drunk+

This is a very special post. Yesterday marks my blog-iversary; one year of drama! I must dedicate this post to Ray Ray and Rachel… the Fister Sisters.

I have two parallel tales to share. We’ll begin with Ray Ray; who has so eloquently been named ‘Ten Finger Mary’. My wife is no lady, on the street or between the sheets. She’s been seeing a new guy, who is turning out to be a kinkster himself. You know, the usual stuff: Stickin’ his P in her V, sometimes in the A, and always between her T’s. That’s all a given, but add alcohol… among other things, to the equation and something magical happens.

Man Hands (Ray Ray’s boyfriend-ish thing) asked if she was ok. In her state of euphoria, she said yes and asked if she shouldn’t be. He continued at his diligent work down-under. It wasn’t until the next morning that Ray Ray realized what had happened. Man Hands was a fan of the FB. That’s not fuck buddy or facebook, I’m talking about the finger bang. We remember Ray Ray had gotten three plump fingers not that long ago. Apparently that wasn’t enough, oh no. Man hands got not five… not seven… but all ten fingers in! That’s five in the front and five in the butt, which makes Ray Ray like a living sex puppet. Perhaps I should call him the puppet master, but we’ll reserve that title for when he starts doing dick tricks.

Tale two: I ventured out with PETA for a night of drunken debauchery. I was drunk before I left the house, following in the footsteps of my wife, I added the plus by the second club. At club number three I made my way to the bar. For the first time ever there was no line. I had managed to miss last call by two hours the bartender informed. He then proceeded to ask if I danced, we’re talking about stripping now. I laughed it off and he told me if I wanted to “dance” at The Cock, I could drink myself silly for free. In my drunk+ state I told him I’d do it, well knowing I would be out of town the Sunday he was inviting me. To be honest, I’d probably do it. I have no shame when it comes to taking my cloths off; it’s too hot to wear them right now as it is.

Back on the dance floor, a couple started circling me like prey on road kill. I tried my best to avoid the duo of dicks, but I was no match for their aggressive tactics. I was sandwiched between them before I knew what had happened. We danced for a minute, one of them kissing on me with his awful smoker’s breath, the other whispering in my ear to come home with them. I wasn’t immediately turned off until he told me they lived in Harlem. No… I don’t go that far uptown when I have to go home to Brooklyn. I laughed and told them no, finally breaking free when kissy guy tried to stick a finger in my B! Ok… ok, this is a dance floor, not a pick ‘em and stick ‘em event. 

I ran after PETA picking up a life-size penis balloon on the way. I shoved it off on a stranger when the friend of my disappointed dance partners approached me. He asked if I liked big dicks. He seemed shocked when I said no. Is that so strange, must every gay man be obsessed with peters? I haven’t had sex in months and I really wasn’t interested in giving up to any of these douche nozzles.

Long story short, it was incredibly (drunk) fun. Well worthy of being my anniversary post. Here’s to the next year! 

Priority Seating

Happy 4^th of July to everyone! I’ve celebrated twice this week, which means I’ll be staying home tonight to recover.

Candy Mountain and I ventured out to metro once again for drinks and pool. I was about three beers in when I realized that my PBR (Poor Bitch Rum) was only $2! I knew it was cheap, but in all the time I’ve been drinking it there, I had no idea what a deal it was. In an effort to get my money’s worth, I started double fisting them (no gay jokes on the fisting). That’s when Candy Mountain started talking to some girl alone by the pool table.

It took probably two seconds before I hijacked my new Lesbi-Friend from him. I’m a big fan of the vagina club, and when there’s a non-flannel-pennis-approving-lesbian around… I wanna play with her! My Lesbi-Friend scored major points when she mentioned PBR was her favorite beer. Also, she lives on the Lower East Side and was escaping the city for Brooklyn. I first asked if she was lost, but loved her for loving the BK.

The three of us played pool, Lesbi and I drank ourselves happy, and then Candy Mountain and I left. We left our new friend in the hands of some very interesting looking lesbians. It’s interesting that lesbians tend to play more heterosexual roles; one is usually lipstick and the other butch. Gay couples seem to be paired with guys just like them: flaming for flaming, butch for butch, and bitch for little bitch. 

Night two brought me to The Animator and his friend Brian. Maybe it’s our similar names, but this guy just didn’t click with me. Other than the fact that he was on the prowl for some penis, he was a tad overly bitchy (which I would know something about). However, we made our way over to The Ritz, where I started drinking and they continued.

I don’t like being behind on the drinking game. In order for me to catch up, I pounded the beer The Animator handed me and snuck away to find another. Four more beers and several jello shots had me in that happy place everyone likes to go. You know, the one where you either turn into the depressed suicidal person, or the infectiously happy person. I also don’t like being the least slutty person in the crowd. I’d much rather be the drunken girl that smokes the wrong end of a cigarette and knows this song is totally about her. 

The issue I was having was my backpack. It weighed a ton and there was no coat check because I’m the only person that carries their life around in a bag out of fear it will be stolen from their apartment. With my bag on I flipped my shirt over my head, beer in hand, I moved to the dance floor. I love the attention people give you when they think there’s the chance you might be drunk enough for them to have a shot at taking you home. Delusion is pretty.

The Animator and I left his friend, who was still searching for that special penis to sit on, hopping on the train. I didn’t realize how late it was until I got off the train and the sun was up. That’s how I know I had a good time. Love that Brooklyn sunrise.