In a desperate attempt to not feel like a complete loser by drinking alone at a bar in Rome, I decided to employ a fantastically awesome story about how I was Vanessa Simone, an American author writing a book about love, sex and dating around the world and yes, sweetie, it is so nice to meet you, too. And, yes, I did come up with that book idea to, ahem, hopefully grab someone to conduct my experiments with for, you know, research. RESEARCH.
However, that plan backfired, because no one wanted to sleep with me. All anyone wanted to do was tell me about THEIR crazy love and sex stories THAT HAD ALREADY HAPPENED. Fucking egomaniacs.
While at a bar, I met this group of American students who pulled me into their group faster than things that get pulled in fast (a tide?) and when I told them about the “book” they were all, “OH MY GOD, THIS ONE TIME…” and they proceeded to tell me some of the craziest shit I had heard in a long while even including my own crazy shit, which was, admittedly, pretty damn crazy.
At one point, they were all, “Oh, you need to meet our friend; she’s basically bi and she’d really have some great stories to tell!” So, being the diligent author that I am, I pulled out my Moleskine, scribbled a note that just said, “bi” (seriously) and then when she gave me her fake name (Trixie) (seriously), I pretended to take notes about her escapades. Which, I’m sorry, if you go to Rome and you bring home a different AMERICAN GUY every weekend after drinking far too much alcohol, then you’re not going to be a part of my fake fucking fuck fuck book. THAT’S NOT EVEN INTERESTING NOR DOES IT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE FAKE SUBJECT OF MY FAKE BOOK. Who the hell goes to study abroad in ITALY and then sleeps with stupid twenty-something AMERICAN MEN IN ROME?
Not I.
Anyways.
So, then these Americans want me to hang out with them all the time, but I always flake on them, except then I see them out sometimes and they’re all, “Vanessa! Hi!” and I kind of forget that’s my name so I don’t turn around right away. But, I decided one night to go out with them again and this crazy Australian chick wanted me to be her BFF, so I obliged her and we went to this Irish pub. I told all the people about my book and I expected all the men to want to sleep with me, because I was so sexually awesome and open. And an author! With a real life book advance! Ok, a fake real life book advance! So what! Come on!
But, no. The only thing that happened on that particular night was I started talking to this guy who then told me how he had crazy sex on a bridge in Florence with the love of his life just a couple weeks ago. And, I’m all, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you needed research.” Subtext: I’m a whore and I want to be in your book.
“No, I said I wanted to EXPERIENCE RESEARCH, not hear about your sex stories. So, I’m going to go talk to someone else who doesn’t have the love of his life.” And, I started walking towards a group of seemingly single men.
But then he yelled at me and hurriedly spit out, “Wait! When I was 16, I slept with my 27 year old babysitter and ruined her marriage!”
And with that, I turned around slowly, opened up my Moleskine, took the pen cap off with my mouth, spit it on the ground and said, “Ok, so. Start from the beginning…”
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
The reason I don’t share my escapades as boldly as you do is because whenever I pulled wacky stories like this out of the wood work someone ended up dead in mexico.
I’m not sure how many dead people I left in my wake…
He means, that you can into trouble, get slipped a mickey in your drink, get rapped, or something that may go really wrong.
And specially when you are rousing guys about a sex/love book. They may get the wrong idea about you and they may think you are a loose girl. Be careful what you want or wish for.
There was a fundamental flaw in your ruse. Authors by definition can’t get laid, because if they did there would be no reason or time for them to write books. Those people assumed you must be celibate so the best thing to do would be to tell you their stories.
Lol, sounds like a fun experience indeed, but phil has a point. Maybe you should change the whole author into a painter. Then well yeah…I’m sure you could devise a plot with that one – if all else fails just say you do abstract interpretations of the sex and the human body.
Wait, why did he have a babysitter at 16? ……………
I MEAN OH MY GOD GOOD POINT.
HA!
I think the only time a friend of mine tried to convince me to use fake names while visiting a different city, we were immediately asked for our ID’s at which point we looked like major assholes to the people we had just met.
You got balls, lady. Big brass ones.
Okay, what sixteen year old needs a babysitter? Seriously.
That aside, I’d really love to hear more about this awesomely fake book that you were “researching” for.
GOD, people are such fucking ego-maniacs!
Ahem.
Sorry about that. At least I know your name isn’t really Vanessa Simone. But that name is HOT and if you told me that was your name I’d definitely give you some research.
(as if I wouldn’t do that knowing your actual real name…)
I love you! Did you change the font here?
Using a fake name is generally funny for a total of a whopping 9 seconds, at which point it usually hits the twilight zone area.
Although there is that moment at about four seconds where you start wondering how long you could get away with it. I’d believe your last name was Simone.
I think it’s time to create an SF alter ego. Let’s start drinking and brainstorming. Yep, I’m coming over to your side of the apartment. Here I come. Get ready.
(CREEPY CREEPY CREEPY)
This is hilarious.
Reminds me of the time I became Sebastian, the venture capitalist at that bar in Lagos…