The role models

My parents were never dumb enough to leave me alone while I was growing up. Even though those were my innocent days, they didn't think so after finding condoms in my wallet and AIM conversations consisting of details like "I worked it on top so hard he won't cheat on me again."

*Well, maybe I wasn't as innocent as I think... but that's not the point.*

They finally left the house empty and that meant one thing to me: An entire week of pool parties.

Night after night it was Black-out Hotel at my house featuring all the Cherry Burnett's vodka and Natty Light we could down before having to take a pre-work nap. I'd wake up, get to work by 8:30, and make lifting 200 pound kids look easy.

Thursday night rolled around, and we were all more thirst than ever... including my Britney. I called in some options for her and narrowed it down by way of beer pong.

*If there's one thing that makes me hott at a party, it's definitely a man with a consistent, wet shot.*

After winning over eight games, things were getting pretty blurry. One minute I was celebrating a win by pole dancing on my basketball hoop. The next second I was crying because someone had stolen my camera. Then I was catching my BFF and coworker having sex in my driveway. Soon after that, I was waking up to a phone call from my boss, who I totally had a crush on.

"It's Mister M! Where are you girls? It's 9:15. You're late!"

"FUCK! LYNN! WAKE UP! We need to go to work! Like, NOW!"

And then.....

"....FUCK!!!! I'm NAKED! And in my PARENTS BED!"

Lynn came running in, panicking, half naked and explaining how she woke up in my living room with only a condom wrapper in sight. We assumed it was my best friend for the millionth time, so we tried to figure out why the frack I was naked in my parents bed with no clothes in sight.

"You go try to find my life. I'm going to put this place together so we can speedrace to work."

After I did the morning necessities, minus the shower because that's overrated when you're hungover, Lynn gave me a stare down. She found the evidence of my night.

"Brace-face is downstairs. Naked. Your clothes are nearby." 

Well, crap. Apparently I hooked up with a Wood Harris lookalike with braces, and wanted nothing to do with him after the deed was done. I did not see any condom wrappers, but I did notice that Britney was starting to feel a little sore from whatever workout went down the night before. The only thing I could really be thankful for was the lack of white evidence in my parents' bedroom. That could be awkward.

There was no time to ask any further questions.

"Yo dude. Get your ass up, get dressed, and get out! I'll text you later. Bye!"

*Sometimes it feels good to give the guy treatment.*

Once we were sure everyone was out of the house, we threw on our "COUNSELOR" t-shirts and ran straight for the kickball fields once we were at work. As the alcohol-infested sweat dripped off both of our faces and the sweet aroma of intercourse came from our lady flowers, I was sure we were the best role models these kids would ever have.

I was even more sure of it when we later had two very "fun" text message conversations later that day:

"So, what'd you do last night? If you're not getting too crazy tonight, I'd love to take you out to dinner. -Mister M"

"Great to meet you last night, Lynn! Maybe we can spend some more time on someone else's living room floor in the future! ;)"

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.

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.

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.

Barney and the cop

My "Bangin" playlist on my iPod is pretty epic. There is a lot of R&B and the perfect rhythm that will let me hit the high note with ease. I could say it was perfect, but there was one song I had on there that will forever haunt me and that playlist.

It was one of those beautiful nights outside and I Felt Like Makin' Love, so I picked up my latest conquest and headed to a parking lot next to the river.

He was a football player, a few years younger than me in age, but a generation younger in life. It was like a strange Fantasy. I felt like a cougar in my twenties. Now I know why they go out hunting for cubs. It was fun sneaking around and running away from parents again.

As soon as I hit play on Mariah's "Mine Again," it didn't take long for us to be fogging up the windows, Bump'n and Grind'n. I was lost in the music; it was like there was no world outside of my beat up Volkswagen. Then....

A very bright light was shining into my car. It couldn't be mistaken. The Cops Came Knockin'.

Luckily, I've had this happen before. I knew to keep some clothing on in case of an emergency, and this was certainly a 911 moment. We both lifted up our pants and looked for my top as the officer walked up to the car.

KNOCK KNOCK!

I had no shirt, no bra, and nothing of the sort in sight. Cub was miraculously already clothed.

KNOCK KNOCK! Hey! Open this window!

He handed me his jacket, I wrapped it around me, and rolled down my window. Hair, make-up, and slobber were all over, and my music was still pretty loud, but that was the last of my worries. The cop gave us one look and demanded our ID's.

♫ I love you, you love me, we're a hap-♫

Oh, my dear sweet baby Jesus, NO. Of all songs on the playlist, NOT THIS ONE.
I prayed it wasn't really happening, and frantically tried to find my iPod.

♫ With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you ♫

This was real life. The Barney theme song was playing mid-sex session and mid-looming arrest at the same time, and there was nothing I could do about it besides laugh.

"Ma'am, this isn't very funny. I could write you two up and take you in for indecent exposure at a state park. And do you realize how old this young man is?"

