Back from the mess. Back and no more drinking, or not that much, or not around menfolk I said.
I’m not emotionally… ready… to deal with typing out my shame really. Oh it’s subsided considerably.
But no. I’ll report on last night instead, because I was good and no strange men ended up maneuvering between my thighs.
I bought a vibrator on holiday. Ann Summers, 15 euros, all my bravado and still sheepish and embarassed up at the checkout cupping the bold thing in my hand until it’s paying time. Chubby girl working the till lists off care instructions while I mutter yes yes yes ok sure fine yes yes ok sure and she tells me when I’m not using it, to take out the batteries (I smirk at this. When will I not be using it?) And then there’s a special offer, cheaper if I buy a flavoured lube with it. Still too young and horny to need lube, I think… never needed it yet anyway. Have an abundance of the natural stuff. Spent a night with my best friend since I was 5 years old, drank a lot of wine, all we could find to drink later was sherry. Sherry went down easy til my friend noticed it tasted like wine and tequila. Couldn’t stomach the stuff after. Devised a method of coping with the sherry- lick some strawberry lube off my hand, drink a good swig of sherry, another slurp of lube. Managed to down the bottle between us. My friend not too keen on the lube ingestion. Me screeching instructions “put lube on hand, lick lube off hand, drink sherry” because I was pissed as a lizard and probably thought she just didn’t GET it.
Last night drank all sorts. Began night sipping the same beer til it was flat, with Andrea, talking bashful and remorseful and never agains and just a civilised one…
Moved from bar to bar and then bar, came upon a pretty hot friend of Andreas who is off limits because he so clearly likes Andrea. I’m no consolation prize. Hot friend was with his non-hot friend Horatio. Srsly.
Horatio is the flatmate of Fabio.
Fabio has been happy new year and happy christmas and happy feast of the annunciation-ing me over facebook all winter. I am a little turned off by all the unwanted niceness but also, I ate a lot of chocolates and cakes and drank over Christmas so I need the excercise. Fabio can stay for the time being. But I will have to give him the talk… you know the “just out of a Sirius relationship, no funny stuff, you can’t stay the night” talk, although I did break up with husband around a year ago. Still. Boundaries, Fabio.
Fabio’s flatmate last night, just the two of us in some room, leaving them alone together… Andrea and the hot guy she doesn’t even deserve because she has a boyfriend and last night over beers she gushed about being ready for her bf’s babies, little chubby faces and bringing him home to meet the parents. Fabio’s flatmate throwing out his best moves and me holding his hand back, gently telling him “I’m fucking your flatmate, be cool.”
Woke up on the couch. Someone put a sleeping bag over me. My feet on the heater, the rest of me cold. Thanks for the sleeping bag, hot guy. I would have fucked you way more than Andrea did, because I didn’t have to work today. Oh well, if you must have standards, I won’t stop you.
I have a spotty face today. All the drinking and being a filthy biznitch are taking their toll on my looks. Must desist immediately. HAD desisted, just stupid two beers always lead to the interminable whiskey shorts and urgh negroni (why?) and then something lemony and apparently now I have a graft where I ask a gormless looking Italian to guess where I am from and while my spanish-esque accent throws him, he guesses wrong three times and I get a free drink.
Stood outside with Andrea smoking (urgh. Will not start smoking again. Was just bad last night. Only in that sense, am pretty fucking proud of myself otherwise) and talking. I wanted to find out exactly how reciprocal hot guy’s advances were going down. They both disappeared at one point, apparently “looking for me”. I wanted to find out as hot guy was quite handsy with both of us, but obviously favoured Andrea. I was ready to take the sloppy leftovers anyway at this point. But only if nothing had happened. And only if hot guy took the initiative. It looked like he would though, Andrea had to work in the morning.
Conversation was interrupted by two serious grown up looking men, before I got any gossip from Andrea.
Gobshite man asking us who we are, our names, probably leaning towards interest in Andrea. As always.
I seize the moment.
“My friend is from Honduras. She doesn’t speak any English. I mean, Italian.”
Oh! Interesting! Wow.
I begin spinning my tale. Andrea gives nods and shaky smiles of a foreigner. We always speak spanish together anyway.
“We are BOTH from Honduras.”
Oh wow, no way, cool. Italian man leers at Andrea, the foreign mute. She grins madly.
I converse nonsense with Italian serious man.
He wants me to put in a good word. I am fucking BILINGUAL here, and actually I am trilingual, fucking dickwad. Why Andrea, yes she is prettier and talks less shit than me, but still. I look good in this light. Dim light. I look good, fucking men they are so ridiculous going for Andrea. THAT is why they find it difficult to get sex. They are too obvious about favouring the way out of their league girl. they should pretend to be crazy about me, then they would get nice enthusiastic sex fucking with no strings attached and I am not an ugly person, I look good really, just Andrea looks better. Cunt.
