The night of the Pink Elephant, among other things

Of course, we couldn’t go out to a club without our French connection! We prepartied with my favorite French girls before we went out. Once again, we smoked joints, did more Adderall and drank too much booze on top of this awesome roof that overlooks the city. After getting pretty fucked up, we headed to this dance club that my friends got us into.

The club we went out to was super hyped: The Pink Elephant. It has been featured in the Times, People, US Weekly, OK Magazine and a bunch of other celeb publications because it's where people like P-Diddy, Jessica Simpson, Drew Barrymore, ect. go for after-parties. It's webby can be found here, if you're interested. On the surface this club looks super glam, but I beg to differ. One would expect to see beautiful people all over, but it was really a bunch of average looking people with lots of cash to spend on ten-dollar beers. I was SO glad to already be drunk and high when I went!

Broseph and his friends met us there and got in with us. A little later, a couple of his other friends tried to get in with little success. I went to talk to the European doorman to try to convince him that they should get in, and he said:

“Have you seen this guy? He is too drunk. Look into his eyes if you don’t believe me. Also, he is wearing the worst polo shirt that I have ever seen.”

So word to the wise: Don’t wear a polo shirt out anywhere there may be pretentious Europeans judging your appearance.

After this, I pretty much blacked out. I mean, I remember parts of the night and I’ve retained a vague chronology of events. I remember meeting an arab guy in the bathroom, dancing on a platform of some sorts and watching a tiny brown friend of Bro’s (we have decided to call him Paco) tenaciously hit on Lou Lou while she looked in the other direction. However, there are mysterious points of transition between the night’s activities for which I have no memory or explanation. How did we get from the club to Broseph’s? Cab, I assume, but I don’t know for sure because I don’t even remember leaving the dance club. I do remember that even being black-out drunk, I still wasn’t as drunk as Lou Lou! She successfully replaced Tew as the drunkest of the evening.
This claim is supported by the fact that she completely passed out on Broseph’s mini couch. Like, out cold. I think we poked her for a while, and she still didn’t move. The only time she indicated that she was still alive was when the love of her life Paco randomly walked into the apartment, perhaps to make a last-ditch effort to get laid, and she mysteriously intuited his presence in the room. So, she lifted up her head, opened her eyes halfway to look at Paco, then made a really disgruntled face before she smacked her head back down to the sofa armrest where it had previously laid. I’m not so sure she was feelin’ him…

Broseph and I excused ourselves from the group to do things that drunken horny people tend to do when they are drunk and horny. Tew was still cracked out on Adderall, so she chilled with a cute little roommate. Lou Lou passed out alone on the couch. Night all.

The next morning, however, was full of questions and surprising answers! The first was, of course, “Where the hell am I?” I look over to see a sleeping Broseph, which answered that question. Next on my list: “Where are my friends?!” The boys had guests, their apartment is small and there is literally nowhere to sleep unless you are sharing a bed. Uh oh….

I walked to the common room fingers crossed that I would see my friends passed out on the love seats. Instead of my friends sleeping there, these people I had never seen before were straight snoozin’ away. I started to really worry. I tried calling them, with no luck the first time around. Bro told me to knock on the other bedroom doors, which made me nervous as hell because there could have been some real weird shit happening on the other side of those doors.

I knocked and walked in, to find Lou Lou in fine form: in bed with the roommate who couldn’t meet us at the club because he was with Mr. Polo shirt. She was clearly wearing his clothes (a fraternity t-shirt, like she was shackin’ up 2004 style) and they were all cuddled up. It was weird, but I was still drunk so I joined them for a minute and we tried to piece together the evening.

To our best knowledge, Lou Lou was discovered by her bed buddy while she was passed out on the couch. He thought she was the “sick girl” and knew that guests were coming to crash on the couches. So, to be a gentleman he offered her a comfortable place in his bed. Isn’t that nice? Stepping up to take care of the “sick girl” is quite admirable. In fact, he took excellent care of her, as she got face and a back massage. This guy is totally good looking, too! Seriously, what the fuck? That’s pretty much the best deal ever! I wondered if I was fucking the wrong roommate?! :-)

We got our crap together and left, looking like complete and total shit. We took photos to record how shitty we looked. I sorta resembled a tall, blonde, white female version of Tyrone Biggums. It was absolutely horrific, and we didn’t feel any better than we looked. Tragically, it was another jointless morning and there was no bud in our future, either. I just can't live like this...
Fuckin’ Tew had a very different experience. Because she’s not used to taking Addy (like LL and myself) she stayed up all night chatting up this guy who was nice enough/drunk enough to entertain her. What a sport he was! (Not saying that Tew isn't absolutely delightful in conversation - at a normal hour she has fabulous things to say) Considering the situation - Everyone else is getting action or passing out after drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol - and he's talking about the fuckin' economy with a chick who's not passing out until 7 AM, if at all. Thinking about this makes me giggle a lot.

