This weekend was my last chance to party in NYC before I head out to Hell-A for work. In order to give me a proper burial that included one final taste of Ray's Pizza, Hurricane came out for the funeral procession. We decided to leave my mark on as many Manhattan neighborhoods as we could manage, until we either passed out from lack of sleep/too much alcohol or collapsed due to the 118 degree (!) heat index. Unfortunately, that bitch Mother Nature had also altered her plans to revolve around me, and, with a combination of my immediate departure, the scorching temperature and my debilitating "physical problems" I wasn't exactly looking for my next Captain America, ifyougetwhatimsayin.
Since guys never notice that I'm alive and I rarely get hit on, I figured this probably wasn't going to be an issue.
Hurricane and I chose our first destination mainly due to the fact that the wind chill had dipped to a frigid 98 degrees and we were basically looking for somewhere- anywhere- where the doors closed all the way. As soon as we stepped inside, we got accosted by some a-hole in a business shirt. That's almost as bad as Ed Hardy as far as bar outfits go, BTW. After I had entertained this jerkoff for no more than five minutes he "suggested" that I accompany him back to his apartment.
He actually said to me, "I'll be honest, I want to hook up with you." I told him that it was pretty obvious, as from ten feet away he probably wasn't attracted to my scintillating personality. He then advised that we skip the usual conversation and date part. What an incredible asshole.
I politely turned him down and he asked me to "explain my logic." Dbag. I said that I wasn't going to go home with a guy I just met five minutes ago and he immediately went into some philosophical rant about how that's not a good reason because
1) I can Google him and find out that he's not a serial killer and
2) he would be totally open to having some kind of friendship/relationship afterward.
I told him I didn't want to see him afterward, let alone right now, and also judging from this conversation he probably had body parts in his closet. He also said he detected some kind of "physical attraction," unless he was off. I replied that he was off. He added that I hadn't told him to fuck off yet, so I "obviously felt something." I told him I feel like I'm interested in this conversation because I find it hilarious and I want to see where else he's trying to go with this. I also wanted to know, BTW, who wrote his scripts.
PS- I should have told him that he was about to "feel" my knee in his crotch. I always think of the best shit when it's too late!
Then he told me that he would be the best hook-up I ever had. I laughed in his face. I told him that the fact that I said no 800 times and he's still harassing me is enough to get me to never go anywhere with him, ever, except the nearest precinct. Also I admit the that I kept the conversation going partially so I could be a total bitch.
Then, just when I thought I was safe, he countered with, "here's what we should do. Hook up." I proclaimed that here's what I should do- then I grabbed Hurricane, put our drinks on a table, and exited stage right. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him make a beeline for another, even younger girl who I almost thought about saving but I decided not to push it since I was already in the clear.
After that we decided to stick to places
I had previously gotten loaded at and may have already made out with somebody already knew and loved. We chose one of the West Village music venues and this time it was Hurricane's turn to meet some guy who, while decidedly pretty cute, was not taking the RealFeel all that great, while I agreed to play wingwoman. I talked to this dude's friend for a while before I realized he was a total creeper. After a while he started yelling that he just HAD to see me again and he offered to give me a job at his company to get me to stay in NYC. I was terrified that he was going to offer to marry me. I was almost ready to smash my glass on the ground just so I could stab myself with one of the shards until I happened to look to my left for some assistance and realized that Hurricane's future alimony check had a much hotter friend OH HAAAAI.
As it turned out, dude turned out to be from Toronto, which I could tell immediately because he actually said "ABOOT" and "EH." HAHAHAHAHA! That is amazing! (PS, Tabs- I asked him if he knew you and he said no. If he wasn't a total Canada stereotype I would have assumed he was lying because everyone knows you.)
Despite the fact that he looked almost EXACTLY like Peyton Manning but way hotter and with a decidedly more perfect nose, Canadian Bacon of course was a hockey fan , so we traded barbs about the Rangers vs. the Leafs. As a Blue Jays fan, he also harbored a disdain for the Yankees (sorry, Tits), so I decided right there that I was going to bear his perfect 6'3 children.
He asked for my number within five minutes and I felt kind of bad because this other dude was watching but hey, you snooze, you lose. It's not my fault that this guy implemented the MAC System.
