It was at least partially Amp_Live's fault. That and my second venture into Absinthe... This time the real stuff from my friend Edgar Allen Poe. Baltimore does not fuck around, let me write this as my good friend Brett Ellis would:
... and she wouldn't say, at least I couldn't get her to. So I insisted that everyone else at the table would talk about the first time they got head and then we would stop her, never giving her the opportunity to tell us about her time.
[/B.E.E.]
I stared at the quiet late twenty something in the corner, who undoubtedly could show me about twenty new positions that I'd never fathomed. My girlfriend and I were on a break, which is impossible when you have the same friends. We were at another one of those places you had to walk downstairs to get to. I had grown tired of speakeasies since Page 6 outed them and suggested a new place for us, which was known for its Sangria or in female language, they just say aphrodisiac.
As the writer in the column put so eloquently when she quoted an owner as saying, that, "You think a place is new, hip and cool, then you look around and wonder where all these people from Jersey came from..." No more Bon Jovi or Springstein and Zach Braff is fucking dead to me. So I went with a place they'd never know about, because it's been about 7 years since it was mentioned in Time Out or City Search for that matter. Please don't get me wrong some of my great friends and family are from Jersey (no seriously), so please don't take that as unwarranted hate...
But for the most part when a friend from Jersey suggests/wants to go to a place it's like a friend from Europe asking if you've heard of a record that's been played out here for six months.
We join me during my sixth glass of Sangria at-
Seated at the wooden rum barrel tables, we were a large party so we stretched out over two of them. I had started the current conversation, we were all talking about the first time we got head. Fitting that the Sangria was just about the sourest thing you'd ever drank, sorry if some of you don't get that, but those some of you may not be from the same dating pool that I have swam; and with the exception of my beautiful break girl, everyone was telling their story.
There were tales from the boys of getting pubic hairs stuck in braces, tales from the girls of sucking for what felt like an hour, with no response, I told my own story about non-vaginal dentata, not being able to walk the next day due to the extreme chaffing. There was a story about a silly boy who insisted on liking the girls asshole, knowing that it was the "bottom hole" that was her vagina, not her top hole, one of our poor civilians get lock jaw, another boy a sprained neck when his girl of choice squeezed her thighs and twisted so hard... Then Tucker chimed in with one of his dumbass stories, still upset over one of his parents getting divorced recently and the fact that his Mom at one point blew me.
All of a sudden that woman in the corner, from earlier in the story, started going crazy, clapping and snapping, grabbed another guy from across the room, and I swear to God what I saw next was about as close to raw sex in the middle of a dance floor as can be legal in Manhattan. There was long dark curly hair swirling everywhere, spider knit stockings, shoving up to a man who couldn't have been over 5'4")'s shoulder. And the gyrating and slow move clawing and the even slower sliding of one body part against another.
I'd had about 8 glasses and I was behind everyone else, but my eyes darted across the table towards the other and I think we were all fucking hypnotized. Every woman's pupils swelled to the size of golfballs, every man sat a little deeper into his seat and I loved each moment of what was going on. It was like screening Secretary at a Sexaholics meeting.
I poured myself another drink out of the make shift pitcher our lovely waitress had afforded us, that Spanish guitar had my heart, but everyone at our two tables had my eye. This was the start of a fucking beautiful night. The lovely flamenco dance had ended, women struggled to compose themselves, the men just kind of kept staring.
"That made you wet didn't it?" I whispered into the ear of the girl next to me.
"Probably," she laughed to herself, that drunk laugh that women do, still in awe.
"Let me check," I said and quickly tried to slide my hand between her thighs. "Just kidding," I stopped, but I wasn't kidding at all, I'm just a pussy. She appreciated the gesture all the same, I'm sure.
"Everyone!" I stood up and announced that, "I have a special cap to the evening, unfortunately, it's three blocks from here..." Knowing that none of them were ready for what I was about to introduce them to at my friend Ryan's apartment.
"Oh?" uttered one of the pale things from the circular edge of the next table over. She was redheaded, with curly, bouncy hair, so I was nice to her, she's probably been shit on her whole life...
"Absinthe..." I paused for effect, "Does no one read my blogs?" I smiled, I think maybe four of them had read my blogs. This is actually better, because none of them have a clue as to what they're about to get themselves into.
For me, I kind of knew, the stuff that we have in America, it doesn't have the wormwood, which creates the hallucinogenic effect. That's the only type I had drank the American kind.
Let's skip forward to the part where we all ended up at Ryan's apartment, he was the expert, sugar cubes, green liquid turned murky clear, I drank and holy fuck was I fucked. Despite the fact that it was 180 proof there was also the worm wood. I finally got to meet the Green Fairy and I loved that little douche bag
At one point, I offered to cut off an ear, not mine, but one of my friends. It was the girls, (huh?) who were all the ones encouraging me to do this... I thought that women were here to keep us civilized. At one point I had convinced everyone it was a good idea to take off their pants and we all did, those of us that had pants. Imagine that, button ups with no pants, grown ass men, women in their thongs and pantis in their Tuesday night's best shirt. I'm sorry if I keep referring to us as men and women, we're all younger than 27 (just as a slight editorial).
