Triumph
Going out for just a weekend in Sun Valley, I had to run into some adventures. It was inevitable. Small town means I am going to run into a lot of people I know and there's a lot of money which means that there better some people buying me drinks. I go into a dive bar in town. And I don't mean "dive bar" like they have some beat up posters on the wall. You can smoke in this bar, they don't have a credit card machine, and you get your PBR for free if you can guess the card that is on the lid of the bottle. There are some seriously awesome characters in this place. No matter what day of the week you go, every alcoholic in town is parked on a bar stool or at their regular table. It's really too loud and the smoke in the air is repulsive to someone who isn't a regular smoker. I usually even stash my coat outside so it does not absorb the smell as bad; having my hair and clothes reek is enough. Why do I even go to this bar you ask? Because sometimes, I actually enjoy having no class.
I am not at the bar long before I run into a snowboard instructor I know from the mountain. He also happens to be a waiter at the nicest restaurant in town - so I know him from both of these places. I have already had too many beers. So I am definitely feeling awesome, but when I run into this instructor, he pronounces my name wrong. NOT cool. I admit that many people pronounce my name wrong, so I politely said, "You know, I will let it slide this time, but really it is pronounced like '_____.'" He profusely apologizes. I can tell by how much he is apologizing that he means it, or at least is trying to hook up with me, so I let it slide. Neither of those intentions are going to offend me. He then says that in order to make it up to me, he wants to buy me a drink. "You like tequila?" he says and I smile. "Patron?" I am actually starting to like this guy... Even though he's a snowboarder.
We take our shot together and sit down to talk. There isn't a lot to chat about. We discuss what we have been doing the last few months... And then out of what I feel is nowhere he says that he has some really good coke and asks if I want some. I tell him that I have never done coke and he insists that this is the time to try it. He did not pressure me in any way, and I knew it was something I wanted to try. When I agree to do it with him, he informs me that it is still at the restaurant because he accidentally left it at work. I happen to be a close family friend of the owner of this restaurant (his boss) and am hesitant again... for about thirty seconds. I want to try it. I tell him that I don't think his boss would be very happy if he knew we were doing coke in there. He quickly corrects me and tells me that his boss loves me and would be really happy that we were hanging out. (Obviously snowboard instructor here doesn't know that his boss actually tried to set me up with his son.)
We walk to the restaurant and it starts to get really cliche. He goes to his locker and gets out the blow. He sets up the lines on the bathroom counter with his credit card. What do we snort it with? A hundred dollar bill of course. I love this shit. From the second I am doing it, I enjoy it. The taste, the slight burn, the smell, I like it all. I do a few lines and feel like I should take a break. I am wired. This instructor informs me that he is really horny. But there is no way I am interested in this guy beyond the coke. But I still feel like making out with him is fair. We make out for a while and it's a lot of fun. Until he starts talking. "You are so beautiful. I want to date you. You are such a good kisser. Ohmygosh I love making out with you." He must be Hilary Duff's oldest fan! He is also thirty-eight. I am really not one to be concerned about his age... but the beautiful and dating shit? Not for me and definitely not sexy. I tell him that I don't want to hear that shit and he immediately starts that sappy, "Come on baby, tell me who hurt you? Who made you like this?" This guy must think I am a Hilary Duff fan too! All I am doing is making out with this guy. I had tequila and coke in me, I couldn't make the decision NOT to make out with him. After this conversation goes on for a few minutes I am bored with what snowboard instructor is saying and the making out. It is time for me to organize.
The restaurant has the place settings up for the next day and they are all complex. Each setting has two glasses, two plates, and dozen pieces of cutlery. I ask the snowboard instructor to take them all off one of the tables and he does. I then spend the next two hours re-setting the table meticulously. Fine tuning the location of each candle, wine glass, and escargot fork was perfect for the high I was experiencing.
After setting the table though, I was bored and wanted to go home. I ask to go home and of course he invites me back to his house. "There is no way, take me home please." He drives me home and I need to go to bed, it's light out and I have been partying for hours. As I try to fall asleep he is still texting me. I put my phone on silent and catch some zzz's.
