the night i became a huge lesbian

Tonight I walked into my room only to greet my roommate in tears. By that I mean that she wasn't in tears, but I was. I had pretty much the worst day ever, and now I've decided that I'm 100% gay...but only for one girl: her name is Mary Jane, she is smokin' and she fucks me up all the time... :-)

Yes, that's right. I cannot WAIT to go home to trade men for weed. Weed kills my sex drive, and since I love sex like I love weed, you can imagine how difficult not smoking weed makes life for me. It is so much easier to smoke a joint than try to find someone worth doing it with! It's truly been challenging.

However, since I've been in New York, I have done it with a guy who is pretty cute and normal and whatnot. He is funny and also has a huge wang. A regular dude. Just how I like 'em. Sounds alright? Yeah it is. Anyhow, I was planning on making dinner for him tonight, (which also includes getting laid, of course) after a professional engagement earlier in the evening. This fell through when he got tickets to the Yankees game. Was I thrilled that my dinner plans were shot? Of course not, Broseph is fine company and all. Do I blame him? No. I'd say it'd be pretty fuckin' cool to go to a Yankees game. I always have an awesome time at Reds games and the Reds blow, so I can only imagine what the Yankees would be like.

Anyhow, plans changed (and my day had sucked long before this, after eating space cakes and all the night before) and since I left my previous engagement with a bit of a buzz, I decided to keep on drinking at a nearby bar. There, I ordered 2 pints and chatted on and off with the bartender. He commented, "It looks like you've had a bad day." Yes indeed, sir. We chatted for a while, and he was super interesting...like, into archaeology and such. There's nothing like meeting a man who knows more useless, dead languages than I do!

When I asked for my check, he wouldn't take my card. He told me that it was on him. Pretty sweet - I wasn't going to argue with this! I thanked him, and walked down the street in the direction of my place. I hadn't eaten since 8 AM, when I woke up high and made a big and bangin' bowl of kick ass cereal. I walked past an italian restaurant that had a neat menu, and got the idea that since I'd conjured up the confidence to have beers by myself, that I could eat out by myself. Anyway, roommate and friends had already had dinner.

I walk up to the bar and sit by a business man who could be my father. As I pulled my chair out beside him, I greeted him and smiled, as I would for anyone. He flashed a wee smile back, then went on with his business. I had just gotten my order in when this gentleman asked for his check and left shorly thereafter.

During my meal, I once again chatted with bartenders and again had a great time. When I asked for my check, the bartender told me that "that man sitting next to you told us to put anything you got on his tab," WTF? Seriously, a complete stranger, to whom I never engaged in conversation, just bought me dinner? Badass! But I didn't get to thank him. (I am contemplating posting a "Thank You" to him on Craigslist's Missed Connections).

Basically, my shit day wasn't so shitty anymore. I'd just gotten a night out on the courtesy and kindness of others. It was very strange how it worked out, and I was thinking about this strangeness as I walked out of the restaurant; how surreal and bizarre it seemed to have a stranger pick up your tab. I remember thinking to myself, "Life is a balance, nothing exists without a counter. Is this good karma coming back to me from my shitty day, or is bad karma getting ready to bitchslap me?"

While I was thinking this, standing at a corner for the walk sign, a young, short, drunk Indian man walks up to me and says in a SOUTHERN accent:

"Excuse me Miss. Is there anywhere around here I can go for a drink without havin' to be around and FREAKS or FAGGOTS?"

This guy caught me completely off-guard...who the fuck just stops a chick on a street corner and says this? His accent was officially thicker than mine. He was well-dressed, and the first Indian with a southern accent that I'd ever met. This affected two of my soft spots:

1. My affinity for brown people (ex. my college roommate was Indian!)
2. He had my accent. I am not gonna lie, this guy was not attractive, but his voice was the most comforting thing I'd heard in a while.

I hadn't heard anyone use both "freaks" and "faggots" in the same sentence since...well, since I was back in the Bluegrass State, probably! At any rate, I decided that he was worth 2 or 3 minutes of my time to direct him to the bar I had left just a little while before meeting him. Instead of taking my directions and parting ways, he invited me to come with him. When I explained that my roommate was waiting on me, he explained that my roommate could wait, and that he "owed me a drink for being so kind to him." Dear god he was the most persistent man I've ever met: after I politely declined the invitation several times, several different ways, he finally grabbed my hand and literally dragged me into this swanky lounge.

