pick up your tab, give you cab fare to get home, or something along those lines just to talk to him? 

Wouldn't that be some sort of a warning sign if the guy thinks these things are required?  Why wouldn't they be?  It's not like they are doing it for everyone in the bar. 

Does a man's presumption that a random girl he meets depends on him for that next drink offend any women right off the bat? 

And for those of you who say that it's none of those things, it's just a nice thing to do, go back to your romance novels with Fabio on the cover and leave reality to the rest of us.  A man does not just buy a girl he doesn't know a drink to be nice.  There is always an expectation of some sort.  There is always a string attached. 

Anyway, that girl in Pensacola actually thought I was kind of interesting, and kept chatting with me for awhile.  Eventually she excused herself and went back to her friends.  As she was leaving she said, "And you still owe me a shot!" 

Not to be outdone, I replied with, "I owe you a shot?  That's nothing, you owe me a rib!" 

I always get the last word.  I blacked out shortly after this, and couldn't even find the hotel we were staying at.  I eventually took a cab back home (I think) and somehow woke up in my own bed. 

11:04 AM - 13 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

Elevator to Hell, going down.

This story is one that I will not put a date, time, or location on.  I usually throw caution and temperance to the wind and dare the consequences of my actions to catch up to me, but sometimes even I go too far.  I wouldn't want this story to somehow make it back to the girl who was involved, and then have her track me down and kill me.  I often entertain myself at other people's expense, and this night was no different.  The one thing that makes me not feel so bad about what I did is that I know for a fact that this happens to men all the time.  Somehow, it's ok for women to do almost exactly what I did, but if a man does it, it's reprehensible.  Fuck that. 

The story starts out with me just being myself and sending my friend an e-mail.  The e-mail was this long strip of pictures that you had to keep scrolling and scrolling to see the next picture.  They were all pictures of the same girl in different stages of disrobing.  In the last picture of her she is completely naked, and lo and behold, she has a penis!  Transvestite porn is great!  The next picture is a gay looking guy pointing with the caption "You're a homo!" 

I sent this to a friend who replied telling me how nasty the picture was, and that all along he thought it was me bragging about the last girl I nailed.  So I replied with this story: 

No, actually, I wouldn't brag all that much about the last girl I nailed, except within the context of the most recent girl I went home with.  Check this out.  I was about to call it a night at the closest bar to home and walk back.  Some chick calls out to my friend and me as we are walking down the street and tells me to come over.  I'm not going to lie; at this point I was lit up. 

What's your name, how old are you, blah, blah, blah... My friend is not near as wasted as I am, and doesn't like her friend.  She pulls me over to the side of the building away from my friend and hers. 

She then asks me, and I quote, "Are you packing?" 

I had no idea that some girls could be so forward.  I've always said that I like aggressive women, and women who are not afraid to go straight for what they want.  This was just so direct that it caught me off guard. 

"I don't understand the question," I said. 

So we get to the side of the building and starts rubbing my dick through my pants. 

Predictably, I went home with her. 

But I must have either sobered up, or thought about the way she picked me up, or maybe even had an attack of morals... I still don't know.  Maybe because what I did is even funnier than the same old 'went home with some random slut' story. 

We got to her place which is about 5 miles from where I live.  For some reason, I paid particular attention to where we were going, noting street names, directions, etc… This is not normal for me.  If I'm not driving, I pay no attention to the road. 

We get to her place, and the night's intended events begin.  She is trying to get me to do silly things like foreplay, tease her, lick her nipple, that kind of stuff that I just don't have the time or the inclination to do.  All I want to do is get my pony in the stable.  Well, not really, but she was better looking than my hand. 

To help me in my obvious inability to even consider giving good foreplay, SHE DID IT.  You know what she did. 

Do I even have to tell you? 

She pulled out one of the biggest dildo/vibrator things I've ever seen.  I swear this thing was powered by a Corvette engine.  It actually had 2 points to it... one big one for the vagina, and another smaller one that I couldn't tell if it was a clit or an asshole stimulator. 

I was completely aghast. 

I'll be the first to admit, some women on this planet are genuine, pure, and worthy of respect.  Some are just filthy wanton sluts.  I decide that I am not going to fuck this girl.  I can't.  I also decide to give her the female version of blue-balls. 

I play with the monstrous sex toy for awhile and she's really getting into it.  She's begging me to fuck her.  Telling me all kinds of shit that I'm sure a whole slew of guys would love to hear... she sounded like a Bowery prostitute. 

So I put down the dildo and put my jeans back on (yes, I did take my shoes, jeans, and Sox hat off--that's it).  I asked her to give me a ride home. 

"WHAT?" she asked.  "Take you home?  NOW?"

"Yes, now… I want to go home." 

"But we're in the middle of…" she protested.

I cut her off mid sentence, "I can't..." 

