Something that has nagged at me ever since I started this new job (a job, might I add, that has completely sapped my time and energy. in 4 days.) and got my first tiny cup of water (seriously, it's maybe big enough to hold one large sip) is that there is a mark on the water cooler. It's directly covering the spout out of which the water flows. It looks like someone made out with the cooler spout while wearing red lipstick (or blood. I don't want to assume anything. we all know what happens when you assume.) and then was rude enough not to wipe it off. This is surprising, since I'd imagine that anybody who wraps their lips around a water cooler and also possibly is a vampire, would have better manners than that.
East Village. Past weekend. With Heterophobe (of Accidental Bitch fame). We passed by some guys hawking music. Maybe their own, I don't pay attention to things. Anyways, one of the guys looked at us and said, "Oh, I know you like music," all seductive-like, as if he wanted us to buy music... NAKED.
We shared a hearty laugh that devolved into arguing over which of us he was talking to. I didn't really care, but I love a good argue. (Ex-future lawyer.)
Then yesterday, as I walked back to my apartment from my interview with a staffing agency (I'm starting tomorrow, hell yeah), one of two guys walking towards me told me to have a good afternoon "sweetheart." My happy little "I got a job that pays well and it's finally spring" smile turned into a big "heh. sweetheart? you clearly don't know me." laugh, and he said knowingly, "Yeah, you knew I was gonna holla at you." Like, "Can we please skip the formalities? You knew this was gonna happen. I have a penis, you have a vagina, let's go." (I bet he wouldn't have holla'd so quickly if he knew about Thor.)
Is this some sort of new fad technique, borrowed from sleazy car salesmen? Don't ask people what they want, tell them what they want? Some sort of Vulcan mind-meld thing? Or maybe it's a NY thing that I'll get used to and eventually adopt. Interesting. And by interesting, I mean not so much.
By the way, since I know you're wondering how I spent last night, i.e., my last free weeknight to get drunk and wake up at 4 PM, I will tell you. Hold onto your hats, ladies and germs: I went to a Boggle group game. Don't laugh, I ended up playing with two guys, one of whom was cute and one of whom was HOT. Not even dork-cute, or any sort of "cute for a..." situation. He was just hot.
Also, we had free cupcakes. Who's laughing now, sucka?
... and that reason is because it's an asshole who's going to fuck with you when you're in bed. I had finally fallen asleep half an hour ago when a guy from a staffing agency called me. So not only did he keep me from desperately needed sleep, but he also cock-blocked me, because I was about to get laid in my dream. You may not all understand the serious level of pain involved in these two blocks, but it's serious. Now, I'm going to try and get back to sleep, but that dream is no doubt gone forever. Darn you, Gary. DARN YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!
UPDATE: When I fell asleep after Gary's interruption, I had been thinking so much about monster.com and sex that I ended up having a freaky nightmare about mutant monster/robots who all looked human but spent all their time above ground filming me and below ground chasing me around in tunnels and trying to kill/have their way with me. I don't know in what order, I'm just glad that 1) Dream-Dropout was quick and agile and never let those fuckers win, and that 2) Sister called and stopped that dream before it could "take a turn."
Bad subconscious! This is not the kind of thing you're supposed to take from my awake life! I would swat you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper, but I don't want to be mean. Also, I'm pretty sure you don't have a physical form, and if you did, it would be part of me, so I'd sort of end up punching my own nose to teach myself a lesson, and I hate learning.
Surprise the First My sister's friend TequilaExec turned to me and exclaimed, "By the way, I had sex in your bedroom!" My jaw dropped. "What the fuck?" "Don't worry, it was after you moved. You don't sleep on those cloud sheets anymore, do you?"
Surprise the Second TequilaExec: "[Sister] had sex on your pool table!" Sister: "And in my parent's bed!"