It was at this point that I realized this Karma was akin to a big black anal-only wang. The worst thing in the whole world. This guy, an Indian redneck named Hans (this is not his alias, it is his real f'n name), is the most ridiculous person I have met in my entire life and I mean this in the worst way possible. An entire hour of my life was spent in this tragic situation, where literally this 32 year old guy off the street poured his heart out to me about his recently deceased father and uncle, his mother (who he referred to as "THE CUNT"), his ungrateful sister who he financially supports, his slutty ex-girlfriend (more on her below) and his engineering job that he hates.

As if this wasn't bad enough, he felt the need to impress me with mention of his 6 figure salary and outlandish career aspirations. I recorded some of his most ridiculous quotes for the soul purpose of blogging about how fuckin' retarded they were:

Hans: "I used to play tennis and, it's a true fact, I could have gone pro, and not have been behind a desk and screen. Can you guess how I know this?"
Me: "How?"
H: I beat a guy, who once beat Pete Sampras."

Then, in reference to his "mad bitches and scrilla," he said:

H: "You know, I'm making real good money up here, but I'm sending it all home to my ungrateful sister and mother. All the women in my field are all divorced in their 30's or 40's and they know how much money I make. They also want an outlet to release their sexual energy, and they know how athletic I used to be, so I feel taken advantage of pretty often." (He said this in a way that suggested I'm supposed to pity a 32 year old bachelor who is successful AND getting laid more than a 23 year old chick?! What fuckin' nerve!)

He went on for a while about his "athletic ability" (he was chubby, we'll leave it at this):

H:"I was once a serious tennis player, you know - back when I was in shape and the captain of all the teams and stuff...Now, I'm using my talents differently and I think I can be just as successful as Andre Agassi or Pete Sampras in a different arena where I've still got plenty of time to make the most of my skills: I have already secured some corporate sponsorship to start my career in stock car racing."

So this Indian redneck wants to DRIVE in fuckin' NASCAR?! At this point, I was holding in my abdomen because I was laughing violently on the inside of my body. It got super surreal at this point, and I felt like this experience was so unbelievable that it couldn't be reality. Unfortunately, it was. He proceeded to tell me about how awesome he was at driving a car going 200 mph, and how he had been clocked going better times than Jeff Gordon. The big kicker: He said that he wanted to show me one of the "designs" for some sort of memorabilia that he was having made. So, he pulls out this dramatic, 8 X 10 headshot of him staring, seductively into the camera lens. At the bottom in Times New Roman font is his name and car number, aligned off-center. It had obviously been produced in microsoft word. horrible....

This whole time, I'm just getting more and more pissed that I've wasted part of my life that I will never be able to get back talking to this loser. To piss me off more, I discover in our conversation that:

1. He is not a southerner. He is from Pittsburgh (and I hate the Steelers, to boot!) He picked up the accent when he worked in Tampa for a few years. (A southern boy would never be this fuckin' weird)
2. He never remembered that I was from KY, and kept thinking that I was from Ohio or Pennsylvania. Repeatedly, he said things like, "You're just a good ol' hometown Ohio girl, and I like that." and I wanted to kick him in the crotch every time. I can't think of anything worse to say to me, really.

Finally, the girlfriend story: He explained to me that he had a girlfriend who cheated on him, got pregnant on purpose, and had another man's child while they were dating, all for attention. I finally had to be really super firm with this guy and basically ran off. It was like some Jerry Springer shit, and it really fucked with me.

HOW DO I MEET PEOPLE LIKE THIS?!

I was quite devastated by the whole experience with this fucktard, and as I said from the beginning, I walked in my apartment teary-eyed, just a little disgruntled by the entire experience. Only 3 days left in NYC, and after this BS I'm not too sad about it....

I want tea that is made sweet to drink by my pool where creeps like this would get their asses kicked. I want a night at Bobby Mackey's, my kitchen, my ferret, my comfy bed, biergartens, pizza from Hoo Ha's, rivers that aren't the Hudson, peace and quiet.