Then I really started to fuck with her. I used all the excuses that every man who has ever come home with blue-balls has ever heard.  I told her I just wasn't in the mood.  I didn't know her.  I never do this.  We should try being friends first.  I don't want you to think I am a slut.  I even said, I swear I said this, I have a headache.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. 

Then the shit hit the fan.  She went from slut on the verge of sexual ecstasy to Hurricane Bitch in about 10 seconds. 

It was awesome.  Score one for the men in the War of the Sexes. 

She then kicked me out of her place.  FUCK. 

Obviously, I'm not backing down... I tie my shoes and add, "Good, I'll walk.  I knew there was a reason I felt like wearing comfortable shoes.  I must have psychic powers."

I walked for about 10 or 15 minutes, quite pleased with myself.  Then out of nowhere she pulled up next to me.  Since I'm not above using a female for what she is worth to me at any given time, I jump right in without saying a word.  She, on the other hand, couldn't see her way to shutting the fuck up. 

"Why are you going home?" she asked between sobs.  "What's wrong with me?"  "Why don't you like me?"

Of course, I had to use one more chick line: "No, really, it's not you, it's me." 

Thankfully, it was a short ride home.  Rides just seem to take so long when a girl is crying about something you just did to them.  Thankfully I'm over it now. 

I really hope that someday I have daughters who date guys like me.  

10:56 PM - 21 Comments - 15 Kudos - Add Comment

Sadly, you don't drink in a bar, this will happen...

This story was taken from an e-mail that I sent to some friends of mine a few years ago.  Looks like I've been a writer-wannabe for some time now... 

I did tell you that I recently started a new job.  Well, on Sunday afternoon my new boss called and asked me if I felt like going out for a couple beers and some games of pool.  So I went to Derry to a pool hall/restaurant/pub kind of place called Sidelines.  I was sitting on one end of the room, opposite the bar where four guys and a couple girls were sitting.  In all, there were 20-25 people in the bar.  I had barely noticed them, save for the fact that they were *extremely* tattooed and pierced.  All decked out in leather as well.  That was about it, they were on one side of the hall, and I was on the other, some forty feet away.  I was minding my own business, watching the pool games being played, waiting for my turn, etc. when one of the guys came over to me with one of the girls.  She said that her friend hadn't ever seen me around before, and wanted to know who I was.  Greetings/introductions were made, and they went back to the bar.  I thought it was kind of an odd thing, and after my boss and I exchanged puzzled looks, I forgot about it.  It was about half an hour later when the guy came back over.  The conversation went like this:

"Those people over there wanted me to come over and tell you that they don't like your shirt." he said.

Now, my shirt wasn't exactly the sharpest one in my wardrobe, but it was a normal American Eagle long-sleeved shirt, dark green, with a blue stripe across the chest and back about three inches thick, with a thin yellow line above and below it.  Nothing offensive, nothing written on it, nothing(or so I thought) wrong with it.

To this I replied in a sincere, friendly, honest tone, "Really?  Who doesn't like it?"

"Those people over at the bar," he said, pointing over to his friends.

"Well gee dude, I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend anyone, honestly, if I had another shirt with me I'd change right into it for you... this isn't really one of my favorite shirts either." I replied in the same sincere, friendly, honest tone.

So if you can picture me sitting on a stool against the wall, he then walked from my right side, across in front of me, over to my left.  His friend then approached me from my right, so I turned my head to talk to him.

"Hey buddy," he says, "do you have anything under that shirt that you can wear instead of that one?  My brother here really doesn't like the one you're wearing."

So at this point I'm kind of confused, and I thought something was awry.  As I was about to respond to him, all of a sudden I was punched on my left ear!  This was a HARD punch, too.  The first guy that talked to me had taken a running start, wound up, and hit me with all he had while his friend was distracting me.  The classic "sucker punch", if you will.

So there I was, stunned at being hit, as a riot had broken out.  Turns out my boss is on a pool league and most of the players on his team were in the bar.  They jumped on the three guys that were involved (the fourth one had stayed at the bar the whole time) and were fighting them, and they dragged them outside.

So the fight wrapped up, I was *extremely* upset, but in alot of pain at the same time.  I hadn't been drinking, as I had forgotten my passport at home(and yes, I STILL haven't made time to go and get a copy of my driver's license) but after "the incident" the bartender gave me a drink on the house.  Nobody wanted to call the police, for whatever reason.  Three bleeding men that had just been in a fight, and nobody wanted to get the cops involved... I later found out that some of the people in the bar had been in trouble before, and weren't supposed to be there.

So we went back to my boss' house and watched TV.  I was still hurting, and was still very much upset about the whole incident.  We called the police, and before we filled out a report, he informed us that if you do, it's the accused's right to know his accuser.  So my boss and the cop both agreed that the people who did this would in all likelyhood track me down and "do something" if the police were involved.