Surprise the Third TequilaExec pulled my head to hers and whispered in my ear, "[Sister's Boyfriend] is going to propose tonight, be cool, nobody else knows, I'm just telling you because you're the sister, act cool." Dropout: "You're kidding, right?" (Sister is less than 3 years older than me and has been dating Boyfriend for less than a year. She had to have been kidding.) TequilaExec : No, I'm serious, but you have be cool. (I was cool, but as it turned out, she was not serious. Thank god.)
Surprise the Last Percocet and margaritas are a really good combination and might make a person get home from a big dinner and immediately start making brownies and then need the help of a roommate to finish them since she is in no condition to be near anything involving heat/food/knives/eggs and then spend 45 minutes salivating over the delicious chocolate-ness being created mere feet away and THEN subsist solely on those brownies for the next few days until they disappear and leave her with a gaping hole in her life. Even if the part about eating only brownies for days on end wasn't caused by the percocet/margarita combination, I'll still blame it on that. I mean, she will. That person. Who might have done that. This actually never happened to anyone. Where am I?
Unrelated Thought the First I could have pretended I liked Kanye West and called this blog "The College Dropout." Then I wouldn't have had to bother with the subtitle explaining that I didn't actually drop out of beauty school. It's too late now, though. It's just like that time I punched a guy in the nose and then ran out of the bar yelling racial slurs-later that night I thought of some really good slurs I didn't get to use. Don't you hate it when that happens? Discuss.
I wasn't planning on doing anything Thursday night, both because I had a job interview the next day and because I was still recovering from the night before. But then a girl from college wanted to go out, and I decided that, hell, I can do both! (I couldn't.) I made Cripple join us, and we started at a dive bar for one drink, went to dinner, and ended up at a bar above a comedy club. We chose this particular place for a special reason-Cripple knew the bartender, and who doesn't love free drinks?
Annoying Drunk, as I shall call Not-Cripple, was already well on her way to earning her nickname by the time we reached this mecca of alcohol goodness. She developed a grating, high-pitched voice and a tendency to slump her upper body on the person next to her (me), who was trying to talk to one of the comedians who had finished his set (Comedian).
Comedian and I flirted a little, but I wasn't really taking it seriously, simply because I never take anything seriously. Then came time for Cripple and Annoying Drunk to leave for their train, and I was debating leaving with them or staying and risking abandonment by Comedian. A promise of a drink from Comedian settled that, and off my friends went. And then returned five minutes later, scaring the crap out of me by jumping on me from behind. That was Annoying Drunk, clearly.
Despite being annoyingly drunk already, Annoying Drunk decided that it would be a good idea to order yet another drink. She had barely started on it when Comedian got a call about a radio gig the next morning, making him leave for home so he could get some sleep. He offered me a ride, and I looked over at my friends, dejectedly saying that they'd need to go too. Cock-blockers!
As we walked to his car, we placed bets on when AD would fall on her face and came to a consensus on "getting into the car." (We were right.) When we got there, Cripple called shotgun, and then, uselessly, so did AD. I was not about to be stuck in the back with AD, especially since this was MY GUY, so I indignantly said that I had already called shotgun while we were walking. The others protested, but Comedian backed me up. Mmm, I love a man who helps me lie.
When we arrived at my building, I invited him up to get directions back to his place. We all hung out for a while, during which AD tried to prostitute herself out to Comedian. Seriously. It started out as a joke-how much would he pay to see all of us make out?-but she kept going. And going. And fucking going. Like the Energizer Bunny after a few too many shots of battery acid.
(Side note: I ended up letting Cripple sleep in my bed, and then AD decided that she was too good for a couch and curled up at the foot of my bed without asking me. I already have huge problems falling asleep, and having to be curled up and trying not to kick someone in the back of the head made it impossible. It was tempting to stretch my legs out and see if I’d knock her off, but I, unlike someone who shall remain nameless but goes by the initials AD, have some manners.)
