I Must Have Been Stoned
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repetitiously — with the expectation of different results. Here I was, applying this theory to yet another Saturday night. “If I meet a guy at a bar, he won’t be an asshole… right?”. Being this delusional at thirty-one is also insane.
Seventy dollars a month enabled me to explore at the expense of another driver, (and without worrying about getting slammed with a DUI). DaBus linked me from my apartment to bad decisions, and then back to my apartment, safely. Little did I know; I was about to bring someone home that was not only prettier than me but also left me a gut-wrenching feeling that he would strangle me during sex. (And not in the fun kind of way.)
Like hair bands from the 80s; I learned that bad habits should also stay in the past.
My route directed me to a comedy show downtown. Still riding the high from that one auspicious time I did stand up; I was hopeful that the scene would once again ignite the fire under my dream. To be a stand-up comedian who doesn’t only rely on our shitty political climate for a cheap joke.
Before the show, I sipped on a rocks glass filled to the top with sexy and confident. An acquired taste with a scent picked up from the bar. And just like a moth to the flame; he had intentions to burn my morals to the ground.
I didn’t remember his name, as I soon found myself distracted by Bret Michaels look-a-like. I thought to myself, “Years ago, I may have only been a coffee-fetching intern at VH1 — this is my chance to cast myself as a lead in Rock of Love 2.0.”
The moth evolved into a cockblock. Unable to get rid of Sir. Dirty Dick, (as he made it evident that he didn’t care where this Navy enlisted douche put his missile.) However, I allowed him to dictate his own fate. After he demanded I’d buy him a beer from the bartender (I didn’t), he was undeniably hitting on… RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF ME. Dumb and Dumber wrapped up in a single package was smart enough to realize he’d have better luck making sense out of a Trump press conference before his penis went anywhere near my vagina.
Now on the quest to soak up my drinks before the bus ride back home; my stomach led me to a slice of pizza topped with the finest sausage. (Or eggplant, if you’re a vegetarian.)
HE left me a bit uneasy — spotting particular arrangements around my apartment which left him eager to announce that my landlord possibly lied about having a second key, and was probably sniffing my panties. Drunk and intimidated because I couldn’t remember if I left the toilet seat up due to the weight I have gained since moving to Hawaii, but horny and smart enough to blink twice if I was in trouble.
The sex was great, mostly because we both had hair long enough to pull on. As my body mimicked HIS rhythm; my fingernails grazed HIS chest, leaving behind a potential souvenir for when HE returned to HIS “open relationship.” During a moment I was convinced was extinct; the sensations brought me closer to Nirvana.
Until HE said, “Don’t scratch me; I don’t want my wife to know about this.”
Now, maybe I’m the asshole because I viewed the scenario with HIS wife just as what he told me, OPEN! And if I was an asshole for proceeding with this opportunity to get laid by the closest thing to a rock star; I wasn’t stupid enough to believe this would be more than a one night stand.
Too drunk to remember if I got off — but probably not, as just writing about this has dried up my vagina. But, I do remember kicking HIM out. As beautiful as HIS hair was, so was the irony. Shortly after, I received this text, “I got his attention after thirty minutes lol… was ready to sleep in the parking garage. whew.”
That would have been wishful thinking, and a bit cold, but Just like Vanilla Ice… “Ice, Ice, Baby.”
That would have been wishful thinking, and a bit cold, but Just like Vanilla Ice… “Ice, Ice, Baby.”