Just great.  I can't even sleep on my left side, or put a phone to my left ear, and I still have a headache.

And I still don't know what to do about that shirt.  I think I'm still going to wear it.  It's like we've been through an ordeal together now, and I like it more now than I did before.  I wouldn't go so far as to call it "a lucky shirt" for obvious reasons, but it has some meaning now.

And I never knew that Neo-Nazi fanatics, or Arian Blood, or whatever(I later found out that that's the group these guys belong to) were so fashion conscious!!!

4:03 PM - 7 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Piss Girl Story

OK, this is an embarrassing story; however, I will again do my best to tell it in my usual style.  This story took place several years ago, the weekend after The Slut Story (you'd think I would have learned my lesson).  It was springtime, and after a long, cold winter all you really want to do is get out there and party it up.  I also wanted to get the train wreck that was the previous weekend out of my mind.  Naturally, I turn to two things that always make me feel better-my friends and alcohol. 

I started a new job a couple months before this, and I was going to show my new boss a good time.  He was one of those guys that didn't go out much, had a live-in girlfriend, and hadn't partied like I do in quite some time (Well, since the previous weekend! But that's another story).  Obviously, this was a man who needed my help, and who am I to let someone down like that? 

We rented a hotel room in the Theater District.  We bought a bottle of Grey Goose (for me), a bottle of Captain Morgan (for him), and a 12-pack (for the after-party).  We proceeded to get fucked-in-half drunk. 

While we were drinking I got a call from my brother.  He and another friend of mine were going to The Big Easy.  Of course, we were going to go there and meet them.  By this point it wouldnt have mattered where we went, we were drunk and didn't care. 

While there, all we did was drink, and yes, *gasp* danced.  Well, maybe "danced" is the wrong word.  Did the "drunken shuffle" is more accurate.  There was no way we were in any shape to meet girls.  Not that we didn't try!  It's just that when you're so drunk you can't operate the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom, you're probably not going to impress anybody. 

My friend drove with my brother to Boston.  By the end of the night, he was nowhere to be found.  We tried calling him and searching the club, but he was gone.  We later found out that he had met a girl and left with her, but that was still kind of a dick thing to do, just leave my brother stranded like that.  He hadn't gotten any ass in awhile, so we were kind of happy for him in that regard, but years later he's still with that girl and nobody sees or hears from him that much anymore.  Lame ass. 

The ugly lights eventually came on, and we had to go.  We walked, uh, stumbled back to the hotel, and we were almost there when I noticed a girl walking with us.  I very vaguely remember her from the club.  She came up to me and blurted out "damn, youre hot" or something like that.  I remember that both of us were too drunk to make sense of each other, and I got bored with her and had moved on.  Why was she with us?  I had no idea.  I hadn't talked to her since about an hour before the club closed, and had only spoken with her for a couple of minutes. 

I started talking to her, but after not too long, reality hit me.  She was up for hanging out at least, but we were a group of three guys staying in a hotel room together. 

Hmmmm... I know what you're thinking, and trust me, I thought the same thing.  No, it didn't happen like that. 

We got back to the room, and started drinking the beers we had.  She had to go to the bathroom, and pulled me in there with her.  We fooled around for a bit, and then I came out.  My brother and my friend wanted to know if I had just banged her in the bathroom, and started calling seconds and thirds... well, not exactly, but that would have been funny. 

She comes out, we sit around and bullshit for awhile, and then we all get into bed.  She and I got in one bed, and the other two got in the other.  In not too long, we were going at it again.  I could hear the other guys laughing and making all kinds of hilarious comments, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud.  Eventually I started doing things to make them laugh even more, talking dirty, moaning, that kind of stuff.  Whoever thought degradation could be so much fun? 

Eventually the fun was over, and I passed out.  I awoke in the middle of a strange dream where I was jumping off of a boat into water.  It was such a realistic dream my boxer shorts were even wet! 

My boxer shorts are wet?!?!?  What the I started feeling around, and the whole bed was soaking wet!  OH MY FUCKING GOD, THIS GIRL PISSED ALL OVER THE PLACE!!! 

I immediately sat up and wondered aloud, "Why is the bed all wet?" even though I knew EXACTLY why the bed was wet. 

You know how after a long night of drinking you wake up, and aside from feeling like shit, you can look around at everyone else who was there and they also look as bad as you feel?  Well, after I said this I looked over at the other bed and my eyes met my brothers.  They were bloodshot as all hell, and he looked like he had been awake for a week straight. 

His head shot up, cocked to the side as he looked at the bed, the girl that was there, and then back to me, and made a face of utter shock that I'll never forget as he gasped, "NO WAY!" 