Anyways, Comedian finally extricated himself from his prospective John situation, and I walked him to the door. I’m sweet like that. Once he was in the hallway, I held onto the door handle with one hand and realized that I’ve never done this and I’ve barely even talked to him in an hour because I was so embarrassed by AD and what am I supposed to do?
“Well, goodnight.” I am not at all awkward! He leaned forward, and I went for the friendly kiss on the cheek that I’m used to doing whenever I leave a group of people. He was on a different wavelength, which I realized a second too late. I laughed and looked around-oops!-then leaned into his grinning face to git ‘er done.
Comedian was a little too girly with his kissing, and by that I mean I wanted to push him against a wall and yell at him to FUCKING KISS ME HARD, but that would've woken up my roommate as well as half of my floor. So I restrained myself. Kissing by itself doesn't do that much for me anyway. At least his hands were doing the right thing, but how satisfying can anything be when it's in the middle of a hallway and no clothing comes off? Although making out with someone other than a possibly-married date-rapist who wants to eat my face can only be a step in the right direction.
I felt our dog nudging at my legs, trying to escape from the stifling confines of our apartment and run free throughout the building. I started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all-having a dog, living on my own, kissing someone goodnight at my door in NY, kissing guys goodnight, period. (I am embarrassingly inexperienced.)
Understandably, Comedian asked me what I was laughing at.
"I'm sorry, the dog..." (Of course, I have a documented track record of inappropriate laughing, especially during sexual situations. I would link to some of those instances, but that would involve reading through old posts, and if I wanted to WORK I would've made it to my INTERVIEW.) I stood up on tip-toe and pulled his head down again. Fuck the dog. (I'M SORRY PUPPY I LOVE YOU!)
After we pulled apart for the last time, I cocked out my hip and put on my fake-sexy voice: "So, uh, call me." Then I laughed. Not sure how he took that.
By the way, Comedian's 33. For those keeping score, that means...
I wonder how many 30-somethings I can get through by the end of May. Since this month is half over, I'll just go for 6. Anyone in the Tri-State area interested in helping out a poor girl with a noble task? (Just kidding.) (OR AM I?)
Wednesday night I went out to dinner and then a bar with Sister, her boyfriend, and some of her friends. We drank, we smoked beanies(?), one guy and I smoked a joint on his couch while watching Planet Earth (which is a fucking awesome show if you've never watched.) Overall a rollicking good time, but unfortunately the moment that stuck with me the most was not so pleasant. I had left our tables at the bar for the bathroom, in which the stall doors, by the way, swung open like in a Wild West saloon and had no freaking locks. At the sink I ran into the only other female in the bar-the bartender-and we talked for a few minutes about the sausage fest going on mere feet away from us. All was well as I walked back to my seat and noticed that the three males with us had vacated the premises, leaving my sister and her friend deep in conversation. A conversation that scarred me, possibly for life:
Sister: I really need one. Friend: It's all you, you gotta get in your own head and make it happen. Sister: I just can't believe I've never had an orgasm.
I then understood why the guys had left, and I desperately wanted to join them. My sister. The one who covered her ears when she found out I made out with a guy. Talking about orgasms. It had to be the alcohol. And that is why alcohol is bad.
My friend shoved me away from the bar, ordering me to "just go fucking talk to him." I, being a pansy, refused to approach the guy I thought was hot. I figured I'd play it safe, make eye contact a couple times, and try to get him to come over. The only problem with that was the twenty people standing in between us. Makes it kind of hard to casually glance at someone when you have to contort your body every which way to even see where he is.
While I was waiting for the crowd to clear, we talked to a few guys who came and went. One walked up to bar, tried to wave down the bartender, and then actually said, "So, do you ladies come here..." He paused, most likely realizing how lame he was about to sound, but unable to stop, "...often?" I clapped my hand over my mouth, turned to the side, and generally tried to keep my laughter private. The poor boy had obviously been through enough already without me openly mocking him.
