The Chick Who Offended My Vagina

Remember before the holiday when I got all mushy talking about a potential bisexual experience? Well the b*tch never called me. So all my curiosity about eating box flew right out the window.

Then similar to the time I had one too many vodka cranberries in a karaoke bar, ya know, the place where the fat guy slouched over the bar for half the night, suddenly gets up and feels the need sing ten Nickleback songs in a row? Yeah, that place. The same karaoke bar where I met (stumbled upon) a guy who later turned me into a pretzel and stuck random gardening tools up my ass. (Don’t tell me this hasn’t happened to anyone else before)…Well like I was saying, the chances of reenacting that experience is parallel to the fact that I bumped into the same chick at the bar Saturday night.

Coincidence? Maybe. Small world? I think not. Me drunk again? Yes, of course.

Let me just say for the record I was on fire that night. I had guys whispering things in my ear like, “Let me buy you two drinks” and “I like your weave” all night. I didn’t get any numbers, but I did get a couple of room keys. Wait a minute, now I get it. Damn. Ok so what I was dressed like a hooker at a pimp convention on 5th street and I watch enough TMZ to know how to correctly flash my vagina. (Thanks Britney!)

Anyway, the chick that hit on me a couple weeks ago was there and she was all up in my ass. No you sick people! Not literally in my ass, she was just jockin’ the goods. She kept trying to dance and rub up on me, while whispering in my ear, “damn girl your bad, your bad.” I’m sorry just because you have a vagina doesn’t mean anything. You got my number and you didn’t call, so stop rubbing up on me. I’m going to treat you like any other man. I demand an explanation! I’m a catch b*tch!

So she starts telling me her see-what-had-happened-was story about how she didn’t want to scare me, blah, blah, blah something about how amazing I am, blah, blah, blah. I know, I know, get to the point. Basically there was no point, so I brushed her off and she spent the rest of the night stalking me. Relentlessly trying to get me into the bathroom so we could make out.

No, I didn't go! It takes three not two drinks to get my shirt off and my tongue out.

At the end of the night she found me again only to remind me that she still had my number and this time she was going to call. I’m so sure and Ms Puddin’ has had gardening tools up her ass before, gah! It doesn't matter if she calls or not, I'm over it. I think I was just caught up in the moment.

So much for the vagina, it's back to the penis...