Poultry and the South African
Why did i do it? the alcohol.
I swear it wasnt in the plans. I wasnt even going to drink.
Its like I havent learned from the last time I dated someone at/from work. But the thing is he just works out there, so its not like i see him all the time. Well i mean this is basically the same situation as me dating the armenian but i want to pretend like its different.
This South african is a tad older and not a complete douchebag. I mean he might be but i just dont know him that well. yet.
South african is not obsessed with his appearance. He doesnt treat his life, and all that goes on in it, like the end all to the human race. Armenian used to act like a fucking superstar. Super-ridiculous!
South african is just calm, a tad shy and the cool, artsy type. Again, as far as i know. I mean he could be a serial killer. When neighbors of serial killers are asked about them, do they ever think that their neighbor was a murderer? For all i know hes the next buffalo bill or the second coming. Or how about forensic files has me on heightened suspicion. whatever.
Back to the fun. I just decided to go. Melanie (highschool friend. bff) convinced me to go out to a "gathering" i guess. It was a party of old highschool people. (Its been approx 6 years since grad; so im not a complete loser.) I decide to stop by the club after work and chat for a little while. I had some clothes in my car to change into. "Clothes." It was a black shirt and jeans. Not a flattering black shirt either. I used to consider my car an extension of my closet. Seriously, if i had to go to a ball i could figure it out in my trunk, or if it was a last minute costume party, i could figure it out back there. But i had worn everything already and had to settle on an unflattering black t-shirt and jeans and purple pumps. Ew. Total goon.
I tried to whore it up, as much as it could have been whored, by putting my chicken cutlet boob enhancers in. Yes they were in my car. Dont ask why. You couldnt even really tell that i had them in but it made me feel better/bigger. So go into the club, run into Brittany who convinces me to down tequila i think, and she says i can crash at hers.
Brittany's apartment has become a recent development in my life. Before, I used to go out, get wasted with the armenian douchebag and his friends, and then crash at his place. That was about 6 months out of my life. I really built up my alcohol tolerance during those months. I figured out i could drink a lot and not puke. I would just black out , feel like ass in the morning and take a tylenol which i later found out is really bad for your liver after you drink. Apparently it increases the mal-effects from the alcohol on your liver. Score me. Ok. so severe dumpage by the armenian DB, and so brittany's couch has become my newly acquired holding after late nights. Sometimes.
So Brittany's drunk, Im trying to get there. I decide the best way to catch up is just skip the mixer idea and go straight for the gold. Vodka and ice. Its also less calories if you want to go that route. Depending on who im out with i do that occasional no mixer trick. It usually ends up with me finding foreigners and talking back to them in their respective accents. Im a killer at australian and italian. Its my one true gift.
So vodka after vodka. Zero. I feel nothing. Im pissed. I get more. Im double fisting when i run into South african and play my best cool face and arch my back and try to stick out my tumblers. He either gives a shit, or it really worked and he offers to buy me another drink. Of course i accept. My next memory is waking up in a bed. Topless. Raccoony. Oh god.
It really sounds worse than it is. I went home with him the previous 2 weekends. Not as drunk and not as mindless. Last night i remember some pizza, biting ( a nasty drunk habit) and tug of war with his dog. He doesnt even let this dog sleep in the same room. It gets put out in a cage in the living room. What a life? I feel terrible for that dog. I would want to sleep next to hot south african ass as much as possible, and he puts it in a cage. That really should be a clue to me, ill choose to overlook it for now.
South african is really a nice guy though. He never tries anything. I mean my shirt and all that mess i stuffed in my bra, that was all on the floor but i could have and probably did do that. Plus i can always tell if things had transpired. That sounds bad. Well, heres my thought: he texted me for the rest of the day/ week so its quite obvious. We did make out of course, the whole biting thing/ me trying to take his lip off. I remember doing that too and thinking, " Why isnt he objecting?" Objecting is a stretch, i m sure i simply thought, "Ha! no complaints, idiot." He woke up with a larger lip. I dont think i noticed at first though.
I feel like men should be rated on manliness and stamina, or just pain threshold, based solely on biting. This has been a thought of mine for a time. I have only recently done this biting thing. Id like to attribute it to my wisdom teeth finally finishing coming in. Its only been about 5 years since they started to drop. Since that time i refer to it as teething. If someone complains, i generally write them off. Drunken subconscious write offs. These write offs dont last very long; I usually forget in a matter of minutes unless i run into a foreigner and start with that game.
So back to south africans house, roll over in the morning to the same sheets as last week. Pants on. Check. Score me. So really i just lost my shirt in some "pajama" mistake last night. And he must've seen the chicken cutlets come out. I was vaguely mortified but then realized that things could have been worse. And i have had worse. The girl-thing/issue/run-ins are sort of my specialty. I dont even try to avoid them now. My own personal bar or standard has been raised, or lowered depending on your humor, of what embarrasses me. Some fake tits on the floor doesnt have nearly the same humiliation as say one of those mornings when you try to pull the old ripped aorta excuse. Simply admit to it. Suffer the disgusted face. Whatever. Periods arent that bad. Pretend to still be drunk and distort your face as much as possible so he wont recognize you out ever again. You might throw in a "at least i wont get pregnant." reminder in there and then of course bolt. Or bolt before he wakes up if luck strikes.
So, south african offered me bohemia at his house at 3am. If not for those, Id definitely remember more. But i didnt skip out, so i dont remember and oh well. I liken my dignity to a spool of lamb meat at a turkish gyro shop. Each piece shorn off is a shred of my dignity. It takes a long time. Ive still got plenty to go. And they refill the meat too, which i say is like going to church. You see if you can get up and actually make it to church sunday morning, you really couldnt have had that much to drink the night before. And if you did then youre in the right place to be absolved. Either way youre saving yourself. I dont want to get too religious here though.
Its really not that bad. Its sounds bad. Its sounds slutty. But no matter how slutty you think you are, you must remember that people can pay their rent with money they make from being whorey. So really if youre not doing that, it cant all be bad.
South African now knows Im no double d, but I'm sure he's got a few things to hide. I don't actually know if I want to find out. Im still dealing with my mexican lover and debating keying the armenians car. His precious, prized car. I could light it on fire, but i just cant have multiple felonies right now. For the moment i have decided to work on my cellulite problems and close off South african for now.