So… Saturday night I was sicker than I have been in my entire life. A day and a half on and I’m just about recovered…
I went dahn tahn with Leia Ewok Village to toast her hitting 2 and 6. After trying and failing to tempt out The Monster (he’s always “washing his hair”) I managed (quite easily) to lure out Man Whore #2 for “one or two drinks” and a chat. So one or two progressed to four or five and evening was starting to go very nicely. MW#2 was particularly taken with a buxom piece of trash in the public house we were frequenting and we spent the rest of our time in said pub critiquing her attire, behaviour and MW#2’s hypocrisy in slagging her choice of bra.
She was outfitted in stilettos with heels that were at a perculiar angle, perhaps due to the weight they were supporting; a short denim skirt and white satin bra which poked out over the top and sides of the low cut top she was just about wearing. Apparently she should have been wearing a black bra as it would have blended in better with her top, but I disagreed that MW#2 could make any such suggestion because if you’re going to criticise then you’ve got to slag off the entirity of her (like I was doing) and not just pick up on one part of the horribleness. She kept pulling it over her bra cups (so modest) and then proceed to stick her rack out and pull the fabric back in a sad attempt at seduction. Her seduction was working well on one man in particular, but this may have been partly due to inebriation, as he seemed to be having similar difficulties as the seductress in staying upright.
MW#2 was sure treating me, as I saw a display of sluttishness that my goodness, I have never seen before. BuxomSlut was leaning up against the bar with the drunken target of her “affections” and every so often she would sway into him and start to stroke his crotch. Then she would unzip him and go to work. At the bar. In front of a pub full of people. And she wasn’t doing too good a job at covering up her actions. I was gobsmacked. The look on the target’s face was so, so grim. Me and MW#2 kept staring and turning away- I don’t know why, it’s not like they cared anyone was looking at them; MW#2 doing running commentary when I was away being disgusted. It was enjoyable in that it was car crash behaviour. Just unbelieveable. Thank you MW#2 for exposing me to a slice of life on your side of the tracks.
So, I finished my drink and dragged myself away from the shameless activity in the pub and went on to a club. It was dark and the alcohol was flowing courtesy of MW#2… Things started to get erm, hot and heavy in that I was giving MW#2’s moobs a good feel, for some ulterior purpose that I just cannot remember right now but not an erotic purpose, that much I can say. I also did my usual thing of analyzing MW#2 and his relationship contradiction, talked about wrestling, talked about dirty dirty things. Tongue-ing of bellybuttons. He showed me a webcam shot on his phone of a gal he knows enjoying
Then he got it in his overly concussed head that I should be drinking a Flaming Lamborghini. Now, it’s only a day and a half later that I can write those words down without feeling nausous. I was concerned that my face would be burnt off (the alcohol content never crossed my mind) and that I might get 3rd degree burns. I hate anything tasting of aniseed so after the barman had looked up the recipe on t’internet and explained what all the colourful shots were as he paraded them in front of me, I sucked it up and sucked it down. In one go. Kinda. All the barstaff stopped what they were doing to watch me. At the time it didn’t seem too bad. Little did I know what the consequences of this drink were to be…
Post Flaming Lambo I still had two drinks lined up and I proceeded to valiantly finish them off. By this stage MW#2 was doing this thing where he’d sidle up behind me and slide his hand round my waist with a sly caress of my bellybutton (he’s got a thing about that part of human anatomy); then start running a finger up my shoulder to the back of my neck. It was terrible. If I thought I was going to die before my cocktail I felt sure I was going to die now.
I thought it might be an idea to attend the birthday table and decided that MW#2 would make an appropriate panacea against gravity and alcohol by resting myself against him and doing this hugging, grasping, caressing thing that I stopped when I realised how it might be construed across the table. See, three sheets to the wind and still my sense of shame is well intact. Dammit. I worked on my intimacy issues however, things were moving into very dangerous waters.
It’s horribly self-centred but it’s nice to have an aquaintance that pays some attention to me, even if he is not any sort of significant other. I know that if I had a serious problem I could go to him and he would be reliable and efficient in sorting it out as best he could, albeit in a detatched manner, but at least I would get help. I like it when he drops £13 on a single drink, or pays for my drinks or meals. Shameful. I can justify it (yeah) in that in my previous non-relationship I felt that I was definitely getting the raw end of the deal, in both monetary and emotional ways.
I think I’m worth some attention, investment and consideration (dammit), and arrogantly think I am more deserving of it that most. I put my whole heart into the non-relationship and I feel received very little in return. I don’t give to receive, but there is such a thing as being a decent human being and not being selfish, being reliable, giving a little so I don’t feel like I am being used. Then again, this is the problem with MW#2- It is not going to be a relationship, nor will it ever be, and I have just too good a time with him, which leads to attatchment. Which is very bad.
I kissed Leia Ewok Village goodbye (I was swaying somewhat according to independent observers) and hot pirate-booted it to Subway where I purchased some roll-related item for MW#2 after deciding that it might not be the best thing to go for the meatball sub I had previously been hoop-la-ing about. Back to his, almost fell over taking the boots off, TNA PPV on the tv, me not paying a hell of a lot of attention. I get woken up by a gentle poke (yeah, not like that) “Want to go to bed?” to which I reply “No, I think I want to go puke…” and hot-barefoot it to the toilet where I spent a good deal of time throwing up in the sink. Felt so. bad. Eventually MW#2 made a suggestion that I perhaps sleep on the floor, so I spent a nice night on the bathroom floor, waking up every so often to puke my guts out. I did have a blanket- That MW#2- such the gentleman. Even though it was he that made me so very ill. Yeah, I have no free will, that’s right.
Next morning i’m now on the sofa. I phone work and say I shan’t be gracing them today (so ill) and MW#2 comes in (man fur ahoy) with a cheery: “How are we feeling today?” “So fucking bad…” He then starts to scratch my head, which I object to with a “Stop it, i’m not a child!” He scratches more with a “Aww, look at her little fuzzy head, she is so sick-ly.” Grrr. Then I hear him telling his housemate how he fed me a Flaming Lambo and that he’s never seen anyone react as I did, and how i’ve been puking all night. His housemate then comes down to take a look at me, for entertainment purposes, and then his girlfriend comes to take a look at the freak show on the sofa. Hello? Not an exhibit.
Anyway, I extract myself from my sick(sofa)bed and have to leave as MW#2 is heading out to kick some american footballers or something to that effect. I hear the familiar noises of nylon against foam and velcro being strapped and MW#2 reappears looking bulky and red and yellow. I exit into blinding sunlight and gingerly wander off through town via a regular Sprite and a half-hour stop at a bus stop before a taxi and home to my nest. I did the clear fluids routine for the entire day but it took a while I can tell you for me to progress on to fish fingers.
I did come away with The Rise and Fall of ECW and Beyond the Mat. Now I have three wrestling dvds hoorah! Albeit temporarily.
So I once again had a great time courtesy of MW#2 (independent observers said I looked really happy) and if I can steer clear of certain drinks offers I think I’ll manage to keep myself together. God, I have never felt so ill. MW#2 is so very evil.
International Talk Like A Pirate Day is fast approaching and I’ve invited MW#2 aboard my good ship sailing around town… I think there may be upcoming reports of shenanegans in the vicinity. I shall have to think up a name for my ship. Hmmm.