But it was true.  She pissed all over the bed, and all over me.  I slowly got up and jumped into the shower, with my boxer shorts, and without my dignity.  I stayed in there for a good long while, scrubbing myself like a rape victim.  It was no use.  I felt absolutely disgusting.  I was really mad too.  Who the hell goes home with a guy and pisses all over his shit?  Good thing it was a hotel room.  I got out, and the girl was still passed out in bed, but my friend and my brother were already laughing hysterically at my misfortune. 

I ripped the covers off of the girl and started yelling.  "Get the fuck out of bed!"  "What the fuck is this shit?!?"  "You pissed all over the bed!"

The girls embarrassment was palpable.  The other two could not contain their laughter, and I don't think they should have either.  Fuck her and her weak ass bladder.  I went on and on, ranting and raving for another minute or two, and then gave up.  There was nothing I could do anyway. 

My friend asked her to go to Dunkin Donuts for us and get some coffee and breakfast.  He gave her some money, and that was the last we ever heard from her. 

The funny thing about this story is the times when it comes up in conversations.  Of course, I dont tell it that much, but I think about it at times.  Girls will sometimes ask me if I have ever had, or if I'm all about one night stands.  Then I say that I'm not, and that bad things happen to me if I have a one night stand.  They have no idea just how bad things can be! 

11:57 AM - 22 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

And I wonder why I find myself in these absurd situations...
Current mood: thankful

Every time I go out with my friends I always hope something wildly entertaining happens.  I mean, nobody wants to go out, drink a couple beers, then call it a night.  We could stay in the house and watch TV to do that.  No.  When we're exposing ourselves to the general public, doing irreversible damage to our livers, spending money we shouldn't on overpriced beverages, we had better come away with some good stories.  Being that I am only home on leave for a short time, I really wanted to push the envelope this weekend.  Why do I do this to myself and everyone else involved?  Well, I am a bad person.  I'm already sure to go to hell(go to hell?  Shit, I probably have an upper-management position locked up, and am closing in on CEO of the underworld), so at this point I can only hope my life can serve as a warning for others. 

The night started out innocently enough.  It was Thursday, and we had our sights set on our old stomping grounds, the place where many nights have ended in "so who did so-and-so leave with?" and "how am I getting home?" and many, many Fridays have been spent calling everyone who was there and trying to figure out what happened the night before.  You know what I'm talking about... nobody remembers the whole night, but everyone tells their own part that they remember and after about 20 phone calls you finally have a picture in your mind of how the night unfolded... does that sound familiar to anyone? 

Now since we're men, and we follow our penises around like divining rods, we had to go to Hooter's first for a beer just to see some tight bodies and sharpen us up for the night.  One of my friends used to work for a beer company, and his old boss was doing a promotion during the Bruins game that was on.  That was just the motivation we needed.  It was the beginning of the last period and we decided to see how many pitchers of beer we could spill down our throats before the game ended.  Sensing our position, and seeing one, two, three pitchers of beer arrive and disappear from our table, my friend's old boss starts sending beer over too.  Since alcohol makes me invincible, I keep drinking.  And drinking.  And then the game ended.  Fun is over.  For now. 

Since I'm not into the whole "responsibility" thing, I didn't notice that one of the three of us wasn't drinking that much.  Duh, he had to drive.  I don't bother with such trivial matters.  Anyway, we did some quick math, turns out that when all was said and done, we had consumed five pitchers.  Between two people.  Ouch.  Tonight already has the beginnings of a crazy time in place... little did I know...  

We get to the bar and I decide tonight is going to be a great night.  Another beer company is there giving out FREE BEER!  I almost lost it.  I love free beer, even if it's blueberry flavored.  I drink that beer and get another one.  The sales rep there is telling me about how if she lands this account she'll make enough in commissions to buy breast implants.  I inform her that I am the world's foremost expert on breasts.  I give her a free exam and tell her that she does, in fact, need a little work done.  She is not happy with me.  I worry that my free beer supply might be disrupted.  I am not happy.  I make friends with the other sales rep there, who is also a cofounder of the brewery.  I decide that he is more important than the girl and talk with him.  Fortunately, he is appreciative of the Armed Services and gives me more beer.  I decide that I like this guy.  He tells me to go and buy a pitcher of his beer and that he will keep it filled all night. 

"BUY" as in with my own money?  Uh, no.  I do not spend money on bitch beer.  I tell him I would rather fellate a hot curling iron than spend my own money on blueberry flavored beer.  Predictably, my supply of free beer comes to a grinding halt.  I decide that he is an asshole, and probably has homosexual tendencies, and then I cringe at the thought of why he was giving me beer to begin with... 

I went to look for an open pool table.  Here's another reason why I hate college students.  The local college just got back in session after winter break, and they were all over the place.  Sitting right on the goddamn pool tables, no less.  Spilling drinks on the tables too.  Talk about useless bags of shit.  I announce this to nobody in particular and get a few looks.  Whatever.  I hate them anyway. 

