The Manhole & The Vietnam Vet in the Club

I am like a fucking human smuggler when it comes to getting alcohol inside a concert. Seriously, it doesnt matter how big the bottle is, I can either fit it into my pants or shirt. A flask is the preferable size of course, because depending on how tight my jeans are, it usually fits right in front if you know what i'm sayin! However, I often resort to the flask taped to the leg measure, if the situation calls for it.

We all decided we didn't want to pay ridiculous amounts for drinks inside the Boil (or the Crawfish Boil, as we Birminghamians so lovingly refer to it), so we made a stop at the liqour store. I went in. I had been pregaming...pretty hard. My mission was to get a bottle of vodka. I got a bottle of .. clear stuff. I remember looking at it, and saying, Yep, this looks like vodka. Lets roll.

I get in the car. The plan was to take shots on the way there and pour the rest in a flask. I had gotten Gin on accident (hey.. both clear). This should have been an omen that everything was going to go wrong that night, but we manned up and consumed it anyway. It is FUCKING DISGUSTING to shoot gin. If you asked me to shoot a whole bottle in under ten minutes with three other people today, I would laugh in your face. But we did it. And we were HOUSED. For the reason, I can't tell you anything significant happened, because most of the time, we were propped up against each other drooling and yelling what sounded like Korean.

DF's military boyfriend was the worst of us all and we decided he had.to.go. We're walking along the streets of Birmingham to the car. I have a video camera. There is a guy walking in front of us, who, I thought, was worse off. Later, as in, seconds later, I would find out this was not the case. I am taping him, not watching my feet, because I am looking through the viewfinder.

Me: Look at that drunk bastard!

The camera pans to blackness. All you can hear, if you watch the tape today, are voices. Voices that sound a lot like voices laughing. Why? Because the camera has fallen into a manhole. So have I. I fell in tit-deep to this manhole (where was the fucking cover!) with one leg up, cheerleader style. I am not fucking limber. People are stopping. It takes 5 guys to hoist me from this manhole. Meanwhile, i'm losing blood at an alarming rate.

I'm yelling, "Moving along, people! Nothing to see here, you fucking fucks!"

Incredibly, we make it back to the car. I'm sure it was a sight to see. I'm hobbling along leaving a trail of blood like a fucking goonie from the Hills Have Eyes. It's awesome.

We get DFs BF back to the hotel. We wait until he is passed out to leave. For some reason, we thought a commando style crawl, on our elbows and knees, was the only way to escape the hotel room. Looking back, we could have just, i dont know, walked out... but, I digress.

So we're all three drunkenly crawling towards the door, once we reach the threshold, we actually roll out of it, Mission Impossible style. They have rolled into my blood. We are now all three bloody. It doesn't stop us.

(You didn't think we cut into our party time by showering, did you?)

An old couple is walking towards their room. The lady sees me and backs against her husband, mouth agape.
I do a loud screech and skip kind of thing in her direction. We continue walking. There is a good possibility that the lady shit in her linen pants.

We make it to Tiki Bobs. We went there so often, we knew the owner, never paid for a drink, and never waited in line. We pulled the car up to the curb and got out. The owner is standing outside surveying the crowd when he sees us.

Owner: OH MY SHIT! What happened to you girls?
me: We got mugged, man.

I had deduced that instead of owning up to being owned by a fucking manhole, I would go the "hero" route.
The owner stares in stunned silence.
me: Yeah, I dove on top of them when we got shot at, hence, the leg wound.

He doesnt suggest a hospital, which was probably a good idea. Instead, he says, "Come on in, I'll fix you right up." He hands me a plethera of pills and tapes my leg up. But not with first aid supplies, mind you. He makes some gauze out of some prison ply toilet paper and tapes it on with BLUE PAINTERS TAPE. The wound goes from my calf to the top of my leg. I am wearing a mini skirt. Dried blood is all over me, DF, and Firecrotch. I look down at my battle dressing. "Yes, this will do."

I walk out into the crowd. Here are a few things I heard.

"She got bit by a fucking lion or something!"
"I heard she saved her friends lives!"
"Did she get off the plane from Vietnam and come straight here, or what?"

None of this bothers me. I am a drunk, high, hot-mess and I want to get more of that, immediately. The pills he gave me are making me feel all warm and lovey. A guy starts dancing with me. He is oblivious to my wound, I came to find out, but I thought he was just being nice. He's cute. We decide to leave together.

Once we are back at his house, we are both passing out while making out. We decide to go to sleep. (by "decide" I mean, we both passed out simultaneously)

When I wake up in the morning, I feel a warm sensation on my leg. "Oh fuck," I think. "We have a cuddler." As i'm pondering how to get out of this situation without having to chew my arm off, I look down. It is not a cuddler. It's this guys huge bull mastiff dog. Licking my wound!

