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."

FINE.

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.

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.

The storm of Sparkles

The morning of my Birthday, my friend put a warning on Facebook for everyone to stay indoors that night, and only look outside if they wanted to see an epic storm. He and the rest of the world know what's up: When there's a reason to play, I play hard, and that I did.

My drunk alter ego, Sparkles (who is obviously a spunky little porn star), came out to play extra early. 7:00 early. Three shots of tequila, a Four Horseman, and four beers later, I'd say my birthday was off to a good start. I had a potential hook-up around, friends to drive me around and buy me drinks, and the perfect F-me-now outfit on. It was everything a perfect storm needs.

We headed downtown to bar #1. I was rockin' my slutty outfit and four inch heels and lookin' for some playtime, so what do I do? Start up a game of spin the bottle. So I'm in my mid-twenties... That game will get you some action no matter what! Next thing I know I'm making out with three different girls and two dudes, alternating with whoever I wanted in that moment.

I gotta say- I'm not normally the kind to make out with girls. It's happened one other time in my life, but there was something about this night that made the girls so desirable. I couldn't get enough. The best part: I had one blonde, one brunette, and one ginger. It was like a rainbow of lesbian-for-the-night heaven.

The guy who I had gone out with once before (who we shall call BM) looked on, probably thinking he might get to join in by the end of the night. My ex (we'll call him Romeo) also looked on, also plotting for his entry pass.

Then I fell down, flat on the floor. Not once. Not twice. Definitely more than three or four times. It was time to go.

"You guys are going to have to get her out of here. Now! She's way too drunk." 

"PFFFTTTT. I am FIINNNEEEE. I just wanna be on the floor! It's my birthday! I'll do what I want!"

I said that to the bar manager as I crawled along the floor, doing my best "sex kitten" poses and noises. Surprisingly that didn't convince them I was alright. We moved on to bar #2.

It was a small little bar that I went to all the time. I made a scene walking in as usual, grabbed a stool, took a drink from someone, and started chillin'.... as much as any gone-with-the-wind-drunkass can. We didn't get a chance to stay there long, though. While "chillin," I somehow managed to fall forward, hitting my head on the bar, and landing on my back on the ground.

"We can't serve her any more. She's gotta go."  

"HAHAHAHA that was so funny! How's my head look?!"

Onto the next one.

I had been making out with BM all night, shoving him up against the walls outside the bars, in between my girl-time, and even in the alley. That's just too much PDA. I had to prove he wasn't as cool as he was probably feeling, so I started touching on Romeo between lady loves. BM sat and watched, still hoping for that trifecta of love within the hour, but I was over playing with his joystick.

Suddenly... I was asleep. That quick, narcolepsy put a halt on the storm.

"If she doesn't pick her head up, she's going to have to leave." 

"Fine! I'll leave... to the bathroom!"

*If you've never fallen asleep on a bathroom counter, you're missing out. It's the perfect place to catch a quick cat nap and gain the energy you'll need to play with toys for the rest of the night.

We all left to go get food, seemingly calm. Next thing I know, Romeo has me pinned up against the wall I had pushed BM onto an hour ago. We were putting on a live porno for the town, right there on Main Street, and BM was the only unhappy audience member.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me, right?!"

Nope. I wasn't kidding. In fact, I was going to giggle and run away with Romeo without giving him any response.

We got to the car, and instead of leaving to get food, we made a steam room of the place. Hands, legs, and clothes were flailing everywhere, and the car was rockin'... to the beat of our music.. some very enjoyable music, I might add.

The next morning I popped up and went to work, joked about the evening with Romeo and the rainbow gals, and realized once again that making "bad decisions" makes for a fabulously entertaining life.

....Then I got the email.

"I have a girlfriend that I care a lot about. What we did last night was a mistake. I'm ashamed and I won't be drinking anymore."

Apparently I wasn't Romeo's Juliet anymore. I was his homewrecker, and his Juliet was just another wall post saying "Happy Birthday! Get crazy tonight!" I don't think she knew who she was talking to.

I could regret what happened, but it was my muh-effin' birthday, and the world was warned that it wouldn't be safe to go out! There was a storm full of Sparkles that rolled through, and as far as I can tell, it made for beautiful stories. Sucks for Romeo to have to give up such future adventures.

Total make-outs: 6
Total bars kicked out of: 3
Total relationships wrecked: 2
Percentage of body covered with bruises: 50
Regrets: 0