We began to discuss our evening toward the end of our cab ride home, when our cab driver (who didn’t speak a word to us the whole time) finally stopped blaring Daft Punk on the radio. Tew was like, “That guy (we might as well just call him "The Listener") was so nice…blah blah blah….we talked about politics and had a really great conversation all night…blah blah blah” (which, I’m sure he was SO delighted, after a night of drinking, to end up with the cracked-out talkative girl who has a boyfriend – sorry dude…) So as we’re paying and getting out of the cab, Lou Lou is talking about how disgraceful we (she and I) are, and when I stepped out of the cab, I said (as I usually do after a good night):

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I had an AWESOME time. I mean, I even got laid..”

I said this not realizing that the foreign cab driver, who hadn’t spoken to us the entire time and hadn’t driven away, did in fact have his windows rolled down. After clearly hearing me say this, he sticks his head out of the window and yells, “GOOD FOR YOU!” and waves goodbye with a shitty grin on his face. This was the cherry on top of it all.

NYC update

My professor is late on the day that she specifically noted no one could be late. This is also the day that I could have used extra sleep, since I was drinking whiskey and smoking blunts into the wee hours of the night.

I only have two more days and nights in the city, and I'm feeling pretty bittersweet about it. There's so much here that I could do without, and so much that I'm going to miss a WHOLE lot.

Things I can do without:
pigeons
filth
air conditioners dripping on me in the streets
homeless people
shitty apartment
expensive shit
crappy gym
not having immediate access to grass

Things I will miss:
never having to drive
convenience of having any kind of food you want in 10 minutes, delivered
going out every night
all the art...EVERYWHERE
cute boys all around
my new friends!

Last night was one of the best nights I've had so far - I finally felt in my element! We (roommate and frenchies) started drinking whiskey and cokes at 7, continued for hours then went to smoke a blunt with a group of cute stoner dudes from Cornell. They were totally fun, not creepy at all and I think just impressed that a girl they never expected to be a pot head was burnin' with them. I love that kind of reaction. My accent of course came out thick and I'm pretty sure that was a bit shocking as well. More on this and the blog about the Pink Elephant night in the works and posted later on today

Shake Shack on Crack

After our Bourbon-drunk night at the comedy club, we woke up at the crack of noon, struggling to shower and barely moving. We had to take a bunch of Adderall just to get out of bed. The best idea we could come up with for the afternoon was to go to Shake Shack. Shake Shack is this burger hut in Madison Square park that everyone exalts and praises as the best burgers in the city. The line is always a mile long. experience of waiting in this fucking line after drinking an absurd amount of alcohol the night before was less like a horrible hangover and more like going on a sacral pilgrimage in the year 1250 after you’ve been flogged for 16 hours straight. Sucky, at best.

However, when we got this food, we were fueled to shamelessly shop uptown for shit we didn’t need through the afternoon until the evening, when we decided to go out to a club. This is a picture of us after filling our bellies with the greasy goodness that re-ignited our spirits for shopping, drinking and dancin' like fools!

Fierce girls night out-Round One

I cannot give my undivided attention to a bald man with buckteeth named Weiner. I have inherent issues with this. I also have huge issues with the people in my class asking stupid questions. This is supposed to be a respectable university, and I feel like I’m surrounded by mongoloids. You should not be in a program to prepare you for a career in fine art and tangible investments without at least some understanding of lending practices, hedging, and the other things that people with high net worth do with their scrilla. I find it much more beneficial to use this time to write on my blog about my awesome weekend with girlfriends.

Lou Lou and Tew (the second Tocaya) came down from Boston to spend a weekend with me in the city. The first night, we got a late start on our bourbon drinking, so had to play some serious catch-up. We easily killed a bottle of Maker’s Mark and did a reasonable amount of damage to our box of white wine before we went to see a new friend of mine (the cute comic) perform at the Village Lantern.
We, of course, laughed our asses off, kept buying rounds of beers and stayed around to drink with our funny friend and his roommates. We did happen to sneak a water bottle full of bourbon into this bar, that we took pulls off of all night, and also mixed with some overpriced cokes (they cost more than our beers! See photo). While dancing at this bar, Tew managed to stumble/twirl about 15 feet across the dance floor, knocking over a high top bar table that was surrounded by several handsome foreign men whose beers she nearly killed all over them and everyone around. Imagine that!