Let me digress here for a minute.  Yes, I drink.  Yes, I get drunk.  Yes, I black out.  Yes, I get to the point where I can't even see, never mind walk or shoot pool.  However, in all the drinking I have ever done, in every country that I have ever got drunk in, all things considered, I have spilled exactly ONE drink(and it was on a dance floor-I still think I was bumped, but since that night was one of the top 10 drunkest nights of my life, I'll take the drink-dropping demerit points).  HOW THE FUCK IS THERE 10 DRINKS SPILLED ON THE POOL TABLE?  Irresponsible college kids. 

I walked over to the bar and got in line.  As I'm standing there one of my weaknesses reared it's ugly head.  A low-cut shirt on large breasts.  Oh no.  The were attached to a girl who was staring at me, so I asked her if she was waiting in line for a drink.  She said that she was, but I accused her of using the trip to the bar as an excuse to get closer to me since she had a full beer in her hand.  Her story was that she was buying a beer for her friend, and all I could do was stare at her chest.  I flirted shamelessly with her for awhile, told her a little about me and asked questions about her.  By the time we got to the bar I was about done with a nearly forensic examination of her breasts, and I didn't get caught.  I'm good at that.  It was still early in the night, and even though she was hot and that the deal was about sealed, I still had to go and look for a backup plan in case she flaked out on me.  I wasn't on the clock yet. 

Note:  "On the clock" is guy talk for that one hour period that is just before last call.  The magic hour if you will.  That's the time when all the hooking up is figured out.  If you start moving in on a girl too early, she's liable to hit you up for a free drink or two and then ditch you for someone else.  Too late in the evening and you come off as "the drunk guy who is just looking for someone to go home with".  So if for example the bar closes at 1AM, last call is about 12:45, then you're on the clock at 11:45.  That's the sweet spot of the night. 

I wondered around the bar a little more, and I came across a sight that I ALWAYS love to see.  A blonde girl stumbling around with a martini in one hand and a shot in the other.  Excellent, I thought, I'm just getting warmed up.  I think that tonight might wind up being a good night for my smaller, but more powerful head.  I am giddy with excitement at this point.  This girl is wearing one of those sleeveless shirts that have a little string going from one side to the other around her head, and the strings are tied with a bow.  

Jim: Why haven't you taken that shot?

Blonde: It's too strong...

Jim: No it isn't... what kind of shot is it? 

Blonde: A washington apple.  Try it.

I take it and drink a tiny sip off of it.  Holy shit, it was almost all whiskey.  I kept a straight face, even though with about five gallons of beer in my stomach this was the last thing I wanted to taste. 

Jim: I think you got ripped off.  There isn't any booze in there, it's all juice.  Just finish it.  Plus, if you're carrying two drinks around you don't have a free hand. 

Blonde: What do I need a free hand for? 

When I'm drunk, I do things I wouldn't normally do.  Like I've said in the past, I indulge in every whim and ignore the consequences of my actions.  Without even hesitating, as soon as she said that I reached up and untied the string holding the top of her shirt up.  Predictably, she gave me the 'you asshole' look and scurried off.  Mr. Penis was very upset at Mr. Brain at that point.  Fuck her if she can't take a joke is all Mr. Brain could come up with. 

I'm not really into all that deviant sexual behavior.  Granted, I've done some fucked up shit, but I've never hit bottom.  I've never fucked a midget, for example.  Even though I've never done that, and never really thought of it, I just HAD to hit on the girl I was looking at next.  She had to be 4 feet tall, but she was just like a normal girl, only smaller.  She didn't have those dwarf-like grubby little hands, the weird face, or the stumpy legs. 

I'm sitting there trying to think of something to say, and she approaches me and starts talking!  Apparently her and I had met before, and even had danced together?  Now, I know that I never dance... and I don't even see how I would dance with a girl whose head is about level with my bellybutton, but I go along as if I know what she's talking about.  Eventually I get bored with her, so I start saying stupid stuff.  

Jim: So, want to go to Six Flags with me?  Oh, wait, you wouldn't be able to go on the grown-up rides. 

Jim: I have a small penis that I'm not very proud of, but if we fucked, it would look normal-sized. 

That one went over like a fart in church.

Her: Stop making fun of me for being short.

Jim: You're short?  Really?  I thought you were just sitting on the floor. 

You would think that people would just get sick of me and walk away, but I guess it's all in the delivery.  She seemed to kind of like me, but since I do not have a bottomless beer glass, I left her to go and get another. 