Creeper Dude turned out to be a pussy that admitted defeat by just going home without saying goodbye or anything, so the rest of us- Hurricane, Sweatstack, Bacon and myself- went for late night mac and cheese. After a couple of hours, Hurricane and the Stack were heavily making out on some bench while I silently cursed my own bodily functions.
Hurricane had to get up super-early for work the next morning, so Bacon and I decided to hang out. Over the course of the night he had dropped hints that I was welcome to come back to his apartment, and I almost cried because STUPID STUPID PERIOD. When he finally asked me straight out to come home with him I made moving-related excuses because I was NOT telling some dude I just met about my womanly issues. It may have seemed kind of ballsy on his part to assume that I would just up and fuck him when I had known him for like, three hours; however, at this point we had already made out in the middle of the street and almost gotten hit by a car twice. So, uh, yeah. One can't exactly blame a guy for "going there."
Before you guys get all judge-y and shit keep in mind that again, I rarely get hit on and have not gotten any action in like three months AND there was vodka involved. I am usually not this big of a whore.
I did kind of like this guy and besides, his Canadian accent was hysterical and he let me make fun of him, and I didn't want to be that girl- you know, the girl that lets a guy grope her in the street and then is like, "Well, thanks for doing awesome shit with your hands there. See ya!" So I decided to come clean (Ha. Ha ha.) and tell him, "look, I wasn't going to say anything but I'm having girl issues. Like, GIRL ISSUES." After some minimal blinking, he figured out what I meant and basically told me he was cool with it if I was, and we could do "other stuff." Works for me! Let's get a cab!
NYC Cab Driver and Elevator Personnel- if you are reading this, I apologize. That is all.
The last time I was in a guy's apartment, he acted like a total pussy and pretended that he hadn't invited me there for a session of deep railing (no, I don't want a snack, just take off your damn pants already) so I was seriously impressed by how Bacon did not waste ANY TIME. He didn't offer me a drink or anything, he just turned off the bedroom light, picked me up and like, practically threw me on the bed (that shit hurts, yo. I'm small and frail. Like a Smurf).
Sidenote: his boxers said "Canada" on them. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
What I did not appreciate is how he kept telling me that there would be a "next time" and that he would pay me for me to fly back to New York whenever I wanted. I once hooked up with this guy I thought was my friend and I was expecting nothing else- just a fun night that could possibly (but probably not) lead to some interesting, sporadic hookups. The guy had the tendency (and by "tendency" I mean "constantly") to treat women like doggy chew toys, so I didn't even want it go any further. Then he totally ruined everything by declaring his "feelings" for me and spouting off a whole bunch of other shit that I knew wasn't true (he admitted it later), and basically treated me like all the little 20-year-olds that follow him around and actually believe that they're going to be his wife or something. It wasn't what he said that pissed me off, it was the fact that he said it. BTW, I did confront him about this and we no longer speak. Guys, seriously- not every girl needs you to fall in love with them. Some of us really just want to acquire a booty call or- try not to fall over- really do want what you refer to as a "hookup." Get over it.
Anyway, back to the Bacon. We had already come to the mutual agreement that we weren't going to do what he had previously referred to as EVERYTHING, although things were getting pretty hot (dude is a dirty talker, which I have to admit was making me curse my girly problems even more). What made it even worse for both of us is the fact that he had an immaculate bedroom and white sheets. We got as far as we possibly could without actually going as far as we possibly could. Bacon got a little stingy when it came to the give-and-take; like, we already knew I wasn't going to get any; but he expected me to do everything (and I mean everything) else? I think emphatically not. I wasn't that much of a hard-ass, but all his begging made it even worse and I almost walked out. Oh, also: what I got WAS pretty good, but the constant self-accolades were seriously annoying. I don't need a "preview," I get it. You're awesome. Let's move on.
Here's where the night got weird: My gross menstrual state left a lot to the imagination (hey, I was ABSOLUTELY willing; but I definitely understood his issues). I get that. Why, though, when he was totally willing to, ahem, make good use of his hands, was he so adamant about the no-sex clause? Wouldn't that be like, less disgusting? Was it a no-sheets thing? I don't know. That was totally bizarre. Has this ever happened to you guys? I'd really appreciate some insight here because I am seriously confused.
Oh, Canada. Thanks for tarnishing my final memory of my home and native land.
At least I have a hilarious story to blog about.