The toilet paper has disintegrated into these little blood balls, all over his nice, soft, white sheets. There is a ball of blue tape with dried blood on it. I try to manuever my stiff leg away from the dog. He growls and sinks his teeth in a little.

SHIT.
This dog is all about my wound. He is eating that shit out. Do I let the dog keep licking it? What if dude wakes up, and thinks I like it? I figure my only option is to wake him up.

me: Hey. Dude. Wake up. Your dog...

him: himmm (he starts poking me with the ever familar morning boner)

me: GET.YOUR.DOG.OFF.MY.LEG.

him: What's Lucky doing to your le-----

I watch his face register the carnage. The bloody toilet paper balls. The blue tape. The dog, straight up fellating my leg.

him: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED????? DID MY DOG DO THAT?

He looks terrified. I realize he probably didnt even notice my battle wound last night. I decide to fuck with him.

me: We got mugged.

him: Who?? WE DID?? As in you & me? WHEN?!?!?!

He is checking his wallet now. Pockets, etc.

me: Yep. I dove on top of you when they started shooting at us. That's why my leg is so fucked up.

Needless to say, we do not get it on. He takes me to my house. We sit in awkward silence for a minute.

Him: So, um. Thanks for saving my life.
Me: Anytime. Anytime, really.

I'm a hero.

Did you just FART, and the bitch-u-crazy theory

So, my date. Let's call him Smelly.


First off, I met this guy for the sake of the experiment.

I only saw one picture of him before we went out. In the photo he was wearing sunglasses. In the online world, this is a BAD SIGN, especially if it's your only picture. If you had like, three or four, then one with sunglasses, I could judge you properly.

Sunglasses leave you guessing. And come on. I fucked a cross eyed guy. I should require an ophthalmic exam before even considering dates. It should be a prerequisite. Unfortunately the Lagoon Creature did not come to mind. (Does lightning really ever strike twice? Hope I never find out!)


So anyway, it's his only picture, and it's kind of from the side, but not really. He has a pretty sweet beard (I love beards I don't know why). I decide, why the fuck not?

We met at a sushi restaurant (my favorite, if you haven't noticed). Smelly was pretty skeptical about it because he'd never tried sushi before. I had to explain to him that there were other things on the menu. (granted, one of them was called, "Fish Mixture")

Right off the bat, I order a glass of wine and multiple sake shots. If i'm going to date losers, i'm going to have to drink EXCESSIVELY.


This guy is having a problem talking to my face. He is actually doing most of the conversating with my two chest pals. Which is just, amazing to me, because those motherfuckers don't talk! And they can't hear! I tell him this. It does not deter him. (note to self: Turtlenecks aren't so bad. Dress appropriately in the future.)


It's pretty awkward during dinner. I actually love awkwardness. It makes for great stories. I start telling him about all my horrible relationships. I am also talking really bad about my exes. I'm testing the bitch-u-crazy theory. (this will be explained later)

me: he probably didn't like me driving by his house, 4, 5 times a day but in order to feel sane I needed to know where he was AT ALL TIMES. Wouldn't want to have to fuck a bitch up you know??? YOU KNOW?

I lean forward excitedly and he is just sitting there in stunned silence, taking it all in.

me: come on, you've never done a little, harmless stalking?

him: I don;t think any stalking is harmless.

me: Well, if you really love the person it's not stalking. It's love. Just like if a guy hits you, it means he really loves you. When I'm with a guy and he isn't hitting me, I'm going to assume hes cheating and its time to have a bitch beat down. It's all part of the game, you know?

him: I guess that kind of makes sense.

dude...SERIOUSLY!?

Towards the end of our lame ass dinner, I talk him into trying some of my sushi. Spicy tuna rolls. Not anything to crazy. He picks one up. Pops it in his cockhole (haha sorry I had to) and chews. Then, to my horror (and the horror of everyone in our section) he starts regurgitating it back up, kind of baby bird style. He was moving his neck back and forth and making the loud gag sound. He then spits this nasty pink shit on his plate. I start gagging because of the sight and smell of it. We are both gagging like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xr9BYDUKkmY
(ff to 24 seconds in. that's how we looked, and that's how loud we were)


So we're both gagging. LOUD. At one point I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it to the bathroom to throw up. It resided though, which is fortunate, because that guy would have wasted a lot of money on alcohol had I thrown it up.

Everyone is staring at us; meanwhile, he is poking the pink shit with his fork.