I saw the first girl I met and went over to her.  I was so drunk that I thought her chest was talking to me.  Unfortunately, she was at the bar with her older brother.  Her over-protective older brother.  I inform him that I have not one, but two younger sisters, and that I know how he feels.  He asked me if I was going to try to hook up with his sister.  I told him that I didn't know yet, I was waiting for the lights to come on so I could see her better.  That did not go over well.  Then he asked me if I was afraid he was going to kick my ass for being rude.  I almost fell over laughing as his sister told him don't go down that road, this guy is a Marine, and he'll probably kick your ass.  They were leaving to go to another bar, but it is a place that I hate.  I knew this was going to happen.  I started going over my options. 

The next thing I know MidgetGirl came over with my other friend and squeaked, "THERE HE IS!"  Oh, I thought, well, here goes.  The bar is about to close, so what should I do?  Fortunately, I leave this decision up to a friend of mine. 

Normally, I never ask this friend for advice.  He is only for special circumstances.  I pull him out of my pocket as I walk toward the bathroom.  I unscrew his cap, and drink deeply. 

Ahhhh... the mind numbing effects of Grey Goose...

The next thing I know I'm waking up to the sound of my mobile phone ringing... my in-a-gadda-da-vida ring tone...

Where the fuck am I, I wonder?  My clothes are on, I'm next to two small beds, there are two desks, two computers, two dressers...

OH NO!  I'M IN A FUCKING COLLEGE DORM ROOM!! 

What the fuck happened last night?  I swear, if I had a dollar for every time either my friends or I said that very sentence, I'd be driving an Aston Martin.  I start looking around the room for clues.  The DVD rack-all chick flicks.  Good sign.  Pictures on the wall-some hotties, some decent, no land beasts.  Good sign.  I am still having trouble remembering what happened the night before... I do a quick condom check, and they're all there.  I check myself, no evidence of any sexual activity.  That, at this point is just about good news, except for the fact that I didn't get laid and I'm stuck without a ride.  I then look at my phone.  Seven new voicemails.  All of them are my friends telling me that I am an asshole for leaving in a car with six girls in it and not inviting them, then some about Midget Porn. 

Midget Porn?  Are you shitting me?  Oh no... I look at the pictures again, and yes, there IS someone in all of them, head level with all the other girl's breasts.  Hmmmmm...

Just then, my mother(of all people) calls me and wants to know if I want to go to lunch.  As fate would have it, she is driving her car not 10 minutes from where I am.  I have her come and pick me up, and we have a good lunch.  She asks what I did last night and how I ended up there without a ride... all I could say was "I don't know... I think I blacked out."

"Oh, to be young..." was her only comment.  My mom is cool. 

12:28 PM - 20 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

A date with Jim ends in tears... literally...

OK, anyone here who knows me knows I don't date.  That scene in the beginning of "Wedding Crashers" comes readily to mind:

Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn): "I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested, I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested... And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions? Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip". Just for a second, just to see how it feels. Or, ouch, ouch you're on my hair." 

..>" target="_self">See the movie here:

You all know what I'm talking about... dating just isn't my thing.  I suppose if I was able to play the girl's part in dating, you know, where someone would come and pick me up, take me wherever I want to go, spend the entire night complimenting me and trying to make themselves seem more appealing to me, open all the doors, have sex with me if I want, pay for everything, and bring me home when I want, I would probably be able to really like dating.  I'd even date people I really had no interest in from the beginning just to be treated like that...  Does that sound familiar to anyone(hmm, ladies)? 

In any event, despite my philosophical beliefs on dating, I opted to go on a REAL date about a month ago.  I figured it might be fun, and I wanted to, you know, see if I still had it.  Of course, I like to challenge myself.  Now don't take this to mean that I like girls who just try to be a challenge, that just makes them seem distant, evasive, cold, et cetera, and that sucks.  I mean a real challenge.  The kind where it makes no logical sense for you to even be trying to court the girl.  Good examples of this are: foreign women, older women, women who aren't single, women who have a professed hatred of me, women who don't speak any of the languages I speak, et cetera. 

Can you guess what kind of woman I picked?  Did any of you pick "Foreign woman who is here for the summer with her boyfriend"?  Ding, ding, ding, ding, start the band, we have a winner! 

This girl was hot too.  She had the tightest body, light skin, "c" cup, and was about 5'5".  She had grey eyes.  GREY!  Have you ever seen anyone with grey eyes?  I loved that.  And her accent was really hot.  She was from Slovakia, so if you've ever heard an Eastern European accent, you know what I mean. 

I worked nearby her all summer, and every time I casually asked her to lunch she would blush, look down, and say in that sexy accent, "I cannot". 

That was all I needed.  I have a habit of looking right at people, participating in long conversations, and not hearing a word they've said.  Many people have stopped in the middle of a story to ask me if I'm even listening to them.  Oftentimes I'm not.  However, one thing I always understand is body language.  I knew by her body language that she wanted to, but had something that was holding her back. 

