Monday, July 25, 2011

The next one in line

As Aaliyah once said, "If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again." After I got rejected by one bartender at my home away from home, I wasn't giving up.... on bartenders. I need my unlimited free drinks, after all.

I moved on to the next one. In reality, he was probably the best match for me from the beginning, but he didn't have the let-me-rub-you-now appearance than Armani did. He was the life of the party, though, and the beating heart of my Friday nights as the shots flowed through my and my friends' veins. Plus, he was a scrumptious shade of dark chocolate. Suddenly there was a twinkle in my eye for him.

Unacceptable. I don't get twinkly eyes... Especially for bartenders. They're basically indoor hookers.

... but I did. And I flashed those suckers in his direction as much as I could.
"Where's Armani? Here's your shots, now go fuck him."
That was rude, but I tried to explain that I never wanted Armani, that I was always trying to make him jealous.

Actually... I would never be so stupid to think that would work. Sparkles was clearly in control at this point, and there was no turning back.
"Baby boyyyyy.... You knowww it's always been about youuuu. I hear there's a liquor closet upstairs... Wanna playyy with meeee?"
(Dear God and sweet baby Jesus... Sparkles has NO game.)

He quickly looked up from the next batch of magical drinks he was making us and gave me the look.
"Give me a minute. I'll meet you upstairs."

Wait.... WHAT? Apparently Sparkles had actually pulled this one off. I winked at my friends and ran upstairs and casually waited near the door. We sneaked in a little later and sucked each other's faces while crashing into walls of liquor. Clearly we had to wait. I told my posse it was okay for them to leave me at the bar, that I had somewhere to stay. They knew the deal.

Well after 4am we finally left the bar and headed to his apartment. Before we walked in, and after another steamy make-out session, he dropped a bomb.
"My mom and daughter are upstairs in my mom's room. We'll have to be quiet."
Fantastic. Is it impossible to find a completely available man who doesn't have any baggage in this city? Apparently not, but let's be real- since when does Sparkles care about baggage?

We stripped down in his bedroom and walked to the bathroom down the hall. Had his 60 year old mother or five year old daughter walked out, they would have thought they were in a pornographic dream.

There was no stopping us. We took advantage of every millimeter of that shower. We bathed every centimeter of each other. Then we inched back to the bed.

He explored me more, and obviously wanted something in return, but Sparkles had washed away in the shower, and I'm not one to guarantee reciprocation.
"I'm tired. I can't do this anymore. Thank you, but let's go to sleep and talk in the morning."
Oh, yeah. I pulled that line, and I was happy to do so. He was mad, but he accepted it. Was this the beginning of a beautiful thing? Only boyfriends or soon-to-be's accept a no-sex-on-the-first-night rule after all the naked grinding we had already done...

There's no telling where this will go, but one thing is for sure- He's my new bartender boyfriend.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

One classy hook-up

It's really no surprise that if there's a place I'm going to call "my home away from home," it's a bar that I go to all the time. Every Friday, to be exact.. Tuesdays and Saturdays are also likely to be spent there. When you frequent a place, people get to know you, you get free drinks, and if you know how to twerk it on the dance floor- you'll have people wanting you every night. Bad.

Some of the regulars would always try to touch me, but mounting them was not on my list of things to do. I had my eyes on the prize: one of the bartenders, Armani. (Yeah, apparently his parents were big fans of high fashion.) Lucky for me, he liked my white shorts that became slightly see-through after hours of dancing on the bar.

I spent a few visits doing my typical bar teases: the come-get-me eyes, quick rendezvous's on the dance floor, and drive-by make out sessions... Then we decided to take it one step further. We headed to the DJ booth, found a corner spot that wouldn't be in the way of the DJ, and started grinding.

Normally when a guy lets his hands wander when I'm dancing with him gets a hard slap. When Armani took advantage of the easy access that my white shorts offered, I let it happen, and I enjoyed it. A lot. I didn't even care if people saw or judged me. We did our thing for a few songs, then...
"Car. Now."
You'd think I would have learned my lesson about car hook-ups after the Barney incident, but the only thing I learned was to keep my clothes on. Once again, the car was rockin' and no one would be seeing what was going on, even though we were parked on the main road of the capital.

In order to "not be suspicious," we went back inside at the end of the night, and I assumed my position on top of the DJ booth, shaking my little white shorts for everyone.

!*#$&% CRASH. #@$%

Just when I thought I was the sexiest thing in that place, I had multi-flipped off the edge of the booth to my head under the table. Not sexy.

Armani rushed over to take care of me and get me water. Good news: He obviously couldn't keep his eyes off of me. Bad news: He now knew I was a hot mess of lush.

Instead of going home with him as I hoped, he found me a ride and sent me on my way with nothing more than a glass of water. The next night I headed back, sans objects inside my shorts, and sporting some decorated legs. Everyone has to have an off night every once in a while.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The time travel

I don't consider myself a fighter, but I do consider myself a damn good friend, and when you mix haters with vodka, Sparkles likes to man-up for me and all my friends.

I was out with my homies, gettin' down on the dancefloor, New Jersey turnpikin' on all the fellas, and scopin' out my next victim. Normally my victims are of some variety of color, but for some awful reason, I decided to rub my goodies on a white boy.

There were no plans beyond giving him a dance-floor boner and wishing his blue balls good luck, but I figured we'd switch numbers as a just-in-case. It never hurts to add a number to your little black book, even if his "name" is "White dancer boy [insert club name here]."

As we enjoyed our last minutes of dancing, my homeboys were looking on, waiting for me, laughing at the fact that I was teasing this poor guy because obviously "once you go black....."
"What the fuck you laughing at n!*%#@$ ?!"
Within an instant I was pushed to the side and my best friends glasses were shattered on the ground. We had traveled back into the 1960's and it was a full on black vs. white fight in the club, then in the middle of the street, and on towards my apartment, which was less than a half-mile away.

Every possible obscenity was being shouted by all the guys, and I think I even heard a "cracka" in there. *Seriously, though- What a hilarious "racial slur." Does anyone actually take offense to that?* I did my best to act as the referee, representing both sides, and breaking them up. What's a couple shoves to the face as long as I save everyone?

I got my BFF away and told him to run to my apartment, and made sure my other boys went to make sure he was okay.
"If you want to fight him, you're going to need to fight me first."
For some reason, I still haven't learned that just because I have a vagina, doesn't mean he's not going to hit me. If a girl steps in a fight, she better be ready to take the beating.

BAM. He didn't hesitate for even a second to hit me in the face. Suddenly I was back in the 21st century.

Did that really just happen? Did this guy just hit me without me technically hitting him first?

I was thinking, but he wasn't. He was sprinting for what he thought was my apartment. I was still stunned and began to chuckle before I realized I needed to help in the diversion. As I ran around the back and he got confused on where my team had ran, they sneaked me in and threatened to go chasing after him with guns and knives.

How I was able to convince them to stay in the apartment and not go kill the psycho is beyond me, but it must have been love that saved the whole situation; the only kind of love I can get down with- the love of friends. Even as psycho non-stop texted me threats, they trusted me when I said "it's just another boy I hooked up with the other night wanting a booty call, but I'm staying here with you guys."

Note to self: Realize it doesn't always end this way. You are one lucky bitch.