Stumbling out of the bar, we walked to our pal’s apartment and drank beers until 5 AM. Tew was trashed and tired, and she kept falling asleep sitting upright. When we would holler at her, “Get your game up! Stop sleepin’ Tocaya!”

She would sorta open her drunk eyes, and utter, “Hey hey…I’m just tryin’ it out.” then closed her eyes to continue her sleeping upright. Cab took us home and we slept on top of each other in my crappy little apartment.

This wee Indian will fuck you up!

Shamelessly kickin' ass and taking names, this was the funniest thing I've seen all day. I wish I could hang from some jerk's tie and slap him around a bit! Check this:


*this is the counterpart to the wee boy's awesome dance video that was popular back in fall of 2006.

BEEEEEEJAAAAAY !!!!!!

Dear Spiral Chaos,

Thank you for, as always, sending me awesome videos. You know the ridiculous extent of my youtube infatuation! I miss you, and when I return in just a few more days, we will eat ridiculous veggie burgers drunk at 3 AM and they will be delish. Tell joz and boris i said wazup...and keep it real like always.

xoxo
QoK

ps- sorry if i worried you with any crazy texts. Next blog will be explanatory of the situation.

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.

Baking and Getting Baked in the City

My dinner plans last night fell through, and I somehow managed to make an entire meal of pot brownies (or le gateau de l'autre galaxie en francais. Literal translation = "cake from another galaxy" also known as "space cakes"). Yes, plural. I ate 5 of them, more than 12 hours ago. I still feel a little strange. The course of events:

My friends have a sweet apartment with a great patio. On this patio, we managed to ingest an entire tray of pot brownies (a couple remain, and their date of consumption is yet to be determined). They take a while to kick in, so while we waited, we smoked a joint and drank some beers. It was a gorgeous night and it was fabulous to look out at the skyline and just chat. Some of the things we discussed at length (that I of course recorded on my trusty notepad):

Weiner fart (I can't remember the context, but I do remember laughing a whole, whole lot about it)
Butt-Sweat guy - there is a guy from school whose ass sweats so much during the day that it actually soaks through his khakis. He, of course, sits in front of us and provides us with ample material to talk shit about. He has an attitude problem, so it's completely justified.
Laxative brownies - I told the story about when I was 14, my friend and I baked ex-lax chocolates into chocolate cupcakes and took them as a gift to our class. One guy ate 4 of them, and kept having to go to the bathroom during class. Every time he returned to the classroom, he would be panting or sweating profusely, as if he had been working very hard. I was a bad kid...

AND...
We were talking about expressions for big dicks in french and english. I explained the term coined by my best friend Minnie, "Parasitic Twin" (see previous blog entry concerning this term). I learned a good one in french, le bras d'enfant, which translates literally to "the arm of a child". I got a pretty good laugh out of that. (Note: similar reference in the 3rd Austin Powers movie can be found in the clip below, if you're interested in a wee laugh)


After giggling for a while, we began to notice some strange things. Laetitia contemplated the feasibility of flight. Clem would look up into the sky, thinking she saw airplanes that were not in fact there. She continued to see these airplanes when she went inside, in her bedroom. As for me, I felt stoned to the status quo - my usual giggly stoned...until I left their apartment. That is when shit just got totally too weird.

As if I'm not already out of my element in NYC, It's nearly 1 AM on a Sunday night in the lower east side of Manhattan. No one was out on the streets, and I couldn't even find a cab! It was desolate, except for a couple Chinese people creeping around in the city shadows, doing whatever Chinese people do after midnight. I really didn't want to take the subway home, but I saw no taxis and the station was right in front of me. Also right in front of me was a McDonald's, that looked delectable.

That's how I know I'm really super duper stoned. I will never deny loving food, but I also like to cook it, so I know exactly what's up. McDonald's is an atypical choice for me. Put it this way: I am an SLR McLaren, fueling with lean protein and fresh produce. McDonald's is low 87 octane shit food for Civics and Tercels. Not what I fuel this body with... But somehow, a cheeseburger just seemed so perfect! I grabbed one and head to the subway.

