Let's see, the definition of a booty call, if I recall correctly, is to take someone home to fuck for the night, then kick him out (or in my case, give him a ride back home, I'm too nice like that) the next day. Right?

Except it didn't quite turn out that way.

( From 3am Sunday morning to 8pm Monday night = way too long. )

So can one consider it a booty call when it's planned in advance? Because that's what A.D.'s (remember him from this entry?--link definitely NSFW) gunning for. He still doesn't have a car and the DJ he usually teams with is off with his family this weekend. So why not ask the chick he occasionally chats with via AIM and not only get a ride, but ( Read more... )

Around 2:30am, outside my upper Clematis St. hangout:

Me: (checking phone) This guy was supposed to text me if he wanted a booty call tonight, but he didn't. So fuck him.
Bouncer: You mean Un-fuck him.
Me: Yeah, I guess you're right. Because if I was going to have this booty call then I would be fucking him.
Bouncer: But you're not, so Un-fuck ( Read more... )

I promised positivity in this entry. So let me sum up my 2008 ( Read more... )

I was originally going to write an entry about my first night at the Swingers Club and how I nearly got screwed out of my gig by the owner (hint: If you're looking to piss me off, saying, "I like you as a person but I gotta think of my business here" is a great way to do it.), but I would believe the lot of you would find what happened the next ( Read more... )

It had occured to me, as it does every week, that I hadn't been to one of my favourite bars downtown during the week in quite a while. Reason of this being I've been too tired because of day jobs and/or I've been too tight to spare the funds. But I tell myself this is Ladies' Night, and if I plan carefully enough, I'll only have to spend $2-3 for ( Read more... )

Last night after I got home from clubbing, I got the following text message from the boy with the bad teeth (henceforth referred to as B.T.):

( I get some real winners here. )

( Can we say 'firecrotch', boys and girls? I knew you could! )

So I ended up going to Clematis Street after all, even though I knew I would be miserable, because going out and being miserable is a step above staying home and being miserable ( Read more... )

So I'm returning to the parking garage from a marketing project, where I'm carrying a bag from an upscale "hardware" store. As I'm approaching my car, two rent-a-cops security guards approach me in one of those golf-cart type things.

Security Guard: Excuse me, we heard of an incident of shoplifting here.
Me: @_@ Uh...
Security Guard: Ha, just ( Read more... )