I really don't have any money. At all. *sigh*
But I did get a small infusion of cash from a one-day temporary assignment. And because I am a woman who knows her priorities, I used a good portion of it to go out and get fucking wasted! Unfortunately there are nothing but douche bags in the bars here. If you drink enough you can almost forget they exist, but not quite.
I began at the bar so as to watch Sportscenter (yes, I am one of those women), but once the super swarm of douches began I moved to the outdoor patio in the back yard. The disastrous and depressing nature of my reality struck me so hard that I did something I promised I would not: I bummed a cigarette.
T: "Hi, if I promise not to bother you again for as long as you live, do you think I could bum a cigarette from you?"
Nice Man (with a face like 10 year old!): "You can bother me all you want, and sure."
Hands me the cigarette, lights it for me, and I return to my table.
I work on finishing my Barleywine. Not as tasty as I would have liked, but they were out of my favorite IPA. I was so twisted hammered at this point that it hardly made any difference. Oh and what about my bus? Wasn't I supposed to catch the last bus? Fuck it. There's nothing like public transportation and drunkenness. Ask me how many times I rode the TransBay bus back to Oakland from The City wicked wasted? I once rode the TransBay bus home sober after a night out. I'm pretty sure that the driver and I were the only sober people on the bus (but I could have been mistaken as I had boarded many a bus in Oakland upon which I was greeted with the sweet herbal smell of . . . stuff, and there were no other people on the bus except the driver, and the driver was a bit too mirthy and cheerful. At least more cheerful than bus drivers in Oakland usually are, but I digress). Anyway, being sober on a TransBay bus is fun shit. You look around and feel like you're in a Night of the Living Dead movie. Everyone is slack-eyed, slurring their speech, and on the verge of falling asleep. And yes, sometimes vomit happens. Not cool.
So I was at the douche bag bar last night having realized that I missed my direct bus and was probably going to end up riding the owl bus home drunk. Not necessarily a bad thing, except for the fact that it meant I'd still have about 1 mile to walk because the public transportation here sucks hairy donkey balls. It's shit.
Instead, I thought I'd return to the Boy-Man who gave me the cigarette and ask for another. He appeared to be sitting alone and when I'm drunk I like to talk, talk, and talk. But mostly I just wanted another ciggy.
He was a nice boy. He endured my drunken diatribes about men, the suckworthiness of my hometown, the heat, and whatever else it was I may have pretended to have some knowledge about. I don't know. I was too drunk to care.
At the end of the night he offered me a ride home! And then he gave me a lecture about how I needed to realize my life is not nearly as bad as I believed it to be. I wanted to punch him in the nose.
WHAT DO YOU KNOW???? YOU'RE A KID!!!! You're a kid, you've got your whole life ahead of you! You don't know what it's like to live my shit of a life!!!
I suppressed the urge to engage in such an unfair display. Instead, propelled by the power of booze, I told him he was "sweet" and kissed him. Like REALLY kissed him. Ahem. I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking. I didn't even find him attractive. I mean, he was 25 to my 31 and had a face like a 10 year old. And well, I'm not even over Mr. TO1. More about him in another blog. I guess I kissed Boy Man so that Mr. TO1. wouldn't be the last man I had kissed.
I woke up this morning wanting to see Mr. TO1. more than anything. But why waste time thinking about someone who is not thinking about you . . . again. Will I ever learn?
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