Mushroom sex, Corky, and the Homeless Dude

Seattle. I had some really awesome times when I lived there.

Some of the best people I know still live there, and I try to visit about twice a year. On my last visit, I was crashing with some friends. It was my last night there and we were planning to get all kinds of fucked up. We had started drinking at about 2 in the afternoon.

I was puking by 6 pm, but my motto is, puke it up so you can drink more. I adhere to a strict drinking code. I don't play.

We hit up Club Medusas around 11. Its kind of got a Vegas club feel. The lights and smoke were kind of interferring with the 4 or 5 ritalins i'd just snorted, I was actually feeling a little tweeked out, but I decided to go with it anyway because hey, it was my last night. I was treating it like a bachlorette party or something, like this was my last "hoorah."

Around closing time, I feel someone standing behind me. A creepy presence. In hindsight, Should I have gone with my gut and walked away? Absofuckinglutely.

But who am I to turn down some potential ding dong? There are starving kids in Africa, for godssake!!!I decide to turn around and give this guy the once over.

I am NOT dissapointed. He is not sporting gelled hair, which, most of the time, is an immediate disqualifier. He has on decent clothes. I do a quick croc check. Okay, we're good in that department too. He starts turning on the charm. I'm using his name as I have no clever nickname for him.

Josh: What's up.
Me: You tell me.
Josh: When I saw you walk in, I got a boner.

Wow. I didnt mean for him to LITERALLY tell me what was up, but he took it there. And thats just the kind of romantic shit I love. Swept right off my feet with the boner comment. I tell my friends I will be accompanying Josh to his apartment a couple of blocks over.

Josh and I are having trouble keeping our clothes on on the short walk back to his pad. We've been doing the sloppy gross make out thing. Its time.to.bone.yo. We proceed to have some pretty amazing sex. I can't say a bad word about it. During the sex Josh tells me he's been eating mushrooms. He is saying some crazy shit, for example, he keeps screaming, FRESH!! which I overlook, because if eating mushrooms make you fuck like that then I am highly recommending a mushroom diet to any guy i've ever slept with. And I will overlook any verbal faux pas. I'm sweaty at the end of it. And its fucking COLD in Seattle. We both pass out pretty naked in his bed.
Like I said, I had snorted some ritalin earlier because of the whole puking incident, and I wasn't really sleeping very soundly, even after the punishment Josh had just unleashed on my vah-jean.
Plus, I dont ever sleep as well as I would in my own bed, and seeing how it was 3600 miles away, I was making due. I again awoke to the creepy feeling of someone being in the room. Josh was behind me, with one delicious tattooed arm thrown over me. But this was a feeling of someone else being in the room. I look over Josh's shoulder. Oh.Shit.

There is someoene else in the room. Sitting in a computer chair. I'm flashing back, trying to remember surveying my surroundings when I walked, or tumbled into the room, but I can't. I start poking Josh. He is OUT. I call out to the "dude."

Hey, dude. DUDE.
The dude thing is so stoic, I'm almost thinking, maybe it's like, a statue or something.

He is not answering me. I am actually scared shitless at this point. Like, Okay. Did Josh transfer some mushrooms, into me or something? Is this real? He finally starts coming to.

Josh: What? Hmm? Wha?
Me: (in a whisper) There is someone in your computer chair!
Josh sits straight up and starts screaming at the guy. "What the fuck Bob!??? How many times do I have to tell you that shit isn't fucking cool????" The dude, who I now know to be, Bob, starts making some familar sounds. Like, I dont know how else to say it, but um, down syndrome sounds. Josh flicks on the lamp and the dude runs out like, fucking QUICK.

My eyes are wide as hell at this point. I look at Josh.
Josh: That was my uncle. He's retarded. Not in the mean way, like, he really is.
Me: What the fuck was he doing in here!
Josh: He likes to watch people sleep.
Me: That's not retard behavior. That's serial killer behavior.
Josh: He can't help it.
I'm having overall issues on a couple of things. 1. How many times has this happened. 2. Why does his uncle live there, when it was pretty clear from his general demeanor, that he should probably be in a home, and 3. HOW LONG WAS HE IN THERE.

Josh is like, totally cool about this whole thing. I am not cool with it, because I don't know HOW LONG he was actually in there. Like, did Corky from Life Goes On just watch me get dealt with?

