Licking trash cans...
What can I say about drinking 2 margaritas and 2 long-island ice teas other than, if you don't want to kiss weird men, you probably should refrain from drinking that much!
Okay, Friday night and we're about to hit the town. I was lookin' foxy in a low-cut black rocker-tee with a Fender guitar spraypainted on the front of it, jeans, my leopard-print slingbacks and black and white pearls. PLUS a brand new punk-ass, japanimae style hair cut. Pretty cute.
I was with the Bread Ladies--a group of girls who own and serve at our local coffee hangout, including the cashier girl, my sister--known after hours as the Bread Bitches, baby, and tonight we all had special Barbie-related monikers.
Our waiter, Marky-Mark, was pretty fine, and served the drinks with a pearly smile and lots of alcohol, and head Bread Bitch, Donna "PrimaDona Barbie" was footing the bill, so things got a little crazy. Plus, we randomly chose a location where the night weekend DJ from the local punk station was broadcasting his beats.
THAT's where the fun begins. He was cute-super cute. But come on, people. We all know that DJ's are trouble, trouble, trouble. I mean, all this guy does for a living is play music and go to different bars to drink and talk the long night away! Plus, I am positive that these kinds of guys go into the DJ business so that they have an endless supply of women to hit upon.
And on Friday night, I, "Plucky Reporter Barbie," was that woman.
The DJ comes up to me, all Seth Green-like with his red and blond spikey hair and some sort of goggle contraption taped around his head, thinking it's time to chat me up.
We got on the topic of careers and I told him I was a journalist and he said, "Wow, we're sort of in the same line of work."
Um, yeah. NO.
Criminal reporter vs. DJ for Punk Station. But whatever, it's 3:30 a.m.
THEN HE GRABBED MY BUM.
"I'm sorry, but under any other circumstances," I slurred, "you would never have gotten away with that."
AND THEN WE KISSED. A long and passionate Kiss of Very Bad Judgement.
WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING????
These guys kiss and have sex with ev-ry-one. Probably because we are all drunk.
I got out of there real quick after that, went home and drank Lysol for breakfast, ate some soap too.
i also accidentally gave him the business card with my real phone numbers on it. oops! at janeh928@yahoo.com
What can I say about drinking 2 margaritas and 2 long-island ice teas other than, if you don't want to kiss weird men, you probably should refrain from drinking that much!
Okay, Friday night and we're about to hit the town. I was lookin' foxy in a low-cut black rocker-tee with a Fender guitar spraypainted on the front of it, jeans, my leopard-print slingbacks and black and white pearls. PLUS a brand new punk-ass, japanimae style hair cut. Pretty cute.
I was with the Bread Ladies--a group of girls who own and serve at our local coffee hangout, including the cashier girl, my sister--known after hours as the Bread Bitches, baby, and tonight we all had special Barbie-related monikers.
Our waiter, Marky-Mark, was pretty fine, and served the drinks with a pearly smile and lots of alcohol, and head Bread Bitch, Donna "PrimaDona Barbie" was footing the bill, so things got a little crazy. Plus, we randomly chose a location where the night weekend DJ from the local punk station was broadcasting his beats.
THAT's where the fun begins. He was cute-super cute. But come on, people. We all know that DJ's are trouble, trouble, trouble. I mean, all this guy does for a living is play music and go to different bars to drink and talk the long night away! Plus, I am positive that these kinds of guys go into the DJ business so that they have an endless supply of women to hit upon.
And on Friday night, I, "Plucky Reporter Barbie," was that woman.
The DJ comes up to me, all Seth Green-like with his red and blond spikey hair and some sort of goggle contraption taped around his head, thinking it's time to chat me up.
We got on the topic of careers and I told him I was a journalist and he said, "Wow, we're sort of in the same line of work."
Um, yeah. NO.
Criminal reporter vs. DJ for Punk Station. But whatever, it's 3:30 a.m.
THEN HE GRABBED MY BUM.
"I'm sorry, but under any other circumstances," I slurred, "you would never have gotten away with that."
AND THEN WE KISSED. A long and passionate Kiss of Very Bad Judgement.
WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING????
These guys kiss and have sex with ev-ry-one. Probably because we are all drunk.
I got out of there real quick after that, went home and drank Lysol for breakfast, ate some soap too.
i also accidentally gave him the business card with my real phone numbers on it. oops! at janeh928@yahoo.com
posted by kittybrunette at 7:39 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home