RAW

So my slacking tends to be a result of SHIT GOIN DOWN. Oh and my friends did shit go down. So let me start from the very beginning.

Scene One, Act One:

Valentines day (shocker).

Three very good friends, two girls and a guy, having dinner at Pulino's. Good conversation, good food, good wine, good choice of place due to it’s lack of oogly eyed couples.

Scene Two, Act One:

Same three friends at The Jane Hotel Bar, still early on in the night so no club scene yet, still good convo, great drinks, feeling a little buzz.

Act Two:

Guy friend feels tired decides he should go to bed and call it a night (good fucking call, if only we had known).

Act Three:

Two girl friends remain, the night goes on, the music gets louder, the people get drunker, and shenanigans ensue all around.  Two girls keep drinking, a little bit of dancing, but mostly shit talking on the other girls and guys surrounding.

Act Four:

Two guys approach, the girls had observed one of the guys previously and had come to the conclusion that he was gay due to the fragile figure, unbuttoned plaid shirt, thick rim glasses, and exuberant dancing. Come to find that he and his friend are not gay, not bad looking up close, early 30’s which is a nice change from the 20 something year olds who can’t tell their elbow from their ass (unfortunately the girls came to find that even though they were technically over the maturity age stick of retarded behavior, they were still retards). Now these fools had the audacity to take up about 45 mins of the girls time, show interest in conversation and offer to buy drinks then leave to ‘go find their friend’ pfft. Now it just so happens that one of the girls was a few years younger than the other and still naively believed that they would come back while the other had been in the wretched New York scene for far to long to know that when a guy leaves you in a crowded club to “go find his friend” he has no intention of coming back if he hasn’t taken your number. On the other hand the older girls’ mistake was to think that she had the cat in the bag and boning would surly follow.

Now that is the biggest mistake of the night. Believing that boning will happen. Because it won’t, not if you think it will. Not even when it’s (literally) within your reach, the misfortune of things getting too soft (literally) too quickly is always a liability (will explain later on).

Act Five:

One girl finds some guy cute, the other urges her to go talk to him, however she is too shy, so her friend decides to take matters into her own hands and waves him over, says “hi my friend thinks your cute” and lets the two mingle.

Now get this, guy number two also claims after about 30 mins of taking up the girls time that he has to ‘go find his friend’. Alright Alright Alright. What the fuck is this? Dose every guy in this damn club have a friend named Waldo and they are trying to find him? Fuck. That. Shit.  The girls cut their losses no harm no foul keep dancing keep drinking.

Act Six:

(Now it gets juicy) The two girls are having a good time and the older one who tends to get ballsy when drunk goes up to yet another guy her friend thinks is cute; however he has been sitting across from them seemingly alone for a bit and seems to be lost in thought. So the girl decides to lighten the mood and without coming on too strongly she leans over and asks him ‘Why so serious?’ he looks up laughs and replies warmly with something along the lines of taking a break while his friends rage on. Okay so far so good, eliminate ‘sociopath who comes to clubs alone and sits alone staring into his drink while his ex is locked in the trunk of a car somewhere in Jersey’. So they start talking, he seems to be interested in both of their conversation and both girls find him interesting so they carry on in a friendly manner, go out for a smoke where they run into his friend (this one didn’t have where’s waldo syndrome) and the four of them chatter on and laugh. They decide to leave the club and switch location because that’s what you do in New York.

Scene Three, Act one:

New location: Hogs and Heifers. Bit of a change from the classy Jane but the group was classed out and needed a good old dirty bar with some beer and shots of whisky. This is where a bit of a plot twist happens. The friend that the girls had met outside seems to have taken quite a liking to the shy girl while the one they started speaking to initially takes a liking to the ballsy one who had really picked him up for her friend in truth. But whatever roll with the punches. The four are now in packs of two and I can only continue to tell you the story of the older ballsy girl (moi).

Now this quite, cute, funny, charming dude turns out to be a ‘bioengineer’, and is continuing his studies at Rutgers (EW). Turn off. Sorry I’m pretentious; if you are smart enough to be a bioengineer go to NYU or Colombia, not Rutgers. Also he had the whole blond blue eyed athlete/jock thing going on which s also not my type, I like ‘em a little (or a lot) rough around the edges, think, taxi driver De niro meets the stoner kid with the fro from the show Workaholics. Though whatever not like I’m gonna marry the guy, my friend is having a good time and if I decide to bail I know she will chicken out and go home as well. Plus drinks are on the boys. I just keep feeding the jukebox money and downing the beer. Now this smarty-pants has found out that I went to art school and seems to be developing a superiority complex because this ‘artist’ seems to have a smart mouth on her and he can’t quite keep up with her jargon. WaaWAAaaa. So thinking that the only way he is gonna prove his superior intellect that night is by starting a discourse with me on philosophy because it tends to be a good common ground between artists and scientists. Wrong move buddy, you just fucked yourself in the ass. And it looked like it hurt. So I basically wipe the floor with his ass while Tammy Wynette sang sweetly in the background. GET THIS. It seemed to turn the fucker on, the more I refuted the more he became intrigued (and handsy).

Scene Four, Act One:

The apt.

Everyone has taken to their own corners and its time to get busy…right? WORNG. Get this shit. ::Warning: sexcapades follow, not for the weak of heart::

Homeboy is deflated after a few minuets.

Oh you thought it stopped there, HA.

Homeboy was so fuckin tiny I missed the start of that process entirely.

There is more.

So he is embarrassed and I try to help the situation however the old fashioned hand is not quite working. Not entirely my fault. Imagine a grain of rice. Now imagine half of that, and now imagine trying to stroke it. Yyyeeeaaa.

So then homeboy says “I’ll get hard if you give me head”. Now ladies, how many times have we heard THAT before?

So guess what I did…

Not that it was even fucking worth it, I mean, we are talking about half a grain of rice, I really brought this upon myself.

So this seems to work. Next obstacle?  New condom. Great.

-       Do you have another one?

-       Uhh, fuck, no…do you?

-       What? No!

Eeeexxxcceeepptttt I remembered that I did…my friend is a DJ and was handing out these red condoms with the words ‘crying in your mouth’ written on the wrapper during one of his insane, debauchery and indecency packed DJ rages where it’s basically mandatory to have sex on the dance floor. How appropriate. So then he puts on the condom, notes ‘crying in your mouth?’ and is met with the reply ‘don’t worry about it’.

So there we are again and again I miss the first few minuets of the game. Top that off I hear ‘I can’t feel anything with this condom…’ YOU can’t feel anything? I didn’t realize we started! Flaccid red condom dick. Happy Valentines Day to me.

So guess what I do. Yes that’s right make another bad decision. Which didn’t really even matter because that thing was as sad, pathetic and deflated as a year old birthday balloon.

I repeated this story to my friend over dinner tonight and was met with the response of “that shit is golden, you need to blog more” so here it is. Also my friend decides to tweet “Eating butter and other types of fat, watching old people play jazz, listening to (GUESS WHO) tell sad sex stories. #Sundays” Now this dear friends twitter is hooked up to her facebook, and she is friends with my mother on facebook. Guess what one of the first few sentences out of my mothers mouth was speaking to me later today : “what are these sex stories you are telling??”

Now isn’t that just the perfect ending?