I'm blue...da ba dee da ba di...
Recently I decided that since my current life is about as exciting as an episode of Sesame Street—from the 80’s when the cast wore tight-rolled acid washed jeans and the most exciting guest host was that girl from that show that no one watched—that I would use stories from my past to spice up my blog.
The reason I did not blog about these stories as they were happening is that I actually had a life. I was too busy living life to sit down and write about it. Now my life is so damn dull that I’ll sit with a blank Word document up for 20 minutes just thinking up something clever to write about. Then I’ll type 3 or 4 paragraphs…reread it…highlight the entire thing…and punch the delete key. Finally I just give up and close my laptop and go to sleep.
I know I don’t have to write. It’s not like I have an audience that expects new material from me on a regular basis. But I love to write. I like sharing my stories with people. I also really like the thought that someone may read what I have to say and laugh and enjoy it. I like to make people laugh…even if it is at my own expense. So to keep with this idea of making people laugh…I bring you the story of Smurf.
This particular conquest of mine gets the nickname Smurf so henceforth he shall be known for the purposes of this blog. Also because I honestly can’t remember which Matt, Ryan, or John he actually was. When you start doubling up on names…things start running together.
One cold winter’s night my friends and I decided we would not let the bitter cold and snow keep us from getting laid god damn it! *There used to be a time in my life when if I wanted to get laid, I went out and got laid. Those were the days* So we got all dolled up. I had short curly hair that night that I spent an hour on. Not that it matters…but I’m lacking on the details of this night so I will share them as I remember them.
My two friends, at the time, were the quintessential party girls. They were always up for a good time and every time we went out…a good time usually found us! One girl was as close to a model as I will ever have for a friend and we used her looks to our advantage. The great thing about attractive people is that they attract other attractive people. Now my model friend, of course, would always get the best looking guy out of whatever group we met up with…but the rest of us didn’t complain because the leftovers were usually easy on the eyes as well.
Partying with cool attractive people makes you instantly feel cool and attractive. When you feel cool and attractive you can make others believe you actually are! It’s really an easy trick with a high success rate. If you fake confidence for long enough…eventually you forget you are faking it and you actually have it. And that, my friends, is when the men flock to you!
This night started out no differently than any other night. We invited some hot guys over to pre-party with us which included drinking games of some sort. Once we were all good and sauced up we’d all pile in to a cab and head to the bar.
Our bar of choice this night was Wandos. Even though I was probably 25 or 26…I looked 21. *Still pretty much do 3 years later, as it turns out* Sometimes bringing men with us to the bar was an inadvertent vag blocker. Men do not approach groups of women when they have extremely good looking guys with them…which, at the time, we had.
Despite the fact that I was looking cool and feeling attractive…even I knew my limits. I knew these guys we were with were not interested in me and as we stood on the second level I sort of broke away from the crowd. I was looking over the railing when I was approached by Smurf. He was carrying a fishbowl (pretty common place at Wando’s) that was filled to the brim with blue colored alcohol. *Do you see where this might be going?*
He walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to share his fishbowl with him. I hadn’t pulled my beer goggles out of my pocket yet and could tell this guy wasn’t half bad looking so I grabbed one of the twelve straws and began sucking down my part of a half gallon of hard booze. *I feel like I should throw in a disclaimer at this point: Kids, don’t try this one at home*
Over our shared fishbowl I learned his name, that he lives in Milwaukee and was here visiting some friends, and that all his friends had left him behind. Or so he said. I believed him as I believe any story a stranger tells me as long as they’re half convincing and I’m half drunk. Of course I instantly felt sorry for him. “Oh you poor Smurf, your friends just ditched you?”
I felt obligated to make sure this guy didn’t spend his night hanging out alone. What kind of person would I be if I just left him there standing along the railing drinking his fishbowl alone? A pretty horrible one I must say. It became my mission to ensure that he had a good time. Plus I had all but forgotten the dejected feeling I’d been having earlier over being shunned by the hot guys we came out with.
If you don’t know what fishbowl is…it’s just shot after shot of hard liquor with some Sprite splashed in to the bowl. I think it ends up being, like, 12 shots of liquor or some other ridiculous amount of booze. The point is that you’re supposed to share it…with more than one other person. They can be very dangerous.
Well, needless to say, our fishbowl experience caused us to get real cozy real quick. Before I knew it we were making out up against the railing. I’m not sure whose idea it was…but I know I was all for it! My friends were standing near by, but did nothing to stop it. Which is totally fine because after an undetermined amount of make out time, eventually the bouncer did decide to do something about it…he kicked us out!
I got kicked out of the bar because I was making out. Not the proudest moment of my life…but a memorable one nonetheless.
As I was being nicely escorted out of the bar for my public display of affection I called to my friends to stay at the bar because we were getting a cab. Yes…I had spent maybe an hour…though probably not even that long…with this guy and he had already won a cab ride back to my place.