Then came the diplomat. Tall, pretty cute, hot accent, and older, which I might have a thing for. He bought me my first beer of the night (I was beating off a hangover from the night before and had promised myself that I wouldn't waste any of my own money on drinks). As I drank it, I again looked over at the uncooperative hot guy, but he wasn't there anymore. He had left-El Bastardo! Well, fine, I'd show him! (And yes, maybe I started flirting with Diplo to get revenge on a stranger in a bar who I had never spoken to. Totally normal.)
We somehow started talking about golf-he's a fan, me, not so much. (I told you he was old.) I teased him for liking the same sport as my mother, he assured me that he wasn't trying to convert me. (He had trouble thinking of the word "convert," so I offered up "proselytize." Apparently that word had too many syllables for him.) The topic of golf naturally turned into Amsterdam weed, some of which he had in his apartment. He wanted me to go back with him and smoke some, but I'm guessing by smoke he meant suck and by some he meant his penis. Just a guess, though. Either way, I wasn't dumb or drunk enough to agree. (OR WAS I?) (Hee, I haven't done that in a while.) (OR HAVE I?)
Diplo: I'm gonna go there right now, I'll be back in half an hour. Dropout: Bring back a joint, we can go into a bathroom. Diplo: Can I get a kiss first? Dropout: If I say no, will you still bring back a joint? Diplo: No. Dropout: Well, if I have to do it for the weed...
So we made out, and then he never left. The first couple times weren't bad, but then he started kissing like a, how do you say, like a dog searching for peanut butter. What are you supposed to do when a guy who's at least in his 30s doesn't know how to contain his tongue? I pulled away and literally wiped my hand across my face. He laughed, thinking I was joking, then asked me how he was.
"Like, on a scale of 1-10?" "Yeah, sure." "Um, 7? 5, 4... You got a little slobbery at the end." "What would you like to be different?"
I stared at him-wasn't that implied already? Only puppies are allowed to kiss like puppies, because they're puppies and can do whatever they want because they are SO CUTE. I love puppies.
Since I'm an incredibly generous person who happened to also be incredibly horny, I gave him another shot, and he thankfully corrected himself. But then I had to start keeping his hands from going under my shirt or up my legs. At one point he took my hand lovingly in his and placed it ever so gently on his crotch. Not very diplomatic of him, eh? EHHH??? I drew back and started to look around for my friends. He looked down at my cleavage and told me I had "amazing tits." (And, wow, I had blocked out this next part until right now.)
Dropout: That's what I've heard. Diplo: I'd love to have my head in between them. Dropout: Yeah, you're not gonna.
I caught one of my friends' eyes and signaled them over. They told me they were going to a different bar, and did he want to come? I told them that he did not and left, although not without kissing him again. Don't judge. Hor. Ny.
At least I did end up getting weed from some other guys we ran into, but what a tease.
I touched a German diplomat's penis. Not voluntarily, and through his pants, but it's still a good ice-breaker, don't you think? Anyways, I'm pretty exhausted right now from all the drinking, dancing, non-sleeping, smoking, dog-petting, TV-watching, and food-ordering I did this weekend, so I'm gonna go to sleep and leave you with this slice of Saturday night, because I already typed it out and it'll make this seem like less of a blow-off post, which it TOTALLY ISN'T because I would never do that:
Dropout: You know I'm not going to your apartment, right? Diplo, smiling dirtily: I know. You don't have to. Dropout, noting the dirty smile: I'm also not gonna fuck you on the bar. Diplo, straddling my leg and licking my ear: Why not? It would be a new experience.
Brie tastes remarkably like Cheez-Whiz when spread on Wheat Thins. Probably not what the brie-makers were going for.
Oh yeah, I'm in New York, I love my apartment, I love my roommate's PUPPY, I love not living at home, I love not hearing back from the guy I want a job from (naaaaht), and I love NY. One might even say I <3 NY.