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.
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