I am suddenly stone cold sober and I need to get the fuck out of there. I'm pulling on my clothes almost faster than Josh got them off. I know where the ferry station is, only I am so flustered at the time that I fail to remember they don't run after 12 am. I reach into my back pocket. Cell phone. Check. FUCK. No purse. All my cash, debit card, everything I needed was in there. On my walk there, after trying my friends about 30 times, I remember from living in Seattle that the Ferry station would be my safest bet, as there were other people there and it was already 4 am, I wouldnt have to wait long for it to resume service. I take a seat near the stairs. It's fucking cold out. I decide to start acting crazy, as its very obvious to me all of the other people who are inhabiting this fucking ferry station have lost their fucking minds, or are well on the way there, at least.

I am mumbling to myself. Mostly cuss words. I start trying to throw in some chinese so I can use that excuse if anyone tries to talk to me. That sounded like a good idea at the time to me. You know, because I am chinese and all.

About an hour into it, 2 fucking wanna be gangsters walk up to me. Seriously, I want you to know, they were probably 15. I was not even scared of being approached by them.

"Hey girl. You wanna get a hotel room or something? We got cash." (really, just like that.)
"Jing ching xu habla english." (Who says I couldnt be like, spanish and chinese ya know?)

One of them tells me, "Hey you're American, girl. Speak American."

I tell them I have AIDS.
Although it does make them walk away, one of them hesitates, which leads me to believe, okay, the straggler probably DOES have AIDS. Maybe he was hoping we could create some kind of super strand together.

I am resting my head on my knees when the black gentleman sitting beside me starts shoving newspaper in my direction. I look at him like he is shoveling shit at me. He is obviously not a resident of a home. Aka homeless.

"If you stuff it in your jacket, you will stay a little warmer." I am guessing he noticed me shivering.

This was just, the last thing I wanted to hear. None of my friends could answer their goddamed cell phones, I had just done a walk of shame before it was even daylight, and OH THATS RIGHT, fucking Forrest Gump had just spied on me for I dont know how long.

"Are you trying to give me some fucking handy homeless tips, man??? I'm not homeless, motherfucker! Do you see this jacket??? It's ESCADA. I have a cell phone! And a debit card! Don't fucking talk to me!" He looked at me for about 6 seconds before saying,

"You still cold aintcha... bitch."

And yes. I was cold.

About 10 minutes later I got a call from Josh who asked me if I was fucking retarded for walking to the ferry station by myself. I shit you not, he used those words.

The irony of that statement was not lost on me.

Cuddles and the Bloody Shirt

Anc-whores away!

I did a stint in the UNITED STATES NAVY. Some of my best misadventures come from The good old Carl Vinson, CVN-70.. the aircraft carrier I was stationed on. Or, "Cell Block 70 as we so lovingly called it.
I'll be blogging all my navy/drunken misadventures following this. I've tapped a pretty good resource with the navy stories. Moving along..

There are a couple of things that change for a woman when she enters the military. You are automatically elevated at LEAST three points. If you are a 5 in real life, in the Navy, you're an 8. The pickings are slim. I'm not kidding. On the ship, I used to rack next to a bitch that made old Gollum here look like Megan Fox. It was like this, If I said, "Hey, would you rather do Gollum or the bitch that I racked next to, it would be SO easy for you to pick Gollum. No hesitation.










I'm not conceited in the least, but when I was in the Navy I had a fucking EGO problem. I could have any guy I wanted! It was only when we'd go out to "real" bars i'd get shot down, and taken back to reality.. (unless the civilian hottie was really drunk... in that case, well, you know the rest.)

Okay, the three point rule.. well multiply that shit by 5 when you're out to sea. Case in point:

I deployed with Cuddles in August. I was repulsed by Cuddles. It was well known that Cuddles had a crush on me. I was NOT having that shit. In September, I was laughing at Cuddles jokes. By October, me and Cuddles decided that when we hit port in December, we'd grab a beer. In December, we hit said port, and Cuddles hit it.




When you're walking off the brow of the ship, it's pretty ridiculous. Guys you've been out to sea with are seeing you for the first time out of your utilities or coveralls and without grease on your face. You're basically a boner magnet.

Me and Cuddles and a couple of other guys in my division hit up some bars in Thailand. We're throwing ridiculous amounts of liquor back. (Wait, thats not really different, so I'll just say, "We we're drinking like I normally do.)
Being a minority (a woman) in the military, these guys were like my brothers. Well, brothers that I occasionally got drunk and boned. So, sometimes, I was forced to go to titty bars. This wasn't exactly a titty bar. It was more like a, "We are all hookers here. Everyone knows it, everyone is cool with it. Buy me drinks and rets go fuck, you pay me, me ruv roo rong time" kind of a bar.