My memory at this point is a bit foggy, but I can only assume that once we called 242-2000 we commenced making out. Pretty sure we made out in the cab. I don’t know who called, who paid, or if we tipped the guy…but I do know we made it to my apartment. At the time I was living alone in an apartment that was technically in the basement of the building because it was built on a hill.
We had to go down a flight of stairs to get to my place. On any normal day heading to my apartment those stairs aren’t usually a problem. After drinking, then drinking more, then topping it off with a fishbowl…the stairs were just entirely too difficult. Of course I had my heeled boots on and they were slippery from the snow…so we’ll say it was because of that that I fell ass over tea kettle down an entire flight of stairs!
I mean, I was rolling down them. It was like something out of a slapstick comedy. When I hit the bottom I was laying on my back dazed and confused and blinded by the overhead lamp. I remember Smurf coming up to me and asking me if I was all right. I’m not sure what it was that I told him, but I’m sure it was a really smooth answer that made me look really cool.
He helped me up and we went in to my apartment. I was so drunk I didn’t even care that I had made a complete ass out of myself. I was pretty sure he was also a shit show so it didn’t even matter. Plus, what was he going to do, leave? He didn’t even know where he was. His friends weren’t answering their phones and he was stranded in a city he didn’t know.
I don’t think we spent too much time taking a tour of the place. It wasn’t that big of an apartment anyway. I’m pretty sure we just got down to the task at hand. As much as I’d love to sit here and type up all the details…I don’t remember any. I have no memory whatsoever of that encounter. I know it happened…I saw the evidence of it the next morning…but as for anything specific—those brain cells died that night and never regenerated.
At one point in the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom. When you pass out naked and wake up that way…life is really disorienting. First you get up and realize that you have no clothes on. Then you look around the room and realize you have no idea where you took your clothes of at. I randomly grabbed at articles of clothing and held them up trying to decide if they were men’s or women’s wear.
I believe I found my shirt and my underwear and I put them on and staggered to the bathroom. I was still pretty tanked at this point so walking wasn’t as smooth as it could’ve been. I remember turning and looking back and seeing Smurf sprawled out and quietly snoring. I had no idea what his face looked like because it was hidden by my pillows.
I tiptoed in to the bathroom and decided against turning on the light so that I wouldn’t wake him. I didn’t really want to have any sort of awkward conversation at this point…I mean hell, I didn’t even know this guy! Not turning on the light was a piss poor decision that I didn’t realize until I slipped and fell…again.
Even though I was still drunk, I didn’t think I was that fucking uncoordinated to just slip and fall for no good reason. I mean, my bathroom didn’t have any stairs or anything. So I reached up and flipped the switch on the wall that illuminated just the toilet and shower and looked around.
The entire area that I was sitting in was blue. It took a minute for my brain cells to zap to life and make the connection that someone had blown blue chunks all over my bathroom and that I had slipped on it when I walked in…but when I did I almost tossed my own blue cookies then and there! I’m surprised I was able to hold it together.
I was pissed!
I invite this kid to my place and give him a nice warm bed to sleep in and he thanks me by barfing blue all over my bathroom and then just leaving it? I mean…he didn’t even have the decency to grab some toilet paper and wipe even a little of it up?
Mad as hell and covered in smurf-colored vomit I went in to the kitchen and grabbed two rolls of paper towel. After mopping up what I could of the floor, the toilet, the tub, and my nice brand new expensive white shower curtain…I tried to wash myself up. Of course I had to change out of my wet clothes.
I didn’t even want to get back in to bed with him, I was so mad. But at that point I had been forced to sober up and I had a horrible hangover waiting to set in so I wasn’t sleeping it off on the fucking couch! I ended up waking up before him anyway—I almost always wake up first—so I was able to shower and get dressed and sit out in the living room and start watching tv before he even emerged.
He came walking half dressed out of my bedroom scratching his head and asking what time it was. I squinted when I looked at him trying to tell if he looked anything like the guy I thought I took home. Luckily enough he wasn’t a Muskrat. In fact, he was pretty cute. I didn’t even care what he thought about me because I was still a little angry.
After he called his friends and gave them the address to come pick up his ass...I was sure to mention that I had woken up in the middle of the night and was forced to clean smurf puke up. And thanks a lot for that because I slipped on it when I walked in too. “What? That wasn’t me. That was you” is what he told me. Oh really?
He insisted he didn’t throw up and that it was actually me who threw up. Considering how much we had had to drink that night—I couldn’t rule out the possibility that maybe it was me who had thrown up. I had no memory of it…but it wouldn’t be the first, or the last time, that I would get sick and not remember until I saw the evidence the next morning or until someone filled me in on the details.