It was late, so the trains were pretty scarce. I sat down to eat my burger and wait. I soon realized that I was the only female in the station, and some pretty wicked paranoia set in. My inner monologue went like this:

These men are all around me, and I am the only female in the whole place. Is this guy next to me looking at me, thinking "she's got a vagina,"? What about the one over there pacing, talking to himself? Stop looking. Holy shit you will die if you don't stop looking at these fuckin' weirdos. I bet they all have knives. Grandad once demonstrated to me how to knife fight, so I could maybe hold my own, maybe. Or something. Oh shit, you're real fuckin high -how did this happen? You never wig out like this. Those fuckin' cakes....were delish. Time to think about this awesome sandwich and not about getting mugged and stabbed. In reality, these are probably nice, normal people. In fact, those guys look like boring-ass midwesterners. But what if they're really vampires? HOLY SHIT I'M TOTALLY FUCKED NOW.

At this point, I started taking quick shallow breaths and looking around, trying to figure out who was a vampire. I realized I was totally wiggin', and I comforted myself with this logic:

Vampires hate garlic. This glorious cheeseburger has tiny onion morsels stuck into the ketchup on the top of the bun. Onions are kind of like garlic, so maybe I can hold onto these and keep all the vampires away.

So, I pulled my cheeseburger apart and cupped each bun in my hands, onions up. This seemed to help me get a grip on the situation, but what really put me at ease was this thought:

I need to thank my lucky fuckin' stars that Blade lives in New York City. Seriously, if I get in a bad way tonight, Wesley fuckin' Snipes is going to come to this subway station and tear shit up. It will be so fuckin' sick... I truly have no worries.

So that really helped me calm down. Fucked up, huh? I ended up getting on the wrong train, having to switch and taking about two hours to get home. I had maintained my composure regarding the vamps, until RIGHT BEFORE my stop, when I hear some eurotrash sitting next to me with his ipod turned up super loud listening to this song:

Yup, the Crystal Method song from the beginning of the first Blade, at the vampire rave. WHAT ARE THE FUCKING ODDS THAT THIS WOULD HAPPEN? It scared the living shit out of me - i literally jumped off the train and practically ran up out of the station. I got my uneaten cheeseburger back out, onion side up, and walked home. I then stripped down and ate it in my cozy bed, half-naked sometime around 3 AM.

This morning I woke up high. This has never happened to me before. It's quite common for me to wake up and then get high, but never vice versa. That was pretty weird. I threw on clothes for class and actually showed up on time, only to discover that our class was being held at a different location than we had previously thought. So, the only people in this classroom were the girls who were eating pot the night before. Go figure! I'm going to try to make this afternoon gig - my art law class (that sucks horribly) so I'm out. More to come later on....

To be explained...in the near future.

What do the following all have in common?

Frankenstein
Adderall
"sick girl" waking up in frat letters
a small black dude
a persistent Paco
Shake Shack
a sexist Russian cabdriver
replacement earrings
sorbet
regal handbags
a bad polo shirt
bourbonbourbonbourbon
Auburn football
a sexy comic
smoking weed on a rooftop
one really big dick. seriously.

The answer? This past weekend! More on this at a later date. I'm getting ready to go eat space cakes with a couple friends. Prolly gonna generate some more material as a result. Wish me luck. xoxo

Minor Troubles and Killer Sandwiches

I love going out with my 20-year-old roommate, but her fake ID can only be used with discretion. There is one bar near NYU’s campus that had previously accepted her ID, so we decided to play it safe and go to this place that she knew she could get into with some of her friends. It’s a great deal: 20 bucks = all you can drink for 3 hours. She got lit the last time she was there because she forgot to eat dinner beforehand. Since I love to cook, I made us egg and cheese sandwiches for dinner before we went, to prevent any barfing that we could incur.

I walked through the door, evaluated the crowd, and decided that getting bourbon drunk would be the best thing that I could do for myself. Why? Well, I was clearly the only person in this bar who was legally allowed to drink. It was a preschool bar – SO MANY Yung’uns! Everywhere! It wasn’t a problem, or at least not as much of a problem as my pheromones. Living in the city, I have learned that my pheromones literally seek out a very specific sort of male species and convince him to stumble over to me, give me generic compliments, ask me to dance and eventually get brave enough to do something weird and unexpected-completely out of appropriate context- like pinch my ass or nibble on my ears. It’s fuckin’ disgusting! This particular male species plagues the streets of NYC, but is rarely found in Cincinnati. These guys are known as Guidos.