The next morning I have no plans to but to lay in the sun - it's blue sky and much warmer than Seattle. I get a phone call. SERIOUSLY? I thought I made it clear last night that I already need some space from this guy. Of course he is calling. He asks me how I feel and what I am doing for the day. I tell him that I feel dehydrated but otherwise fine and mention that I am going to the store to pick up some sunscreen. More small talk... and he says that he will call me later because he wants to take me out. I cringe and just tell him that I will talk to him soon. I run into the grocery store and hear my name, at least pronounced correctly and cringe again. It's him! He tells me that he was "just driving by the store and needed to come in and harass me." He succeeded. I am so annoyed with this dude. Does he pick up on any clues?! He told me on the phone that he was at home at the time... he went out of his way to "harass" me at the store. He follows me around watching everything I put in my basket. When he finally decides that it is time for him to leave the store he kisses me on the cheek and says, "See you later babe." Woof. I agree again that we will talk soon, but I already knew that I would be ignoring him for the rest of weekend. He calls me and texts me a few more times in the short time that I am in town and I choose to ignore all of them.
Why would I dare to call this story a triumph? I still had an awesome time. The coke, the partying, the making out... it was still fun. And I learned I don't like thirty-eight year old men with too much chest hair.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Thank You To The Orthodontists Of The World
Triumph
I like to party. When I am experiencing the high of the best social lubricant on the planet, and probably the universe, I am destined to have a good time. Alcohol in general is enjoyable, but beer is fuel when I am partying. One of my favorite ways to drink beers is right out of the pitcher. Call me tacky, but it's efficient and a great conversation starter. Besides, I think like a woman, why get a glass dirty? Some bartenders frown on this, but I have been able to do this multiple times at a bar I frequent that we will call "The Countess." I usually have to be feeling pretty gutsy to even ask, so I am usually a few drinks into the night (or day) when I get my pitcher. On a night when I order a pitcher and no glasses, it's going to be a good time.
There was some kind of game on the televisions in the bars on this specific night. I really couldn't have cared less about the game. I had already spotted the next man I was going to fall in love with. He stood around six feet tall, had brown hair with bright blue eyes, was skinnier than I usually like, but had these perfectly shaped, white, glowing teeth. I'm a sucker for a guy with a good orthodontist. I flash my own pearly whites and he knows that it's time to join my friends and I. I can't do anything but stair at his smile. Within seconds of him sitting down, I tell him that he has, "beautiful teeth." I then ask him how long he had braces and if he does anything to take special care of them. I was impressed by his lack of need to do anything to maintain their greatness. But more importantly turned on by the fact that he had also had enough to drink to not think this conversation was weirder than a Tuesday without tequila! I ask him to make out. And then we make out, a lot. Right there on the bench below one of the TV's with the most important ping pong game of all time playing. There is cheering going on around us. For the fact the he is grabbing my butt? For his beautiful teeth? Maybe the fact that we are really starting to go at it? My guess is anything but the ping pong game.
I need to take this guy home, ASAP. The bar is walking distance from my house, so we start the short trek. There is some intense chemistry; we stop and make out against fences, cars, and street lights. This is really getting good. He seems like he's packing more than a sweet grill.
We get to my house and immediately go to my room. That's when I see how shit faced this guy actually is. He can barely stand on his own two feet by the time we get to my house. There was no chance his soldier was going to stand up. I had to ask him to leave. I was irritated and very let down. He still had his boxers on, but needed to put his shorts back on. When he did so, millions of dollars in change fell on the floor. He must have been paying for all his drink in pennies and nickles. It's crashing and loud and now I really want him to go. This is just getting weird.
Although upset, I am able to fall asleep. I have to get up to work early in the morning anyway. I wake up the next morning and think about how sad it was that grill-boy got away so easily. I walk to the end of the bed and see all the coins on the floor. Obama is the only one I can imagine being satisfied with this amount of change.