Oddly enough, even after all that, he still wanted to exchange phone numbers. He told me that he’d call me the next time he was in Madison.
I’m still waiting for that call…
And I’m still finding stains on my white shower curtain…
The reason I did not blog about these stories as they were happening is that I actually had a life. I was too busy living life to sit down and write about it. Now my life is so damn dull that I’ll sit with a blank Word document up for 20 minutes just thinking up something clever to write about. Then I’ll type 3 or 4 paragraphs…reread it…highlight the entire thing…and punch the delete key. Finally I just give up and close my laptop and go to sleep.
I know I don’t have to write. It’s not like I have an audience that expects new material from me on a regular basis. But I love to write. I like sharing my stories with people. I also really like the thought that someone may read what I have to say and laugh and enjoy it. I like to make people laugh…even if it is at my own expense. So to keep with this idea of making people laugh…I bring you the story of Smurf.
This particular conquest of mine gets the nickname Smurf so henceforth he shall be known for the purposes of this blog. Also because I honestly can’t remember which Matt, Ryan, or John he actually was. When you start doubling up on names…things start running together.
One cold winter’s night my friends and I decided we would not let the bitter cold and snow keep us from getting laid god damn it! *There used to be a time in my life when if I wanted to get laid, I went out and got laid. Those were the days* So we got all dolled up. I had short curly hair that night that I spent an hour on. Not that it matters…but I’m lacking on the details of this night so I will share them as I remember them.
My two friends, at the time, were the quintessential party girls. They were always up for a good time and every time we went out…a good time usually found us! One girl was as close to a model as I will ever have for a friend and we used her looks to our advantage. The great thing about attractive people is that they attract other attractive people. Now my model friend, of course, would always get the best looking guy out of whatever group we met up with…but the rest of us didn’t complain because the leftovers were usually easy on the eyes as well.
Partying with cool attractive people makes you instantly feel cool and attractive. When you feel cool and attractive you can make others believe you actually are! It’s really an easy trick with a high success rate. If you fake confidence for long enough…eventually you forget you are faking it and you actually have it. And that, my friends, is when the men flock to you!
This night started out no differently than any other night. We invited some hot guys over to pre-party with us which included drinking games of some sort. Once we were all good and sauced up we’d all pile in to a cab and head to the bar.
Our bar of choice this night was Wandos. Even though I was probably 25 or 26…I looked 21. *Still pretty much do 3 years later, as it turns out* Sometimes bringing men with us to the bar was an inadvertent vag blocker. Men do not approach groups of women when they have extremely good looking guys with them…which, at the time, we had.
Despite the fact that I was looking cool and feeling attractive…even I knew my limits. I knew these guys we were with were not interested in me and as we stood on the second level I sort of broke away from the crowd. I was looking over the railing when I was approached by Smurf. He was carrying a fishbowl (pretty common place at Wando’s) that was filled to the brim with blue colored alcohol. *Do you see where this might be going?*
He walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to share his fishbowl with him. I hadn’t pulled my beer goggles out of my pocket yet and could tell this guy wasn’t half bad looking so I grabbed one of the twelve straws and began sucking down my part of a half gallon of hard booze. *I feel like I should throw in a disclaimer at this point: Kids, don’t try this one at home*
Over our shared fishbowl I learned his name, that he lives in Milwaukee and was here visiting some friends, and that all his friends had left him behind. Or so he said. I believed him as I believe any story a stranger tells me as long as they’re half convincing and I’m half drunk. Of course I instantly felt sorry for him. “Oh you poor Smurf, your friends just ditched you?”
I felt obligated to make sure this guy didn’t spend his night hanging out alone. What kind of person would I be if I just left him there standing along the railing drinking his fishbowl alone? A pretty horrible one I must say. It became my mission to ensure that he had a good time. Plus I had all but forgotten the dejected feeling I’d been having earlier over being shunned by the hot guys we came out with.
If you don’t know what fishbowl is…it’s just shot after shot of hard liquor with some Sprite splashed in to the bowl. I think it ends up being, like, 12 shots of liquor or some other ridiculous amount of booze. The point is that you’re supposed to share it…with more than one other person. They can be very dangerous.
Well, needless to say, our fishbowl experience caused us to get real cozy real quick. Before I knew it we were making out up against the railing. I’m not sure whose idea it was…but I know I was all for it! My friends were standing near by, but did nothing to stop it. Which is totally fine because after an undetermined amount of make out time, eventually the bouncer did decide to do something about it…he kicked us out!
I got kicked out of the bar because I was making out. Not the proudest moment of my life…but a memorable one nonetheless.
As I was being nicely escorted out of the bar for my public display of affection I called to my friends to stay at the bar because we were getting a cab. Yes…I had spent maybe an hour…though probably not even that long…with this guy and he had already won a cab ride back to my place.