A couple of us notice that one of our buddies, Airman ILovePussy has been basically all-but-fucking this chick for about an hour. On further inspection, those of us not as wasted as Airman ILP realize that his "chick" has an adam's apple. The guys are laughing. After about five minutes, we come to a decision to tell him. Who knows what he would do if he found a boner, right? ILP had a short fuse.

US: Hey. You should probably quit making out with that dude, and maybe find ....a chick.
ILP: IT IS A CHICK!
(note, he's referring to it as a chick, subconsciously.)
US: Definitely not a chick. Maybe wants to be a chick, but failed to get the "trach-shave." Not a chick.

































Transexual surgery where they can actually shave down the adams apple, to fool even those trained with a "your vagina feels an awful lot like a weiner that has been fashioned to look like a vagina" radar.")

This went on for a while. ILP ignores us.

We all go our seperate ways. Meaning, all of my other guy friends went with the Thailand hookers, Cuddles and I went back to the hotel.
I throw months of pent up frustration sex vibes at Cuddles. He comes over to the bed.

Cuddles: Can I kiss you?
I fucking hate this shit. Be a man. TAKE CHARGE MOTHERFUCKER. Are you kidding me? READ THE SIGNS YOU ASS HAT. If i'm in a hotel room, alone with you, and drunk.... what do you think? Yes. Kiss me. Kiss my va-jean with your boner. NOW.
I am slightly turned off by Cuddles romantic gestures. Brushing hair out of my face. Intertwining his fingers with mine. No. Cuddles wants to make love. I just want to get laid. Making love is for douche canoes, or people in relationships (which i'm currently not in, so I can hate on it as much as I want to!)

Cuddles precedes to sex me into boredom. I've assumed the dead fish position. Meanwhile he is trying to look into my eyes. I think I taste throw up. Cuddles says, "Are you going to.. you know.. soon?"

Seriously? You cant even say 'cum'? While we're boning? Wow! Dirty talk is awesome, and you want to ask me if i'm going to, you know soon?"

me: Nope.
Cuddles: Why? What's wrong?
me: Do you want me to be honest? Or.. do you want me to lie?
Cuddles is still thrusting away while we're having this conversation. I can see him weighing the pros and cons. I was about to straight up kill his self esteem but I decide I can't do it. He was a nice guy.
me: I feel sick. Like, diarrhea sick.

Cuddles' boner shrivles into nothingness. (It wasn't much past 'nothingness' to begin with)

I always use diarrhea as my "plan b." The mere mention of it can end sex just.like.that. I don't recommend it unless you're in a situation as dire as mine, and KNOW without a REASONABLE doubt that you will never ever be sleeping with, or WANT to sleep with this person again.

As we are drifting off, ILP, who was staying in the hotel room with us, busts into the room. He is sweaty and out of breath. Not to mention, hes sporting serious blood stains.

He precedes to tell us this:

"So I go back to this fucking, fuck house, or something with-- that thing. I've felt up everything on her---I mean.. him.. In the bar! You guys saw me! I kept trying to get my hands in the panties, but it wouldn't let me. So i'm thinking.. Ok, this hooker is playing hard to get, kind of.. not what they are supposed to do at all, a little off putting, but its okay. I'm willing to accept what I can get right now you know???"
We are staring at him. He notices we are gazing at the blood stain(s).

"Oh, you're probably wondering why i'm bloody. I'll get to that. Just listen."
Cuddles is pinching my leg really hard. I look at him and see real fear in his eyes. Not surprising for a dude who's just fucking, made love to me like we're celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary.

"So anyway, she takes me back to this fuck house. Or whatever its called when hookers all live in the same house. I have already fingered her ass! My fingers, this finger, and THIS FINGER.. were in her, his, ASS! He punches the wall. Like he's trying to punish his hand. For being in a dudes butt. (He ended up breaking his hand)

"We go up to her room. She goes down on me for a second. I pull her back up because at this point the memories from the bar are flooding back, and i'm thinking.. wait.. what if they are right? What if its a dude? Am I gay right now? So to make a long story short. It was a dude. I'm going to sleep."

He strips off the bloody shirt.