Did that stop me?  Of course not.  Did I think that her adversity to going out for lunch might mean that she has a boyfriend?  I sure did.  Why, you might ask, did I continue to pursue her?  Well, to quote a friend, I am an asshole.  I get excessively drunk at inappropriate times, disregard social norms, indulge every whim, ignore the consequences of my actions, mock idiots and posers, and generally act like a raging dickhead. 

So I got to know this girl, I kept going over and making her give me free ice cream where she worked, and I shot the shit with her all the time.  Really, when I'm on, I'm DEAD ON.  Eventually I did get her to agree to come out with me.  The thing is, I kind of wanted to just go to lunch while I was working, and listen to her accent.  Honestly.  But by the time I had her buttered up enough to go somewhere with me, she was all ready to go out for dinner, drinks, and... hmmm... keep reading. 

We made plans to go for dinner later that week, about a week before she left on a two week whirlwind tour of the great American West with her boyfriend and a couple other Slovakians they had come with for the summer. 

I figured 'what the hell' and brought out my A-game.  I dressed nice.  I wore cologne.  I opened every door, even my car door, and held her hand getting in and out.  We went to a nice restaurant in downtown Newburyport, and took a small table away in the corner.  We got wine.  We had "conversations".  These "conversations" didn't revolve around me, my drunken, wild adventures, my shameless ego, my use of the entire planet and everything in it as my personal ashtray.  I didn't swear.  I asked about her family, her goals, complimented her, and NOT ONCE did the conversation go south, with me saying something perverse or inappropriate.  I even paid attention to what she was saying!  TALK ABOUT SELF-CONTROL!!  I still don't think I've fully recovered.  Hey, this girl was European.  American women settle for shitbags, but not Europeans.  Must be something in the water. 

If you're not sitting down, take a seat.  Are you ready for this?  This next thing I'm going to say will shake the very foundation of everything you know about me.  It is completely out of character, and I've probably done this 5 times in my life(and three of those times were before I learned that the nice guys finish LAST--ALWAYS). 

I picked up the bill.  Yes, I paid for dinner. 

If you're not picking yourself up off the floor, you don't know me well enough.  Actually, if you even got through my description of how I conducted myself through dinner without calling bullshit, you do not know me that well.  For crying-out-loud, we had so much "conversation" that I sent the waiter away FOUR TIMES before we ordered food so that we could continue talking without being interrupted.  I am not making this up. 

OK, as if I wasn't laying it on thick as it were, it gets better.  Now for all you amateurs out there, if you EVER take a girl to dinner, this is a Cardinal Rule.  You are to order ONE dessert, TWO forks.  Got it?  UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES do you get separate desserts.  Write that down.  Do not forget it. 

I'm telling you, SIT DOWN.  I'm still not done describing the way I conducted myself during our date.  Yes, it gets better/worse/further from anything you'd ever expect from me.  After dinner we, ahem, "went for a long walk on the beach" holding hands.  WHO DOES THAT?  It was right out of a chick flick! 

By this time she had doe eyes that would make Bambi look like a heroin-chick CK model.  What could I do?  In the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do.  I turned her to face me, and with the wind blowing, the sun setting, the birds chirping, I closed my eyes and leaned in for a kiss. 

The kiss was certainly not uninvited.  She kissed back passionately for a good minute or two, and I was definitely not coming on to her in any kind of lecherous or dirty way.  I've made out with enough girls in my career to know when a girl wants to be kissed and when she doesn't.  But then I kind of opened my eyes, just a wee bit, to look at her, and what did I see?  I SAW TEARS ROLLING DOWN HER FACE!  Un-fucking-believable.  Here she is making out with me on the beach at sunset, and she all of a sudden has an attack of conscience.  Good thing I don't have one of those.  Of course, I stop, pull back, look at her, and calmly ask, "Is everything ok?"

"I'm so sorry... but this just isn't fair.  I feel bad..."  Was about all she said.  Of course, I was being nice and sensitive, so I was completely supportive (at my own expense-I really must've been someone else this day) of her feelings.  We left and I brought her home.  That's it. 

Update:  The next week she called me and had me over when nobody else was home.  (I'm not telling any stories about this day, but I am happy I went.)  It was great to see her again, and I'm probably going to visit Slovakia, Austria, and the Czech Republic someday soon.  DAMN, her accent is HOT!!