Oh, I realized... I also realized he was dark chocolate that I was enjoying nibbling on, and that scares older men of authority even more. I had nothing working in my favor besides my half naked body, but even that won't help when there's a lack of voluptuous goodies.

Next thing I knew he was winking at my cub and handing back our ID's telling us to get a room. Just like that, I was off the hook, and felt more Promiscuous than ever.

"What the hell was that?! Was that Barney?"

There was no escaping this nightmare. The damage had been done. Even if I explained why that song was on my playlist, he was done exploring my Wonderland, and the only Crashing that happened was our heads with our pillows... separately.

The Chain

If there's one thing I should know never to fall for, it's the obnoxious guy hollering at me from 100 yards away.

"AYO GIRL! LEMME HOLLA AT YOU FOR A SECOND! WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER? YOU GOT A BOYFRIEND?"

Ew. It makes me cringe just imagining it right now.

But one time I turned around and it was a beautiful, tall, piece of sexual chocolate that I couldn't deny. Plus- He said his name was Chase. I love Chases. I gave him my digits, realized he lived in my building, and we were taking advantage of the convenience within a few days.

There was no need to find out anything about his life. We had fun together, we had small talk, and there was never a dull moment. The only awkward thing that happened was what he wore over one night.

It was a chain that was straight out of the 25 cent machine... or 50 cents, if I'm being generous. He thought it was the hottest piece of bling, but I demanded it be taken off immediately if he wanted his joystick to be played with.

We then continued to be fun, active, and noisy... Until one day I got a text message from an odd number.

"Look, I don't know if you know this but Chase and I have been together for three years. He's done this to me before, so it doesn't surprise me, but I thought you should know that he has a family."

Oh.

If there's anything I never want to be, it's a homewrecker. I hopped off his ride quicker than he could find 50 cents.

....For a week.

He convinced me that she was crazy, he broke up with her over a year ago, and that he didn't know what "family" she was talking about. Being a gullible and horny girl, I didn't think twice about getting back to our old ways.

We made more noises, burned some calories, and exchanged some words. Some of those words even included "Be my girlfriend. I want you to be mine."

I may be gullible, dude.. But I'm not a dumb bitch. He had some things to prove before he got to put any titles on me.

The next morning I was enjoying a nice chat with my roommate on our balcony and people watching. There were all kinds of ridiculous people taking one night stands and buying drugs, but that was nothing new. The odd sight- A family walking down the street, hand in hand, with baby in the carrier.

As we watch them more, we see them turn to walk into our building, and then walk into Chase's room.... Just like a movie, I watched the guy who just asked me to be his girlfriend, walk down the sidewalk and into his place with his girlfriend and child, as if there was no chance in the world I'd see him.

This time I cut him off. Had I cared about him at all, I might have cut his junk off or gone all Lorena Bobbitt on him. Luckily, I know better than to fall in love with FBs (Fuck buddies, not Facebooks, obviously). It was pretty easy.

Do you know what made it so I had to actually see him again? The chain. He insisted on coming back to get his stupid chain that was missing the glued on rhinestones and had a mis-matched clasp. Seriously.

I put on my best bitch-face and let him come pick it up, then shut the door in his face, movie style.

Martial Arts

Ya know how you know you're a good friend? When you'll take a serious grenade for someone. Normally it's the dudes who are known for doing such things, but girls do it too, and with much bigger grenades.

Enter my Crazy Bitch best friend who's wilder than me when she's single. This weekend, she happened to be single, and we were on a mission: To find us some bedroom fun.

There were a couple sexual darknesses on the dancefloor that we immediately decided to bend over in front of and back-back-back it up on.

With further review, I should take back the "sexual" statement when referring to the guy I had picked, but I was a good friend. She had a pretty boy, and they were both pretty funny. BONUS: They had accents! So we headed back to her house, where I planned on ditching mine in her guest room as I headed home alone to holler at my more dependable late-night "friend."

That's when she decided to drop the bomb that this grenade I had on my hands had to go home with me or else her man wouldn't be comfortable shacking up with her! Because I'm such an awesome wingman, we packed it up and hopped in my bed. That's when I asked him his name and deets.

Name: Martial. Home: Straight outta Africa. Age: Ten years older than me.

Imagine being in your bed, starting to undress, and finding out this information. Then imagine this person asking:

"Would you mind if I french-kissed you?"

Pause. French kiss?! WHO SAYS THAT ANYMORE?! Who, in their right mind, in their thirties, is going to ask a girl who has invited you into her bed and stripped off some of her clothes, for a kiss? A FRENCH KISS, at that?

That's when it became too much. He tried to kiss me and it was awful. He then tried to take the kissing a little further (south), but I had to pick his face up and make him his own bed on the floor. It takes pure artistry to pull off a fail like that, and that's why he will forever be known as Martial Arts.

Enough vodka to be willing to host the grenade: $15.00 (Helloooo, it's college!)
Mouthwash to rid myself of the awful taste: $3
Hearing an African ask for my permission for a french kiss: PRICELESS.