I hardly ever make my bed, but because the rest of my room happened to be clean, I thought it would be nice to come home to a made bed that night. I roll back the comforter and what is hiding in my bed? A miniature rubber chicken. It looks like your typical rubber chicken, it just to be the mini-me of a regular rubber chicken. I realize that grill-boy has left this behind. It must have been something he was collecting in his cargo shorts.
I still keep that little rubber chicken. I look at it, smile, and examine my own pearly whites.
I like to party. When I am experiencing the high of the best social lubricant on the planet, and probably the universe, I am destined to have a good time. Alcohol in general is enjoyable, but beer is fuel when I am partying. One of my favorite ways to drink beers is right out of the pitcher. Call me tacky, but it's efficient and a great conversation starter. Besides, I think like a woman, why get a glass dirty? Some bartenders frown on this, but I have been able to do this multiple times at a bar I frequent that we will call "The Countess." I usually have to be feeling pretty gutsy to even ask, so I am usually a few drinks into the night (or day) when I get my pitcher. On a night when I order a pitcher and no glasses, it's going to be a good time.
There was some kind of game on the televisions in the bars on this specific night. I really couldn't have cared less about the game. I had already spotted the next man I was going to fall in love with. He stood around six feet tall, had brown hair with bright blue eyes, was skinnier than I usually like, but had these perfectly shaped, white, glowing teeth. I'm a sucker for a guy with a good orthodontist. I flash my own pearly whites and he knows that it's time to join my friends and I. I can't do anything but stair at his smile. Within seconds of him sitting down, I tell him that he has, "beautiful teeth." I then ask him how long he had braces and if he does anything to take special care of them. I was impressed by his lack of need to do anything to maintain their greatness. But more importantly turned on by the fact that he had also had enough to drink to not think this conversation was weirder than a Tuesday without tequila! I ask him to make out. And then we make out, a lot. Right there on the bench below one of the TV's with the most important ping pong game of all time playing. There is cheering going on around us. For the fact the he is grabbing my butt? For his beautiful teeth? Maybe the fact that we are really starting to go at it? My guess is anything but the ping pong game.
I need to take this guy home, ASAP. The bar is walking distance from my house, so we start the short trek. There is some intense chemistry; we stop and make out against fences, cars, and street lights. This is really getting good. He seems like he's packing more than a sweet grill.
We get to my house and immediately go to my room. That's when I see how shit faced this guy actually is. He can barely stand on his own two feet by the time we get to my house. There was no chance his soldier was going to stand up. I had to ask him to leave. I was irritated and very let down. He still had his boxers on, but needed to put his shorts back on. When he did so, millions of dollars in change fell on the floor. He must have been paying for all his drink in pennies and nickles. It's crashing and loud and now I really want him to go. This is just getting weird.
Although upset, I am able to fall asleep. I have to get up to work early in the morning anyway. I wake up the next morning and think about how sad it was that grill-boy got away so easily. I walk to the end of the bed and see all the coins on the floor. Obama is the only one I can imagine being satisfied with this amount of change.
I hardly ever make my bed, but because the rest of my room happened to be clean, I thought it would be nice to come home to a made bed that night. I roll back the comforter and what is hiding in my bed? A miniature rubber chicken. It looks like your typical rubber chicken, it just to be the mini-me of a regular rubber chicken. I realize that grill-boy has left this behind. It must have been something he was collecting in his cargo shorts.
I still keep that little rubber chicken. I look at it, smile, and examine my own pearly whites.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Fragina
Tragedy
I admit it. I am done feeling guilty about it. It makes me feel good. It makes me happy and more confident... I go tanning. Not under any kind of regular circumstances. Just enough so that I have a "glow" to my skin. And I know a bad tan when I see one, I make sure I never get close to that. Neon orange does nothing for me.