Cuddles: Well, how did you find out, physically that it was a dude?
ILP: I dont know what gave it away. The balls, or holy sheep shit batman! the boner taped to its leg. It was a tough call but in the end, it was definitely the boner that made my mind up.
Cuddles: What the fuck did you do to it? That's a lot of blood!
ILP: Ahh, fuck off. Some of it is mine. That bitch fought back. Apparently not her--his first rodeo. I got some good hits in. You'd be pissed too, you shitstain! I was (he shudders) kind of gay tonight.
Cuddles: Kind of?
ILP: DUDE. Shut the fuck up.

Cuddles left well enough alone. ILP could have broken his ass in two. Which, was kind of hot. ILP had just been gay with a dude, then beat the dude up.

I bet he takes charge in bed, I thought to myself. Unlike the sad sack of shit I was laying next to. I'm now laying beside a guy who thinks I have bubble guts, and i'm fantasizing about the bloody dude next to us that has just beaten up a shemale and has dude-ass funk on his fingers. Fuck my life.

Cuddles and I had major "awkwardness" after the Thailand trip.

ILP beat at least 5 people up in as many months because word got out regarding his gaycapades.

Thongmasters, brakechecks, and miracles of biblical proportions.

So I have a first (and last) date with this guy who i'm gonna call "The Thongmaster."

We met at Oasis.
He & I had talked for about three weeks before actually going on a date, and we got along like it was our job. I'm talking 5, 6 hour long conversations. I was into him. I spent all day getting ready for this date.

Date time comes. He picks me up around 6, and the plan is to head to dinner at Surin. Ok, so he isn't exactly as cute as I remember.. but.. he'll do.

In the car, i'm so nervous. I start making really awkward, rambling conversation. When this fails, I go to plan B.... and I decide to let him hear a mildly racist, possibly offensive ringtone that I had gotten that day from a mildy racist, always offensive friend. (I know how to keep it classy!)

To understand it, you need to see it. He heard the audio of what you are about to watch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSVZ3-LRaWU

ps. You have to listen to the audio, or you won't understand the rest of the blog.

We had a good laugh about it. We talked about speech impediments. He made me play it for him three times.
Once we got to the restaurant, I was still feeling those first date jitters and said to myself, "Self, it's time to silence these jitters FOR GOOD. Down the hatch!" I popped a xanax and I started to drink. A LOT of wine. He drank two glasses. We had three bottles. That put me at about... oh, I dont know.. drunk.

Needless to say, I was shithoused and it wasnt even 8 p.m. But, the date was actually going well (I thought). We were laughing (in hindsight, I was laughing.. a lot.. loudly) and making good conversation. He noticed the bracelet I was wearing. Its just a plain old orange and brown wooded bracelet that I love more than a human baby. No big deal.
I had told him earlier in the week that said bracelet was broken.

Thongmaster: "Ahhh, you got your bracelet fixed!"

Me: "Yeah! My grandmother restrung it for me!"

TM: "Oh, so you're telling me she "wiggle-rigged" it."

At this, I laugh. What a clever, snarky date I have. I get it. He's going with the ringtone... he's substituting wiggle for.... something else.. hardee har har.
Ok, all I wanted to do here, was simply--repeat what he said. But apparently, large amounts of wine and and a prescription anti anxiety pill do NOTHING to stop mouth diarrhea. NOTHING. my attempt at "repeating" went something like this:

Me: "Yeah, she NIGGER WIGGLED it!"

I don't know about you, but when I drink, my internal default volume goes up. A lot. I often get asked, "Why are you screaming?" even when I did not, in fact, think I was screaming. So I had just screamed Niggerwiggle in a restaurant. A crowded restaurant. With our black waiter. And the nice black patrons sitting beside me (on the bench seat, mind you).
Every head in the place jerks our way. Its like the moment in the movie where the loser/bad boy/people who were banned from the prom walk into the party and the record scratches to a stop.

Thongmaster is horrified. He is from up north. What I had just done (and what i'll later find out) is the DEALBREAKER.
I don't get embarrassed. I just don't have it in me. But I WAS HUMILIATED. So what else to do? I start laughing uncontrollably. I can't stop. I'm crying tears and convulsing. I have my head down on the table.

Thongmaster: "We gotta go. Now."

I don't say anything. I watch him slam some cash down on the table and I grab my purse. He is pulling me by my arm like i'm a disobedient child. I let him.

We move on to part II of the evening. I am in the passenger seat drunk dialing friends (at 8 pm) and saying, "GUESS WHAT JUST FUCKING HAPPENED TO ME? I JUST SAID NIGGER IN FRONT OF A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE!"
I call my dad to tell him. He is impressed. (Pleasant Grove, google it.)

