Debauchery and Dating 101

Ok I’m fired from dating. And I’m fired from drinking. I’m fired from drinking and dating at the same time. Seriously. Technically the events that took place last night were not all my fault…

First of all, my date (the cute boy toy I met at the mall the other day) stressed that he wanted me to save my appetite until 7, but was late. Since he was running late, I decided to go over to my girl’s job (a dive bar) and have a drink while I was waiting.

No worries, I’ll preserve my appetite with liquor.

Let me tell you, plopping down at a bar while saying in a bitter tone, “I’m going to cut off my vagina and sell it on eBay,” will get you a free drink. I finished my first drink and was still waiting on my date.

I must have either looked a) miserable or b) easy, because another guy came over and told my girl my next drink was on him. She suggested a drink since I’ve been so into rum lately. I didn’t know at the time, but this bitch gave me a drink with Coconut Malibu, redbull, pineapple juice and a 151 floater. What!? Let me tell you, me and 151 go way back and we don’t get along. 151 makes me feel and act like Johnny Depp in FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS. For real, the room is spinning and I’d like to get off please.

So anyway, I finished my second drink right when my date calls me. I tell him he might as well come pick me up since he is just around the corner. We go to dinner and I have a Mai Tai. Yup. Sure did. By now I’m getting kind of loud and honest. I’m seriously leaning over to this old Indian dude at the bar, next to me, (not my date) and flirting? Yes, fucking flirting. Gheezus.

After dinner I tell my date to take me back to the bar because I’m going to just spend the rest of the night out with some friends. He’s like, “no, I’m going with you.” Um ok, hop on cowboy, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

When we get back to the bar, my friend calls me and says he’s at the local college hangout spot. I convince my date (who is sober, btw) to drive me over there. We get there and it’s actually crackin’. There’s a DJ and we head straight for the dance floor. I start shakin’ my ass like I’m auditioning for a music video. Except, I don’t think I would have got the part.

Let me sum up the night:

I yelled at my date at some point to, “get me a fucking drink!” (Ah such a lady). After my date and I finally parted ways, I drunk dialed my ex. I hopped my ex’s fence. (AGAIN) And passed out on his doorstep. I woke up at about 5am freezing, wondering how and where and what the fuck just happened!

Like I said, fired.