California Dreamin’

Hmm. Yesterday’s entry is a little… well… drunk. Meh. I’m leaving it up. Enjoy.

We did have a good time last night. At least, I did. I’m not so sure Pretty did, but the sober one rarely does, when everyone around her is drunk. I did not go home with Larry the Firefighter. Larry was cute, Pretty assured me again this morning. Actually, she said he was hot. Apparently, the bar stool wasn’t the first place I saw him. ? When the six of us were going upstairs to Tailgate’s from Liquid Kitty, there was a guy going down. I remember “a guy”. And I remember commenting to Pretty that the guy didn’t know what the hell to do. . . As we went by him, he stopped on the stairs, looked at all of us, looked down the stairs, looked back at us… Poor boy.

However. Larry also told me I had “nice tits” and that we should go somewhere and “fuck”. Oh, and that he loved me. I laughed. Seriously? I mean, I know I was in the bag, but does that crap really work? Is that the best he could come up with? If he’d been witty, things would’ve gone so much better for Larry. Oh, and the yawning – Y A W N I N G - didn’t help his case, either. I don’t think I would’ve taken any guy home last night. I realized I’m really not that kind of person. At least, I don’t think I am. By which I mean, I have no problem with casual sex, but I’m not going to partake with some guy who I met at a bar that night. But, Larry did show me a good time for half an hour. lol.

I couldn’t believe… I mean, I was never a bar person, and I doubt I’m going to turn into one now. But guys just kept looking us up and down. What the hell? I see now – I understand – why they call it a “meat market”. I felt cute and sexy (thank you, NJ!) but it’d be nice if your focus wasn’t directly on my knee-high boots and skirt. (which, by the way, was completely appropriate for office wear, meaning it wasn’t too short)

I texted Sis today, but I haven’t heard back from her. I don’t know that what means. I think she drank about as much as me, but I think she also drinks more often than me. I wonder what kind of shape she ended up in. Hmm. And there was also the drunk texts to Grammar. Oops. That might explain why he’s a little…distant today. Meh. Whatever. How do you classify a relationship with a guy who never wants to go anywhere together, doesn’t want to talk, certainly can’t be counted on for anything remotely friend-like… As he would say, pfft.

Anyway, it’s snowing now. I have on my fleece PJs and I picked up some movies for tonight. I expect it’ll be an early night, despite the nap I took this afternoon.  It would be a perfect evening to curl up with a man… if I had one.

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

There once was a firefighter. His name was Larry. Larry, he was a hot firefighter. Probably Italian or something.

(note to readers: Blue is hammered. Like, so far in the bag she has to squint to see the screen hammered. In fact, she almost spelled hammered as happened. Yeah, honest to God, THAT drunk.)

Larry, he made eyes at Blue as she went to the bar, looking for a beer. This would be her second or… no, wait, third beer of the night. This was on top of the shot (orgasm) and the two tequila sunrises she’d already had. LM ordered a tequila sunrise for Sis, and Sis refused to drink it. So… I did. Good of me, don’t you think? Anyway, Larry.

Larry was at the bar. Larry had a bar stool. I learned tonight that that’s practically fucken gold in the bar world. Anyway, Larry caught my eye. Larry smiled. I smiled back, because Larry was cute (this was independently confirmed by Pretty. He wasn’t just – oh my god spelling is so hard right now – drunk cute, he was actually cute. Larry winked at me. Larry winked at me again. Some other guy stood behind me, and whispered in my ear that he was gonna see that I got to the bar, come hell or high water. And he did. He actually held out his arms to block other people from interfering with me, and he got me my damn drink. Shoulda gone home with him.

Wait what? Sorry.

No, anyway. Larry showed up at my side. Sis, taking a beautiful cue, showed up right then and introduced herself to him. It was brilliant, considering she was more in the fucking bag than I was. Anyway, he introduced himself to her, and then to me, and then she went away. I don’t know where she went. I didn’t care. Larry’s tongue was in my ear. Want to know why Larry’s tongue was in my ear? Because I was wearing a t-shirt, skirt, and fucken knee-high boots, and fucken NJ teased me all afternoon long. To the point that I gave him the link to my blog. Probably regret that in the morning. Right now, I can’t see straight.

What? Anyway. Larry wanted me to take him home. I couldn’t, of course. Sis said I should, Pretty just kept shooting me this, “you know what the fuck you’re doing?” look, and LM said that I could, as long as we went back to his place, but I couldn’t take him back to mine. Despite how totally drunk I was, am, whatever, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just randomly fuck some guy I don’t know. (for the record, I can’t see straight right now). I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take him back to my place and do him. Couldn’t do it. I mean, I clearly could’ve, he would’ve definitely come home with me. 

What made me laugh  more than once was that he asked me multiple times if I’d had any party favours. I was like, what the FUCK is this guy talking about? He commented on how big my eyes were. Then I realized, Larry the Firefighter thought I was high. ROFL. HIGH!! OMG, Me! Who’s never done an illegal drug in her life. It was so funny, I probably laughed like a hyena, while I bit his earlobe and then buried my tongue somewhere in the vicinity of his tonsils.

Oh, I could totally have gone home with him. I think we talked to some guys named Randy and Trevor, too. Randy was the wingman, and was most impressed that I knew what the fuck a wingman was. Duh. Doesn’t everyone who’s ever read MSN know what a wingman is and what his responsibility is? Trevor was smokin’ ass hot, Randy was not. That should’ve been clue enough, but I asked, anyway. Randy looked at me like I’d found the holy grail. This, to me, was really funny.

And then there was Rob and some other guy. And two guys together, whose names were Scott. I’m not sure that was true, but that’s what they said, and Sis was too drunk to argue, so who am I to care? Red, one of LM’s friends, got the phone number for a guy named Tattoo (see how smart I am, to use pseudonyms even when I’m in the bag?) anyway, she got his number. He was hot. He reminded me very much of T.’s Ex. Smokin-ass hot, with a tribal sleeve.

I think I smell like Larry but I’m not really sure.

Enough rambling. Grammar has gone quiet, indicating he must’ve gone to bed. And NJ still refuses to come up here. I’ll have to include some of his comments later. Did I mention that I’m really OH MY GOD type REALLY for FUCK’s SAKE! drunk and can’t see straight? Anyway, NJ teased me all afternoon and by 4:30, all I wanted was to meet him in a hotel room and do incredible nasty things to him. He told me what he wanted, and, frankly, I’m all for it. In fact reading the text of what he wanted caused a bathroom break for me, in order to mop up.

TMI? All right. I’m not going to proof this, I can’t even see straight. Be good. I will be. Fuck.