Thongmaster is not amused. Nonetheless, he is not driving in the direction of my house, but towards Workplay. A friend who worked there had put us on the list. I see my cousin there and am introduced as her, "Big titted, black haired cousin." Funnily enough, the cousin that is introducing me is also big titted, and black haired. But, I digress.

I can see that Thongmaster is experiencing mild culture shock.

We stay for the show, and yes, more wine. Everytime Thongmaster takes a drink, I challenge him to "race me." He looks at me like i'm crazy, but I eventually wear him down.

He finally starts to get on my level. Cabernet Sauvignon is not really made to be chugged, but we chugged like champions. Well, we "raced." Haha. I talk him into going to Martys.

We sit at the end of the bar. I end up sitting next to a guy with a wheelchair with more controls on in than the Star Trek Enterprise. I want to touch one of those buttons so bad. Everytime Thongmaster gets up to go to the bathroom, the crip hits on me relentlessly. I try to be nice at first, I really do. I fail.

Crip: You know, not all of me is paralyzed.

Me: DUDE. No. Are you trying to tell me your dick still works?

Crip: No, but my tongue does!

He sticks out his tongue, through the v of this middle and pointer finger, and wiggles it from side to side. I throw up in my mouth a little bit.











Everytime Thongmaster comes back, the cripple completely ignores me. I wonder if i'm imagining it. After about 30 minutes, wine and whiskey have made me forget about the man in the wheelchair. That is, until the motherfucker stands up and starts walking towards the bathroom. My mouth diarrhea starts flaring up again. I jump out of my seat.

"WHAT THE FUCK! EITHER THAT GUY IS A FUCKING LYING SACK OF UNPARALYZED SHIT, OR JESUS JUST PERFORMED A MIRACLE.. in martys!"

Thongmaster pulls me back down into my seat. "Shhhhh." He is petting my hair like i'm a hyperactive kid in church. He's HAMMERED. His hands are wandering (not smoothly) from my hair to my boobs. In public. I know what is on his mind, but I had other things to think about first.

I look over at the empty chair. Why is this guy not doing fucking cartwheels? I have convinced myself no one could be as pathetic as to lie about being in a wheelchair, so i'm pretty sure i've witnesssed a miracle. And the crip is playing it totally cool! Like, "Hey, cool, I can walk. I'm gonna go take a leak." (or a shit, judging on how long he'd been gone. But then again, maybe he was getting used to the walking feeling? Nevertheless, he was kind of, UNexcited about walking.)

I can resist the urge no longer and I start pushing buttons on his starship control pad.





The wheelchair starts bouncing up and down like a fucking mexican's car in Compton. This mother fucker had hydraulics on it or something. It falls over.

The thongmaster and I hightail it out of there. He heads towards his house. Immediately, I'm thinking, YES! I'm about to get.it.on! I look over at him. One of his eyes has gone kind of lazy. And I was okay with it.

Unfortunately, the sexin' was uneventful. It wasn't bad... but it sure as hell wasn't good. I think I fell asleep a couple of times. I just know that I woke up naked and one part of my hair extensions had come out. And I had on one sock. Which is odd, because I didnt have socks on that night. I got up and puked (loudly) in his bathroom.

Thongmaster: Hey hey... wakey wakey!
Me: Gotta get to my house... have to work in 45 minutes..

My mouth tastes like someone rolled some shit logs around in the sand, then dumped them directly onto my tongue.

Thongmaster does not look as good as he did last night. As we're getting dressed, I can't find my phone. He offers to look in the bed for me. I'm standing there at the end of the bed, while he is shaking the sheets out. I'm hit in the face by something he slingshotted in my direction. Some black thongs.

Thongmaster: Hey, you forgot something!

I stick some fingers in my waistband. Hmmm. I have on MY panties. Thongmaster had just shot some panties that did not belong to me, IN MY FACE.

Me: Yeah. Those aren't mine.

He starts trying to make up some excuses (that I actually cared nothing about). I had a hangover that was worse than the childbirth experience. We ride in silence to my house.

On the way home, he brake checks me. Hard. My head hits the dash. He laughs uncontrollably. I start laughing too, because there was nothing else left to do. I let a silent fart before I get out of his car.

Thongmaster: Alright, talk to you later!

He's still chuckling about the brakecheck and my subsequent head injury.
Me: SBD, motherfucker!

He doesnt get my silent but deadly reference at first, but I know that he did, after about 10 seconds because he sent me a text message saying, "ok, I deserved that."