After about 4 sake shots, and 5 glasses of wine, it's time for the movie.
We're going to see I Love You, Man.
I'm thinking, okay, it can't be that terrible because i've heard the movie is hilarious.

I make Smelly make a stop. I make Smelly purchase some wine minis... (six of them).
I'm already pretty lit up, but this oughta do the trick.


When we get in the theater, we're the ONLY ones in there. Which would be awesome if I was interested in the guy. We go to the very top and sit down. I'm enjoying the movie. I finish my first mini. I throw the little tiny top down the rows of chairs. I hear it quietly find a new home somewhere towards the bottom of the theater.
'Not enough,' I childishly think. I chunk the empty bottle. It explodes. Violently. I raise my fists up in victory.

me: YES!
Completely baffled, he hesitates, but finally asks, “What made you do that??”
At this point I’m trying really hard not to lose it and just burst out laughing, “I've just been really angry lately!”


I continue to do this throughout the movie. He says nothing. With all six of my bottles. Everyone of them shattered near the stairs. On the sixth one, I turn to Smelly and say, "watch this."

I stand up and with a Nolan Ryan esq like windup, I pitch that motherfucker as hard as I can. I was hoping for the screen, but, I'm no Kenny fuckin' Powers. It didnt work. But it busted, just as beautifully loud and crazy as the others.

I turn to him. "I don't know about you, but I feel a lot better now. Keeping it all bottled up like that makes ya crazy! Sometimes you have to just bust those bottles! Or that's what my therapist tells me!"
him: he might not have meant that literally.
me: No, I asked him. I said, do you mean that literally? And he said, Yes...literally...go out and bust bottles.
him: oh, well if you asked him..

(WTF? Who would believe that? What kind of doctor does he think I see?)


He is still flirting/being gross. I am pretty sure he is farting, but the only thing I have for proof is something stinky. No solid evidence, if you will. Finally after about 30 minutes of it, I KNOW, without a doubt, that what I am smelling is a fart. And it infuriates me. Seriously?! You think you can just fart in my air and shit? There is no one around for him to blame it on.


me: Did you just fart?
him: YES! I thought it would be silent! You heard it?
me: No, motherfucker, I SMELLED it!


He starts laughing. I get up and move 5 seats away. I can feel him staring at me for the duration of the movie.


Him: Come on, come on back. I won't poot again *he used the word poot.*
me: I'm not coming to sit in your little toot cloud, buddy. Think again.
him: I'll move down there, then.

He moves. We finish the movie. I drunk dial on the way home.

Now, allow me to explain the bitch-u-crazy theory.

The uglier the guy is, the more fucked up you can act.

Hell, you can do any fucking thing you want and get away with it! This date has just helped add credence to my "bitch-u-crazy" theory.

I SHATTERED SIX WINE BOTTLES IN A PUBLIC MOVIE THEATER LAST NIGHT. I TOLD HIM I WAS OKAY WITH DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. I TOLD HIM I WAS A STALKER. Did he ask me out again?

HELL YES, he did.

*Spicy Tuna and me are taking a much-needed break.
*No more guys with sunglasses.

Lagoon Creature

2007.

The place? The dearly departed Baileys.
The culprits? 2 of my "friends." and one other, who will be called "Lagoon Creature"

Factors involved that led to this heinous oversight: alcohol and a sticky icky green substance

Friends, this night I had on what you might call a pair of goggles. Really, really thick, smoke-beer filled goggles. Everyone at Baileys was lookin alllllllriiiight to me. And come on. Half the dudes in Baileys, more times than not, are a bit questionable. Do they shower? How long has he had those pants on? Is that DOODOO on the back of his shirt? Did he sit in something? And are those dreads on purpose, or did they just happen? Baileys is DARK anyway. The odds were stacked up against me.

I'm rocking out to Earthbound. Probably dancing like a fool. This guy comes up behind me. I turn around, and might as well be staring at Fabio! I'm thinking, WOW! The hottest guy in Baileys is definitely talking to me right now! We take a seat at a side table and start talking about everything. We're really spilling guts to each other.

Creature: I like your chacos.
me: I like your shirt.
me: and your hair. how its all messy.
Creature: yeah, your eyes are, this amazing green color.
me: (swooning) Your eyes are, are...

He stops me at this point with a kiss. Kids, I dont make out in public. I dont condone public displays of affection. They make me sick. Sometimes, even hand holding bothers me. So the fact that i'm making out with this guy should tell you, I was INTO him. People were disgusted. Later, I would find out why. But not soon enough.

I go to the bathroom with my friends.

Me: Did you guys see Creature? Is he not awesome!
friends: staring blankly at me.

