Saturday Night

RANDOM TEXTS:

Coffee Date at 12:32 a.m. "why?"

Fry Guy at 12:55 a.m. " u shall come save me!"

No response.

RANDOM ENCOUNTERS:

A man came up to me and said he knew he had seen me before, considering he looked like the pickup artist, I told him that I doubted it. He then introduced himself as John followed by, "but my friends call me Blaze Malaze." I immediately inquired about the BMX riding gloves he was wearing. He went on about how he had won a few dozen biking competitions in the 80's and then asked me if I wanted to go do coke at his house. I declined.

We Got a Stage 5 Clinger!

I hate nothing more than needy ass bitches. And when I say bitches I mean men. Fucking fry guy. ugh. So Monday morning about 10:47 a.m. I'm minding my own business and I get a text. "U left your jacket." Fantastic. I reply "sweet I thought I lost it, I'll have to retrieve that from you." He then says "just let me know." Breezy text nothing further needs to be said. Fast forward to 5:00 p.m.

FG - What are you doing

Me - Working what are you doing?

FG - Drinking

(Really its 5 in the PM, I don't respond)(5 minutes later)

FG - Huh?

(Umm I didn't say anything)(I don't respond)(2 minutes later)

An actual phone call. I do NOT answer. What the fuck dude. Some of us big kids are still at work. Thirty minutes later ...

FG - You should come get your jacket.

(What the fuck dude, that's like 4 texts in 20 minutes AND a phone call)

Me - I can't tonight, but this week for sure.

FG - Ok

(Jesus Christ!) (Fast forward to 8pm)

FG - Can I come over?

(Ok we have a stage 5 clinger on our hands)

I totally freak out.

Me - I can not hang out tonight.

FG - Ok

(Five minutes later)

FG - K

(Thanks I got it!)

Needless to say the entire night I have visions of fry guy breaking in my apartment and stabbing my with a burger flipper. The next mornig he text me at 8:37 a.m.

FG - Sorry if I was being annoying last night, my roommate got me hammered."

Awwwww, I remember my first beer.

Burning Bridges

I need to contact a doctor to have my thumbs cut off. I really think it will be the only way to save face at all during a night of serious drinking. Friday night a few of my girlfriends and I decided we were going to go out and paint the town red. Great idea, so I thought. We started the evening with a few glasses of wine, which quickly became drinking straight out of the wine bottle. Classy I know. I then spilled red wine on my white shirt. I should have know then that the night was going to be horrific. After wine the Captain called and I answered. Had a shot of that. We then went to the first bar which consisted of a mix of frat and douche. To spice things up as if I wasn't already spiced, I had a shot of Patron. I fucking hate tequila so I have no idea where this urge came from. I'm blaming the captain. Stay at douch central for a few then went down to my local watering hole. Now mind you I was already fucked up at this point and should have went home and put myself to bed...but what fun would that be.
At the watering hole I drank 2 tall cans and had another shot of some fruity large thing. It was beat and I did not need it. What happened next happens to all us girls at one point or another while we are painting the town red. I sent the drunk text. No biggie except I sent it to Flame. UGH. As if I haven't fucked with his head enough right. The breezy text was sent at 1am. Wonder what I was thinking about. Without completely reliving the horror, I asked him to come hang out, he declined, I insisted, he declined, I then said "you know it will be a good time", no reponse, I then asked again, and he wrote "why?"
So embarassing I want to die. But of course, I need to make everything right and I sent him a text yesterday to which he did not respond. I feel really excellent about this. If it was anyone else, who cares. BUT I worked really hard to file this relationship of sorts under friendship and rebuild the bridge that I not only burned but blew up just to lose it all to a few shots and some tall cans. A small side note that need be noted, while leaving the bar I barfed in the cab on the way home. I am one classy bitch.