My memory at this point is a bit foggy, but I can only assume that once we called 242-2000 we commenced making out. Pretty sure we made out in the cab. I don’t know who called, who paid, or if we tipped the guy…but I do know we made it to my apartment. At the time I was living alone in an apartment that was technically in the basement of the building because it was built on a hill.
We had to go down a flight of stairs to get to my place. On any normal day heading to my apartment those stairs aren’t usually a problem. After drinking, then drinking more, then topping it off with a fishbowl…the stairs were just entirely too difficult. Of course I had my heeled boots on and they were slippery from the snow…so we’ll say it was because of that that I fell ass over tea kettle down an entire flight of stairs!
I mean, I was rolling down them. It was like something out of a slapstick comedy. When I hit the bottom I was laying on my back dazed and confused and blinded by the overhead lamp. I remember Smurf coming up to me and asking me if I was all right. I’m not sure what it was that I told him, but I’m sure it was a really smooth answer that made me look really cool.
He helped me up and we went in to my apartment. I was so drunk I didn’t even care that I had made a complete ass out of myself. I was pretty sure he was also a shit show so it didn’t even matter. Plus, what was he going to do, leave? He didn’t even know where he was. His friends weren’t answering their phones and he was stranded in a city he didn’t know.
I don’t think we spent too much time taking a tour of the place. It wasn’t that big of an apartment anyway. I’m pretty sure we just got down to the task at hand. As much as I’d love to sit here and type up all the details…I don’t remember any. I have no memory whatsoever of that encounter. I know it happened…I saw the evidence of it the next morning…but as for anything specific—those brain cells died that night and never regenerated.
At one point in the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom. When you pass out naked and wake up that way…life is really disorienting. First you get up and realize that you have no clothes on. Then you look around the room and realize you have no idea where you took your clothes of at. I randomly grabbed at articles of clothing and held them up trying to decide if they were men’s or women’s wear.
I believe I found my shirt and my underwear and I put them on and staggered to the bathroom. I was still pretty tanked at this point so walking wasn’t as smooth as it could’ve been. I remember turning and looking back and seeing Smurf sprawled out and quietly snoring. I had no idea what his face looked like because it was hidden by my pillows.
I tiptoed in to the bathroom and decided against turning on the light so that I wouldn’t wake him. I didn’t really want to have any sort of awkward conversation at this point…I mean hell, I didn’t even know this guy! Not turning on the light was a piss poor decision that I didn’t realize until I slipped and fell…again.
Even though I was still drunk, I didn’t think I was that fucking uncoordinated to just slip and fall for no good reason. I mean, my bathroom didn’t have any stairs or anything. So I reached up and flipped the switch on the wall that illuminated just the toilet and shower and looked around.
The entire area that I was sitting in was blue. It took a minute for my brain cells to zap to life and make the connection that someone had blown blue chunks all over my bathroom and that I had slipped on it when I walked in…but when I did I almost tossed my own blue cookies then and there! I’m surprised I was able to hold it together.
I was pissed!
I invite this kid to my place and give him a nice warm bed to sleep in and he thanks me by barfing blue all over my bathroom and then just leaving it? I mean…he didn’t even have the decency to grab some toilet paper and wipe even a little of it up?
Mad as hell and covered in smurf-colored vomit I went in to the kitchen and grabbed two rolls of paper towel. After mopping up what I could of the floor, the toilet, the tub, and my nice brand new expensive white shower curtain…I tried to wash myself up. Of course I had to change out of my wet clothes.
I didn’t even want to get back in to bed with him, I was so mad. But at that point I had been forced to sober up and I had a horrible hangover waiting to set in so I wasn’t sleeping it off on the fucking couch! I ended up waking up before him anyway—I almost always wake up first—so I was able to shower and get dressed and sit out in the living room and start watching tv before he even emerged.
He came walking half dressed out of my bedroom scratching his head and asking what time it was. I squinted when I looked at him trying to tell if he looked anything like the guy I thought I took home. Luckily enough he wasn’t a Muskrat. In fact, he was pretty cute. I didn’t even care what he thought about me because I was still a little angry.
After he called his friends and gave them the address to come pick up his ass...I was sure to mention that I had woken up in the middle of the night and was forced to clean smurf puke up. And thanks a lot for that because I slipped on it when I walked in too. “What? That wasn’t me. That was you” is what he told me. Oh really?
He insisted he didn’t throw up and that it was actually me who threw up. Considering how much we had had to drink that night—I couldn’t rule out the possibility that maybe it was me who had thrown up. I had no memory of it…but it wouldn’t be the first, or the last time, that I would get sick and not remember until I saw the evidence the next morning or until someone filled me in on the details.
Oddly enough, even after all that, he still wanted to exchange phone numbers. He told me that he’d call me the next time he was in Madison.
I’m still waiting for that call…
And I’m still finding stains on my white shower curtain…
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