So very soon as the pants off dance off begins, one of the older ones, Elizabeth begins to freak out, apparently she's got to get home and get home now, she takes off running towards the front door, does a nose dive into the front door, she's still not wearing pants. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the nose dive, I feel bad for her and rush over to help her up."Darling, you're not wearing pants, where are you going?" I say as I help her up, feeling partially responsible.
"I need to get the fuck out of here, one of those girls was talking about my tits and I SWEAR TO GOD-" I grab her mouth and stop her there.
"Where are you pants at?" I motion to a pile of pants.
"They're Seven's..."
And I dive into a bunch of thrown about jeans, looking for that annoying butt pocket insignia. Found them quickly, I hand them to her.
She looks at the inside tag, "These are 2's, you think I'm a 2?" She looks at me like I'm the truth.
I have no clue, what's a 2? I'm a 32... "Try them on anyway..."
She looks at me like she could fuck me right there on the spot.
Then she looks really depressed, "I'm a six," throwing the pants back at me after an unsuccessful button up job.
I want to kill whatever bitch is that 2, I could have just forgotten all about my break with my girlfriend, but no, seriously whoever is this anorexic/bulimic chick at this party, she seriously owes me a lay...
Found her 6's, she put them on, buttons them up with only a 'little' bit of effort, which required laying down and zipping and buttoning. She's a fucking alien, but for whatever reason, something inside of me wants to make sure she gets home okay. I put my own jeans on.
"Okay... Well, let me walk you down then," the apartment's on the 2nd Floor, but I can help the woman get a cab.
She finds a cab immediately, "Okay, thanks!" She jumps in, but traffic stops.
I return to the apartment door, ringing the buzzer.
"Do you want to come down to my place?" She figured out how to roll down the window in the cab... I don't know how, her eyes haven't uncrossed since her concussion attempt with the door.
"Yeah, I can, I guess," I walk to the cab door with all the aw-shucks I can muster. These East Coast women love that fucking George W. Bush shit. I've got to patent the 'Fuck me, I'm Republican' t-shirt idea.
I get into the cab, I tell her that I have a friend that lives in her same complex, which I actually do.
Then that fucking Green Fairy hit me again, I get consumed with the fact that the cab driver is actually going to kidnap us, he's going to kidnap us, sell us to some fucking terrorist organization and we're going to end up in the Wall Street Journal with a machete to our necks. This mother fucker would like nothing more than two blond haired, blue eyed American as shit looking kids, they would probably make a million a piece off of us in the slave market.
At this point, I swear to God Broken Social Scene, "Bandwitch" began playing. I was looking around New York as if it were new again, we weren't in fucking New York, we'd driven south of Staten Island. Were we in New Jersey? I fucking have no clue, I'd never been to New Jersey...
You know the song that's playing, the mood is eerie to say the least, I need to throw up, Elizabeth is passed out and everything feels very long, thin and orange to me. Had I had a gun, my brains would be all over the back of this cab.
The cab comes to a stop, he tells me that we're here, I look out the window, "This isn't it!" I declare, I look out all of the windows, I'm frantic, "This is not where she asked you to go."
I try to wake Elizabeth up. No luck.
"Take us back! Take us to 13th and 1st!" I declare and behave as if Elizabeth and I are refuges, we'll get through this as long as we have each other. I am protector of all things blue eyed and blond haired, fuck anyone that wants to make a million off of us.
I must have passed out, because we got back to familiar territory quick as shit. Cab stopped on 13th and 1st and $28 later I am back to the same place where I got into the cab. I give the man $35 out of my billfold, somehow, and I am on my way.
Walking down 13th towards Ryan's apartment and I am feeling perfect. Finally I hear the honking, in New York you block out the honking, "SIR!"
"Get your girlfriend out of my car Sir!" The Cab has stopped there are many cars piled up behind him, all honking.
Shit! I forgot Elizabeth in the Cab.
Okay, I walk down to the Cab, open the back door.
I kind of shake her thigh, "Elizabeth, you need to wake up now..."
Somehow the Seven Jeans aren't stopping her thigh from jiggling under my constant pulses on her thigh to wake up.
Suddenly she springs up! Shoving her fucking Steve Madden three inch heel directly into my cheek, she punches me in the side of the head, "Get the fuck off of me!!!" She screams to all, blood murder, "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!"
I lunge forward to calm her down, "ELIZABETH, CALM DOWN!" I have both of my hands on her shoulders now, shoving her down and she is kicking and punching, flailing about with all the tiny might she can muster.
I feel someone from behind wrap me around my waist and pull me back.
"Are you okay Ma'am?" someone from a crowd that has formed around us shouts.
I'm so utterly embarrassed, I just wonder away from the scene and end up at Ryan's apartment.
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