I see the corners of their mouths twitching. At the time, I could not see this was restrained laughter.

me: Be happy for me! Say something! I'm taking this guy home. For sure.
friends: oh, yeah.. (pause). You TOTALLY should.

Jealous bitches! I thought. Just mad that i'm hooking up with the hottest guy here. Whatever. I totally ditch my friends and continue my drunk making out. Pretty soon, everyone is ready to leave and we all pile in friend#1's car and head back to her apartment. I bring the Lagoon Creature with me. We make out in the back seat the whole way home. There is also major gropeage going on. My friends are laughing. I dont put it together that they are laughing at me. At the time, I thought they were telling funny jokes. Really, really, hilariously fucking funny jokes.

We reach friend#1's apartment and he & I immediately go into the extra bedroom with the twin bed. Just the right size for GETTING.IT.ON. And thats what happens. We get it on. I would like to give you more detail, but my mind has blocked it out. Kind of like trauma victims, you know? Sometimes things are so painful to remember your body just says, fuck it, get out of here, bad memory.

The next morning, my sneaky bitch friend comes in the room.

"GOOD MORNING LOVEBIRDS~!"
me: ufhhhmmmmmmmmm (unintelligible, still drunk grunt)
friend: I have to go to work! You coming? (we worked together at the time.)
me: tell them ill be there later. I gotta take creature back to his car.

As soon as she leaves, I hop up and get in her bed. Its big and comfy and I was feeling a little shameful. I sleep for 30 more minutes. I go to wake him up.

"Hey, creature! Its time to go. Come on. Get up."
He rolls over. Opens his eyes. But something strange is happening here. I turn away. I couldn't process it while looking at him. I'm also hoping maybe since he had JUST opened his eyes, maybe they had to adjust or something.

creature: Come get back in bed for a minute.

I slowly look over at him. His eyes are open. And those motherfuckers are CROSSED.

I start panicking. I start thinking about all the people I saw last night. All the people that saw ME. and this crosseyed motherfucker. MAKING OUT. A memory of me telling friends how i'd met this great guy. A memory of me trying to compliment his eyes but getting cut off by his tongue down my throat. That sneaky bastard. He probably thought he was the luckiest fucker alive!

me: no. no. come on. we gotta go. NOW.

I'm talking in a really high pitched voice. It was involuntary. And I was talking really fast. I couldnt look at him. I seriously did not look at him ONE time, from Alabaster to Homewood. Except when we pulled into his complex. I looked over just one more time, to make sure he had googly eyes. YEP, still crossed.
At this point he had probably gotten that I had sobered up and the ruse was up! He didnt make it weird. He got the hell out of my car and slammed the door, and I peeled out of there.

At work, said friends were sitting there WAITING for me to walk in. As soon as I walked in, they lost all composure.

friends: did you drop loverboy off? Whens the wedding! Your kids will be so fucking cute!
me: eat a dick. no, eat lots of dicks.
friends: did you eat some dick last night? Cross eyed dick?

I walk away. We laugh about it later. They got me. I got GOT. I thought this was the last I would see of the creature. I was wrong.

FF to Oct 2008. It's the night of the Phil Lesh & Friends/Allman Bros concert. THere are a few of us going and we have a hotel room to party in. After the show, we decide we want to get our minds a little more twisted. One friend suggests a substance that shall remain nameless. None of us have any. Another guy says, "I know this guy. Hes cool. Hell bring it here."

30 minutes later there is a knock on the door. I beebop over, excited.
Guess who is on the other side.

THE FUCKING LAGOON CREATURE.

creature: hey, I know you from somewhere!
me: MM.. nope. Dont think weve ever met.
creature: No, I KNOW i know you from somewhere. Ill figure it out.

shit, shit, shit, i'm thinking. I'm actually with a guy I like this night. And of all fucking nights. The lagoon creature moonlights as a drug dealer. Guess his modeling day job doesnt pay him enough. A couple of hours later he comes up to me, as i'm sitting next to the guy I actually DO like on the bed.

creature: I figured out how i know you.
me: Oh (i get highpitched and fast here) really? hmm. Wow I have a terrible memory. Thats cool though good to see you again okay bye.
creature: I havent even told you.
FUCK.
me: oh, wow, geez (nervous laughter.) Where.
creature: WINKS and walks away.

guy that I like: What was that about?

There was a long silence as I was trying to concoct some elaborate, shitfilled story to throw him off, but for some reason while I was still debating, I just word vomited the truth.
me: oh i fucked him last year.
guy that I like: Hahahah. Thats why I like you! You have a wild sense of humor.


Yes.. yes I do. :)