Second Update:  It seems like there are alot of people who missed the point of the story... I was doing the whole "date" thing for ME, not her.  I wanted to, as I said in the story, go out on a real date.  That was it.  And I also said I just wanted to talk with her and listen to her accent.  I wasn't trying to get with her, get her to cheat on her boyfriend, anything like that.  And for those of you who are jumping the gun and assuming things I never mentioned, I DIDN'T HAVE SEX WITH HER.  There, now you have it.  Really, I didn't.  I wrote the whole story because I was amused with myself and the way the date turned out.  It was such an odd experience.  I thought the whole "long walk on the beach under the stars" was just so absurdly cliche that I found it funny.  I really didn't think that people did that kind of stuff.  Think about it.  People say candle-lit dinners are really romantic, but when was the last time you went to a restaurant that was really lit by candles?  I just thought long walks on the beach under the stars was along that line, something that people talk about, not actually do... How on earth that ranks among the most romantic things one could do is beyond me.  It was lame!  Any guy who actually does this kind of thing as part of his plan is really a woman.  By the way ladies, realize that guys don't like romance, they like sex.  If being romantic gets them sex, they do it.  Don't assume it's anything more than that shallow. 

9:09 PM - 12 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Lies that girls tell... (funny)

This was copied from another page I found somewhere, but I edited it, cut out some parts, and added some others.  The original author seemed a little bitter, but I just found it to be amusing and I think some of the points the author makes do have some merit. 

"I like everything when it comes to music..."

Lie. Oh, you like everything? Great! Since you like all music, we'll listen to what I want the whole time.  I hate even talking about music with girls because more often than not, if it's not something off of the latest top 10 on the radio or some new-age hippy bullshit, chances are that she's never heard of it.

"I think you're really cool, let's hang out some time..."

Lie. This translates to "I have no intention of calling you or hanging out with you, but I'm too much of a coward to tell you the truth, so I'll lead you on for a couple of weeks while you put your life on hold for me in case I actually stop being indecisive and I give you a straight answer." Like I don't have anything better to do than to sit around and wait for your dumbass to call me. I'm so sick of inconsiderate girls that act like they're doing me a favor by gracing me with their BORING ASSES. Tell you what, jackass, just forget it. 

"I'm not really seeing anyone..."

Lie. "...except for Jack, but he's just a friend, and then there's Charlie, but it's nothing more than sex. I'm kind of seeing Rupert on the side, but he has two kids and I don't know if I want to be tied down by kids right now, then there's Eddie, but he's a mechanic, he's so hot, but I can't settle down with someone like him because he has no future and I need commitment... John... Jacob... Mark... blah blah blah blah blah..."

SOMEBODY TURN HER OFF.

You want to find a guy, yet all you do is talk about other guys. Great move. No wonder you can't find anyone. Here's a hint: quit sleeping around. Maybe someone will eventually respect you enough to treat you more than just a sex object.

"I dont have sex with just anyone..."

Lie. Unless you ignore all those times I've been felt up on dates, performed and received oral, fooled around with other girls, et cetera. Why do girls lie about this? It doesn't have to be coitus for it to be sex. Sex is sex. Quit trying to give people the false impression that you're innocent and pure. Just tell the truth. If you're embarrassed about it and regret doing it, then you probably shouldn't have done it in the first place. At the very least, you could respect yourself by being honest.

"Sorry I didn't call, my uncle was sick and you cant turn on a cell phone in the hospital and I forgot your number so I didnt call you to tell you to not wait for me all day..."

Lie. Translation: I went drinking with my girlfriend and my mom. Oh, you didn't know I had a girlfriend? Oh yeah, well I'm bi and we've been seeing each other on and off for over two and a half years. I guess I forgot to mention that part. 

"All I want is a nice guy that will make me feel special, that will listen to me and love me forever..."

Lie. She left off the part about "and is also a stupid, petty criminal, illiterate bad boy because that's all most girls are really looking for, but we're too shallow to admit that to you because we want to keep this 'virgin-girl' image we have going, so we're going to pretend that all the nice guys we've met so far haven't fit the bill when in reality, they've treated us infinitely better than any guy we could ever hope to meet at a club downtown."

GIRLS DON'T WANT NICE GUYS.

I know there are some out there that do, unfortunately, the ratio of girls that want nice guys to sleazy girls that are in it for money and sex is very small, if not non-existent.

Almost every guy that goes to a club goes there for one reason: ass. More often than not, they get it. That's all they want and girls aren't so stupid as to not realize this, but they want to make it sound like they're perpetual victims that can't find the elusive "nice guy."

Why don't you actually try LOOKING for one, you moron! 

That's like a guy trying to find a "nice girl" by cruising the streets downtown. If you tread the grounds of prostitutes, don't complain that all you have to show for it is a yield of whores.

I'm so sick of girls giving the impression that they want a nice guy; this is only true for women in their 30's that have already spent a decade getting their brains screwed out and now they're finally pulling their heads out of their ass and they're looking for a decent guy to settle down with.  It's not going to happen, you blew your opportunities long ago.  I see girls fall for assholes every day.  I see girls abused, cheated on and insulted in public ALL THE TIME.  What the hell is wrong with them?  They think that there's something wild and untamable about bad boys that's attractive?  WAKE UP.  You're get