Saturday, January 28, 2006

Yeah, well, I did blow it off...

and I blew something else too. But more about that later.

Instead of going on the date with the throwback guy to the college days, I decided to guzzle three bottles of wine with my friend. Four hours later, we were DRUNK and decided to go out. We call her fiancee, who is on his way to hang out with a mutual friend, J.--in fact, the guy who now works for my old boss and was sort of my replacement. Well, I trained him all right.

We meet up at a bar on Avenue C. My friend is definitely bombed and I am feeling no pain. She starts talking about how perfect J. and I would be--right in front of him. He doesn't seem to mind. We continue to drink. I am at least two bottles of wine deep at this point in the night and REALLY not feeling any pain.

We go to another bar and meet up with my friend's financee. My friend is so fucked up she decides she needs a little coke to "set her straight." I decline because I am smart enough to know at my old age that coke on a random Wednesday night would send me careening into the weekend (and that would probably be the first time I would go to sleep, so...). I'm so mature. Anyway, my friend has her first day of graduate school at 9am the next day so her fiancee and I collectively decide that coke isn't the best call for the particular evening. I mean, for God's sake it's already 2am. Going home to bed is.

They leave but J. and I decide to have the proverbial "one more drink." He is annoyingly smart. I think he llikes to lord his intelligence over people. Luckily I happened to have read about whatever philosopher he is rambling about that very day so I can actually partake in the conversation, not that I have any sort of recolection about whether or not I made sense, Plus he is too short. But after another drink, this time Maker's Mark on the rocks, I am loving him, so I decide to kiss him right there at Doc Holliday's.

It's a great kiss, by far the best one I've had since breaking up with M. M. and I barely kissed anymore anyway. We pecked and smootched but making out like normal couples do hasn't happened in ages. I think we forgot how, which is obviously the sign of a relaitonship in severe distress.

J. invites me to his place and before I know it, we are hot and heavy on his couch. Unfortunately, I am wearing the ugliest grandma underwear I own, a ratty bra under my t-shirt, and haven't shaved my legs or bikini long since God knows when. He doesn't seem to mind. We stop short of having sex (I'm so mature!) because he doesn't have a condom, but we definitely get down with pretty much everything else and it's damn good. We both come a couple of times and get into his bed. I'm reluctant to sleep over since his breath doesn't draw me like M.'s does (it's a little musty to tell the truth: I am getting so into BREATH lately, what's up with me??). But admittedly, it's very very very nice to snuggle up with a guy who thinks I am hot and his cat and fall asleep. I woke up like two hours later at 8am, so freaking hungover I thought I would die. His apartment was about a thousand degrees and I remember that right before we got into bed, he said something about me telling him a secret and he would tell me one. That's a little wierd and movie-of-the-week-ish, but whatever.

And anyway, I already told him mine: that I had fucked my former (and his current) boss! M. would die if he knew that one!


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