Almost all of the time I go in a bathing suit to maintain appearances (aka tan lines). On this particular day that I felt the need to go tanning, I forgot my bathing suit. I was desperate for my sunless-fix. I needed to get in the tanning bed. I found a compromise. I would just tan naked. I know a lot of other girls who do it, so I couldn't imagine running into a problem. I then tan for eight minutes. These eight minutes were some of the most influential minutes of my life. I get out of the bed and go home and moisturize, like any good tanner would.
The next morning I think I am going to have a regular day. So I start with a warm shower. TERRIBLE IDEA. The area that I will call my "fragina" which is the front of my girl parts is scalding. Scorching. Sizzling. I borderline expect it to be smoking. It is burned to a crisp. This skin that has never seen the light of day has just taken a trip to the sun. I maneuver around in the shower to avoid any water touching my fragina again. Finishing up, I towel off and inspect the victim. She's tomato-red. Not only tomato-red but crisp. The same way your back or shoulders burn, the skin was being stretched when I moved.
I had no choice but to try to go on and continue with my "regular" day. I wore the softest underwear I could and had to deal with the stretching and crispy feeling. This continued on for about three days. Every day getting better, but still a burden.
I thought the worst part was over when the pain finally subsided. The torture was just beginning.
All bad burns heal the same way... By pealing and renewing the skin. I am sure at some point in your life you have burned your back or shoulders before, the process is never pretty...
Eventually, like all other burns, the skin ran its course and eventually stopped pealing. And even turned into a very tan fragina!
I admit it. I am done feeling guilty about it. It makes me feel good. It makes me happy and more confident... I go tanning. Not under any kind of regular circumstances. Just enough so that I have a "glow" to my skin. And I know a bad tan when I see one, I make sure I never get close to that. Neon orange does nothing for me.
Almost all of the time I go in a bathing suit to maintain appearances (aka tan lines). On this particular day that I felt the need to go tanning, I forgot my bathing suit. I was desperate for my sunless-fix. I needed to get in the tanning bed. I found a compromise. I would just tan naked. I know a lot of other girls who do it, so I couldn't imagine running into a problem. I then tan for eight minutes. These eight minutes were some of the most influential minutes of my life. I get out of the bed and go home and moisturize, like any good tanner would.
The next morning I think I am going to have a regular day. So I start with a warm shower. TERRIBLE IDEA. The area that I will call my "fragina" which is the front of my girl parts is scalding. Scorching. Sizzling. I borderline expect it to be smoking. It is burned to a crisp. This skin that has never seen the light of day has just taken a trip to the sun. I maneuver around in the shower to avoid any water touching my fragina again. Finishing up, I towel off and inspect the victim. She's tomato-red. Not only tomato-red but crisp. The same way your back or shoulders burn, the skin was being stretched when I moved.
I had no choice but to try to go on and continue with my "regular" day. I wore the softest underwear I could and had to deal with the stretching and crispy feeling. This continued on for about three days. Every day getting better, but still a burden.
I thought the worst part was over when the pain finally subsided. The torture was just beginning.
All bad burns heal the same way... By pealing and renewing the skin. I am sure at some point in your life you have burned your back or shoulders before, the process is never pretty...
Eventually, like all other burns, the skin ran its course and eventually stopped pealing. And even turned into a very tan fragina!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Why?
I like sharing my stories. By them being on this blog, I can share them with my friends!
You will see that the description to this blog states that these entries are about the triumphs and tragedies of my life. I will choose if I feel if the entry is a triumph or a tragedy. Some will be black and white, but others are more difficult to decide...
Please comment... tell me what you think is funny, not funny, or just pathetic. I am sharing a lot with you, the least you could do is share a fraction of your opinion with me.
XXX,
Lady Tata
You will see that the description to this blog states that these entries are about the triumphs and tragedies of my life. I will choose if I feel if the entry is a triumph or a tragedy. Some will be black and white, but others are more difficult to decide...
Please comment... tell me what you think is funny, not funny, or just pathetic. I am sharing a lot with you, the least you could do is share a fraction of your opinion with me.
XXX,
Lady Tata
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