Chapter 2 : Lesbians and their dogs

Never keeping alcohol at home seemed like such a great idea last month, considering the nights I’ve spent intoxicated, but in times like these it makes going to a BYOB party a pain in the ass.  And as I very well cannot take two month old wine left in the fridge for cooking to a birthday party - a birthday party that isn’t the let’s-sip-wine-while-sharing-stories-over-fresh-chevre-and-perfectly-aged-gouda, no this birthday party is reminiscent of my college years.  The crazy parties that lasted all weekend, starting Thursday afternoon as soon as class was over; those college parties where we all wanted to do keg stands and dance the night away at the frat house - however this is on a smaller scale and with the music at a tolerable level.  So I had to stop by a liquor or convenient store to grab some booze.  But I can tell you the last time I grabbed alcohol before a party, it must have been for one of those parties.

Three blocks before the apartment I pulled into the parking lot of a convenient store and jump out.  I get visually accosted by a man leaning against the side of the building smoking a cigarette as I pull open the door and walk into the smoke filled store. I marched over to the beer cooler with a purpose, after all, I was there on a mission.  As I proceeded to the counter, I started to feel like the baby zebra that’s just been surrounded by heyenas, coming at her from all sides - I couldn’t get away from these visual beatings.

I didn’t even get asked for my ID, the first words out of his disgusting mouth, complete with rancid breath and stained teeth were how beautiful my hair looks.  I handed him my ID anyways, hoping to rush this process along.  He said oh you’re much prettier than this picture.  Smiling a greasy smile, sending his rancid breath through the air like a fog creeping over the midnight countryside.  I felt slightly violated by the wandering eyes, but nothing could have topped him telling me how wonderful I smelled as I pushed the six-pack of beer toward him on the counter.  Yes, this was the moment that left me feeling most violated, as he closed his eyes and took in this skeezy, deep breath of my perfume.  When he opened his eyes he had this smirk on his face, saying “Honey, I ain’t never smelled something so pretty before.”

Just as I was about to leave without my beer, he said, “take this on me, you just made my night.” Again... never so violated...

But free beer is free beer! So I grabbed the six-pack, jumped in my car and headed over to the birthday party.  I was looking forward to a fun and quiet night with this group of newly developing friends but as I parked and got out of the car, my stomach flipped a few times.  I hadn’t been to this apartment since my ex and I broke up back in December.  It’s June, and I’ve met her new girlfriend but she was that first serious relationship, the one where you really think you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone, until you get to know them and realize they aren’t at all what you imagined yourself raising a family with - but I digress.

As I walked up, realizing I knew probably three people here, I put on my big girl panties (or thong in this case), and smiled my devilish little smile, tonight wasn’t about anyone but me and tonight was for trouble.   

“Hey there!” I smile as I walk up. “How have y’all been?” Realizing it’s been almost two months since I’ve last hung out with them for more than a quick drink.

“Hey” Liz offers as she hugs me, “glad to see you could make it.”  I knew she was lying.  I knew there was an unmistakable look of shock on her face.  But screw this, I’m here to have fun so I’m not thinking like that or giving two shits, at least for tonight.

I sit down on the steps outside the front door and join in on the conversation as they’re blocking the front door and chatting about their dogs - see not many of these suburban lesbians actually have dogs, which I associate with the fact that many of them are rather quick to move in with their flavor of the month and enjoy spending nights out.  Rather presumptive but something I’ve found to be true from personal research.  The ones with the dogs are the ones you actually want to be in a relationship with - the ones with one cats, generally scare me.  

I still have the childhood dream of finding my white picket fence, albeit with a wife, not a husband. I have this theory that a woman with a dog wants the whole white picket fence thing and those with cats just want to get in your pants - although to be honest I think it's a flawed theory. Most women just want to go down on me, not down the aisle. Maybe this is my problem, or maybe I should stop trying to pick up women at parties.

Chapter 1: Stumbling up and out

Dragging out of my car, I’m fumbling, heels in one hand and keys in the other.  I shove my key in the lock, jiggling it until it turns.  I stumble up the stairs. Finally. Home again.  Alone this time, albeit the morning after. Not a bad night, but they never really end up how I dream them up to be.  Oh it’s completely my fault this time.  But really, do I need to ask myself this again?  Why do I ever expect more from a woman when I go home with her?

Rubbing my head, I know I’ve got about another 10 minutes to drink some water before the throbbing starts. The past twelve hours may be a bit of a blur but as always a barely remembered time means it was a good time, right?  Ugh, my stomach is churning, not sure if it’s grumbling in agreement or begging for a reprive from the hangover that’s inching its way closer.

I take a swig of water in a cup that’s been hanging out on the countertop for who knows how long.  The stale water does the grumbling no good not to mention my dog barking incessantly.  He’s missed me all night, and really just wants to go to the bathroom and to eat.  He's great for making a girl feel special - even he doesn’t want to share breakfast with me.  

Reluctantly, I make my way through the house, back to my bed, and struggle to create a clear picture of last night.  As my face hits the pillow, my recollection of last night begins swirling around in my head...

Singing along with my iPod and jumping around my room modeling my favorite lace thong and animal print bra, I am so ready for tonight. I've felt the need to go out with some new friends for a while. The only part missing is the new friends - you know the friends you make on your own after a break up?  The ones that don't care where you've been or who you are but just want to get shitty and have fun. Those friends are the best when you're single.

I manage to throw together this outfit that exudes an air of sexy confidence that a femme only dreams of, a bit of punk and sass without seeming slutty, trashy or trendy.  My skin tight black leggings, reminiscent of riding pants that hug all the right curves - oh yeah, they’re just a bit drool worthy - with a wife beater and a cropped black satin trimmed jacket, topped with my favorite black stilettos in their four inch peep toe glory.  Wait.. are wife beaters even in anymore?  Shrugging my shoulders as I look in the mirror, I don’t particularly care, it hugs my curves so sweetly who gives a shit.  No no no... not sweet, but rather sexy, and a bit raunchy and raw, but not quite slutty since you can’t really see my bra through it.

My eyes shift over to the iPod playing and I notice the time.  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I start yelling while I’m running around my room, rummaging through my closet searching for my favorite stilettos.  Mind you, I can barely walk in them, but they are by far my favorite.  They really do look the best on me and they’re the shoes you just wanna leave on, if ya know what I mean.  Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, you know exactly what I mean.  These are my pair of shoes that are just so hot you want to leave them on, even if they hurt, and even if they make you taller than most of the girls because they give you a good four inches of height to your already taller than most frame of 5’ 6”. These little black suede peep toes are the best damn $10 I ever spent.  I have never bought myself a single drink since I’ve worn these shoes, they’re like my ruby red slippers, my secret weapon, well at least the one that’s readily visible. Ha! I kid, I kid.  

“Ooo! There you are little babies!  You can’t hide on me.  I know you love me just as much as I love you!” I purred, sliding 

them on my feet.  I glance at the clock and realize I’m already thirty minutes late.  Thirty minutes past that fashionably late arrival time.  Pushing my luck, I grab the necessities - keys, phone, cards - spring out the door.