So, there’s this guy I made out with a bunch the second week I moved to San Francisco. And, I have no idea if he reads this blog or if he knows my last name or if he’s going to find this and feel like I’m sort of a bad person for writing about him, but I’m about to start asking men I meet to sign a release form, in which I say, “NO SIGN, NO KISS.” Not that I even need a release form, but I do feel like that’s sort of polite to say, “Hi, this is probably not going to work out between us, but would you mind so terribly if I turned this relationship into blogging material because, if not, I’m feeling like this is somewhat a waste of time because, oh, did you know I’m a blogger? Yes, Google me. I’ll wait.”
Now, back to this guy. I met him at a club and we made out for a really long time, so long that the next day I woke up with what Nicole refers to as my “cannonball hickey” and a tongue that was so sore, I felt like I had taken it to the gym and put it through some horrific thing like fucking spin class. I woke up in the morning and I was all, “Uh, excuse me, but how do you stretch your tongue? Is there some sort of TONGUE YOGA BECAUSE WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?” And, then I realized that I had made out with this guy literally FOR HOURS and then basically told him exactly how to ask me out for the next day and told him that if he didn’t text me by 10am, I wouldn’t go out with him.
So, of course, he texted by 10am. And asked me to have dinner with him that night and so started the back and forth making of the date and canceling of the date for almost TWO WEEKS until I finally just texted him and said, “Shit’s not meant to be, bro. Let’s move on.” Like, no I don’t want to go to dinner. And, yes, I was drunk. And, no, I KNOW, that’s not an excuse, but COULD I JUST USE IT AS AN EXCUSE THIS ONE TIME? Why does everyone else get to use the, “Oops, I was drunk” excuse SO MUCH BUT I NEVER GET TO?
What?
God, since when did I get so goddamn whiney? Someone punch me in the face and then give me a shot of whiskey, because I’m not myself.
But anyways.
Basically, what happened was he kept asking me out and I finally just laid down the law. But, now, something interesting has developed. He’ll call me at 2:30am randomly. Okay, so he’s done this twice, but twice is enough for it to be A THING HE DOES. Because, he called me the other night when I had gone to sleep at 10pm on a Friday night because I’m cool like that and I woke up thinking, “The hell? REALLY? 2:30am? You actually fucking fuck fuck think I’m going to answer a BOOTY CALL WHEN I WOULDN’T EVEN LET YOU TAKE ME TO DINNER?” Bro. Just, no. No.
However, it did lead me to give myself a nice backhanded compliment because I need to grab those wherever I can. How good of a kisser am I that a) my tongue was sore and b) dude still wants to hook up with me after all of this rejection? I mean, damn girl, that’s some pretty impressive tongue action if that’s what’s making him hold on so hard.
So, for that, I gave myself a nice pat on the back, vowed to myself I would never have another drunk make out again, and that I’ll stop drinking alltoge…
Hahahahahhahaha.
Yeah, right. THAT’S a good joke.
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
Nice shameless self-promotion, there.
I hope he calls you to discuss this. And then I want to hear everything.
If you do find any tongue related yoga, I would make sure to steer well clear of “Down Facing Dog” it could only be as bad as it sounds.
Well good for you for standing up for yourself. Usually when you go down the road of habitual 2:30a calls it just gets worse. Trust me. Been there.
His 2:30 a.m. calls aren’t so much booty calls as they are his vindictive efforts to halt hours-long makeout sessions with the guy he imagines your with at the time. He knows he’s got no shot with you anymore but just wants to maintain his makeout duration record long enough for Guinness to recognize it.
I’m sure he is just calling you to discuss Thoreau -that’s not a metaphor, but it could be. Way to get this guy hot and bothered for you, I wonder how many more times he’ll call. Who leaves a hickey anymore…what is this, 9th grade?
No one over the age of fourteen should be leaving hickeys. And you’re going to get a lot of this if you continue your crusades to drunkenly make-out with strange men in bars and clubs.
On a quick side note, I was stalking your blog (because I am a master stalker) and reading about your trip to Italy and I know of this restaurant called Panta Rei (Yes, like Panty Raid) in little Italy with lots of hot men and I think we should go. (WOW, run-on sentence much?)
Wait. Wait. WAIT.
HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT WE DIDN’T TAKE A PICTURE OF THE CANNONBALL HICKEY??
I’m horrified at our epic failure.
You guys suck at taking pictures, remember?
I once had to tell a guy…dude I don’t like you please stop calling me AND HE STILL CALLED FOR MONTHS!! At least you made out with this guy…I didn’t even hold this guys hand…I guess that is what I get for going on a date with a rocket scientist I think they are clingy…
Boys are weird. The end.
everytime I vow to not drink ever again….I drink almost instantly. Like, the phrase comes out of my mouth and suddenly theres a glass of wine in my hand. Fuck.
LMAO, that is awesome! You sound like me, man that is hilarious! I think release forms are a great Idea!!
Sounds more like tongue Pilates. That stuff will wear you out.
I’m trying to picture what tongue Pilates machines would look like. Probably like hamster wheels or some such.
Really, a dude made you want to stop drin……
it’s cool, even if you thought about it for a second, for every time a dude has made a chick even breech the thought of quitting drinking, ten chicks have made dudes think to do the same.
Your drunken make-out shenanigans aside, I LOVE your blog design….love LOVE LOOOOOOVE!