Here's something I'll never have to do again! A friend of PTSOTL, who'll remain nameless just in case boyfriend happens to be a reader, was sharing the joys of being single with me. The grass is always greener, right? True, but so is baby diarrhea, so...
"I was living with my girlfriend until we broke up about three weeks ago. Since then my first foray into dating consisted of having a girl over at 7pm on a Sunday night, drinking a bottle and a half of Two Buck Chuck between us over the course of casual conversation and her literally falling down drunk by 9 pm. I found out immediately after, upon purse inspection, that she'd downed a bottle of bottom shelf vodka on the way over; carried her ass to the bed to sleep it off, went about my business, made dinner, changed guitar strings etc. while periodically checking that she didn't choke on her own vomit.
Cut to several hours later, I go in the bedroom and her pants are around her knees, she's on the floor in the fetal position surrounded by a big puddle of pee. I slap her awake, alert her to the situation, and suggest she take a shower and try to sober up and get her shit straight. She does so and emerges with her shirt on backwards and inside out. Insists on leaving, crumbles on the living room floor dead passed out. Fine. Leave her there, go to bed.
I'm up at 7:30 to get ready to work the opening shift, shower etc., and I hear a crash. I go into the living room and there she is, staggering against the wall, pants around her knees, lamp knocked over, pee puddle on floor.
First date, didn't really know her, haven't talked to her since. A few hours ago she sent me this text: 'Not to bug u but if anyone messages u by name of [dude] asking if we hung out...just ignore it. Its my ex...and certainly dont say anything about the drinking. he can be nosey. thx.'"
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...being single. Wait, why was he going through her purse?
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4 comments:
I have a similar story, except I was essentially that girl.
Some poor wretch of a woman that I had seen in the neighborhood but never hung out with before, thought that inviting me back to her place on a New Year's Eve was a good idea.
I had taken handfuls of ecstasy, bars and bars and bars of Xanax, was never without liquor in my face at any point in the night, and put back around 4 caps of GHB because I had never done it before and was sure it "wasn't doing shit." I must have been pretty alluring; I get why she wanted me...drool is cool.
I passed out just as pants were coming off. What I remember from what followed is waking up, having to piss badly, stumbling out into her living room, taking a seat in her lazyboy, wrangling my weird dick out of my drawers, and taking a very satisfying and beautiful arc of a piss onto her carpet. I guess the splattering sound woke her up, she ran over screaming, "what the fuck are you doing? STOP IT!" To which my favorite phrase that I've ever uttered came slurring out of my mouth as I continued my stream, "what difference does it make."
No second date.
UPDATE re the purse:
"She didn't know where it was and asked me to bring it to her; her purse was already open, and the bottle was in plain view when I brought it over to her."
@walter:
Did you happen to look like this at the time?
http://tinyurl.com/3swcjcb
This a good story. I like piss. I once got up out of a girl's bed and pissed in the corner because I thought it was a urinal. Everyone does it.
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