These guys behave this way toward A LOT of chicks, but when I’m out with friends, I get it more so than others, while they go off and meet nice, normal men. Why do I attract these greasy guys with man-boobs who are shorter than I am?! It’s fuckin’ horrible; if I could get a vaccine for it I would. They completely deter all other men that I might be interested in chatting up. They are far too touchy-feely, and more persistent than you can imagine. But, as always, I am far too nice.

I felt obligated to be at least cordial to Mr. Guido, as he was a friend of a friend. But goddamn! It was nothing less than harassment. I did, however, have the opportunity to write down some great examples of horrible game and my passive aggressive insults.
After I reached my saturation point of listening to his bullshit, I frankly said:

Me: You have really horrible game. I bet you’ve not gotten laid in so long.
G: Yo! Actually, I never have trouble meeting girls. I know what’s up with a lot of girls at Cornell…
M: Are they all also taller than you?

His BS continued, and I continued with my passive aggressive examples, even when he said:

G: Yo girl, why you gotta be like that? Why don’t you give me a compliment?
M: Okay. (with flat affect) You have a great personality.

Although he picked up on my sarcasm, he relentlessly asked me to dance four times. I refused the first 3 times, until finally I just decided to throw in the towel and suck it up for 60 seconds, then walk off. It was probably the worst 60 seconds of my month. He humped my legs like a fuckin’ dog and gave me the bad touch, which was doubly sucky. I was not amused.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, he followed me to the bar, and ASKED ME TO BUY HIM A BEER! What the fuck?! What guy does that? Not that I mind splitting tabs with guys, or that I even want or expect them to pay all the time (I like to be fair and reasonable). However, that’s in the case that I’m in the presence of a gentleman whose company I actually enjoy! I couldn’t tell this guy to fuck off, because his best friend is a cool dude and they were there together. Sucky.

This is how much of a deterrent Mr. Guido was: His cool friend invited me to smoke a blunt, and I denied it. Mostly because I wanted to chill with my roommate, but even if she had wanted to go home to bed, I still wouldn’t have smoked that blunt simply because I would have had to put up with this guy’s bullshit. I imagined that encounter to be akin to one of Dante’s circles of Hell.

I did end up having a great time drinking with my roommate – we chatted and it was super fun, so of course I had a good night! It just turned out to happened AFTER Mr. Guido left the bar.
HOWEVER, while roomie and I were getting more drinks at the bar, I overheard this total fuckstick talking about me! Get this:

A drunk guy walked up behind me at the bar. He was seriously no taller that my shoulder blade, malnourished and probably never seen a vagina in real life. I say this because I don’t think his voice had changed yet. Unaware that he was clearly audible to me, he shouted basically in my ear:

"Dude, Bro, we need to bounce. This bar is lame. See this chick, she is like, forty, yo!"

My jaw dropped. I was so pissed, that I grabbed that little twits wrist, looked him in the eye and said:

“EXCUSE ME?! COME HERE, YOUNGIN’!”

I was getting ready to be on him like white on rice, ready to give him a royal bitchfest.
This single gesture put the fear of God in him, and he jerked his wrist away and walked straight out of the bar! And rightfully so! He was, in reality, probably about 14 or 15.

I resent the fact that he said I look forty! I could just start my cougaring career now, I guess…

Shortly after this incident, we discovered that Mr. Guido forgot his umbrella, and decided to coincidently return to the bar for it right as we were leaving. He then felt the need to walk with us, at which point we had this conversation.

G: Yo I think you’re cute, and I want to get to know you.
M: Well thanks, but I’m getting ready to leave the city in a little over a week from now
G: Yo I can still get to know you. We can chill tomorrow!
M: I have class tomorrow.
G: I mean tomorrow night.
M: I have homework tomorrow night.
G: You can finish it and come chill with me.
M: Of what exactly does “Chillin’” consist?
G: Yo, you know…maybe dinna or sompthan?
M: I don’t know about “sompthan.” Sounds like you want to fuck me. I don’t fuck people that I’ve just met.
G: Well we can go out a couple times and I guarantee you will change your mind.
M: I’m not going to change my mind in a week.
G: I know you will.
M: I know that I will die a happy woman if I never in my life fuck you.
G: Okay, fine. Yo, this is where I’m out.

(He proceeded to walk down the next available side street, which was of course in the opposite direction of his place.)

My roommate and I came home, drunk, and made round two of egg sandwiches that tasted 20 times better than the first, as we chatted about life, love and the meaning of all things. It was awesome.