I tell Italian man,
“My friend Felicia is from a village where men are valued based on how many chickens they own.”
I turn to Andrea and slowly, in a Spanish I am sure Italians can understand, I tell her
“THIS MAN HAS MANY CHICKENS. YOU KNOW THE MAN WITH FIVE CHICKENS? THIS MAN HAS MORE CHICKENS. THIS MAN OWN MANY CHICKENS.” Andrea widens here eyes. She is impressed by this quantity of chickens.
Italian racist ignorant asshat is encouraged. Yes yes! Tell her I have A WHOLE FARM. I pass on this message. Andrea bats her eyelids.
Italian man is still buying this crap. Seriously he is probably not even drunk.
I tell him more, more bullshit. I begin making vigorous pumping gestures with my hand while talking rapid spanish.
Italian man interrupts me in a panick. No! No! what are you saying? What? NO! Don’t tell her that! What are you telling her? More chickens, lots of chickens!
I tell him I am saying he has a big house. He starts to doubt me.
“Hey I’m not stupid, I know that hand gesture…”
I turn to Andrea. I tell her in slow, laborious spanish that this Italian man
“DOESNT MASTURBATE” all the time hand pumping with great vigour and a straight face.
Italian man doubts me. “what? What are you saying? No stop that. Stop with the hand… What are you telling her?”
Relax, I just told her you don’t ever masturbate. What? Why? Who? Why are you saying that? Why are you hand pumping?
Shhh.. She likes you. She wants you to call her mother and ask permission to go to the harvest dance together in six months.
He gushes “I’ll wait! For you I’ll wait!” and clutches his chest, pining for Andrea as she stands before him.
I cant take it any more. Fuck this. Men don’t even wait an hour for me. I’m a better alternative to masturbation, that’s about it. I guess. Sometimes men get super horny for me. I am apparently quite sexy, I don’t know exactly why, but I think mostly it is some horniness and upforit-itude I emanate from my pores, as well as dressing as provocatively as is flattering to my body.
But no guy is offering to WAIT for me. My husband wouldn’t have waited for me if I had been in prison, that’s for sure.
I claw through the web of lies.
This man is too easy. I tell him he is a fucking imbecile and everything I told him is a lie. Andrea begins berating him in good Italian.
He announces “Shit, she speaks better Italian than you!” I sting back in self defence- that’s because she has an Italian boyfriend.
And it’s not even true her Italian is better than mine, he’s just blinded by how pretty and cool Andrea is. If I wasn’t her friend and a straight woman with NO SECRET LESBIAN INCLINATIONS, OK? I would totally have the hots for her. She probably knows it too. Andrea is the coolness.
Anyway Italian guy is befuddled as fuck. I tell him he owes me a drink because I beat his ignorant ass. He agrees without taking his eyes off Andrea. Andrea is laughing loads. It was so hard to keep a straight face… That thing about the chickens… You’re hilarious.
Yeah. Of course I’m hilarious, I have to be something when I stand next to hot chicks like you and basically all my friends. I have to have something to talk about while I shift my weight from foot to foot and awkwardly decide whether or not to fuck the lesser friend I am left with while my prettier friends are off with the alpha dawg.
You have to make jokes about things or else it is just there, the hideous truth of how we’re both plan b and not just plan b but EACH OTHER’S plan b, and then in 6 months when we are madly in love with each other we won’t even remember this, except as a niggling envy and paranoia of inadequacy.
I hate this man for making me face the truth so blatantly, for forcing a ream of lies and aggression out of me, just to save face and obscure the fact of how even speaking his language, even being way out of his league anyway… he’s still chugging away after that gold medal. Fucks sake. Women know their limits. Men don’t seem to. I guess because men always know, drunk women are anyone’s. Keep at it and you can have the hot chick even if your name is Repulsive D. Sgusting.
I tell him, double or nothing! TWO beers if he can’t guess where I am from in three guesses.
He guesses spain, south american countries… HA NO!
I am so triumphant. I am triumphing over everything, over not being the best looking woman in the world, over having to be so much more obvious about my sexuality because men aren’t going to hang around panting after me… although, maybe that’s partly the hangover because yes they sort of do all the time anyway. BUT of course I am focusing on the ones who like Andrea best because it is a sore point.
Eventually hot Argentinian guy who ALSO likes Andrea best (ah there it is, that’s why I’m so testy right now. Heh. Testes.) comes over, wraps arms around both of us, falls just short of cupping my right buttock, but I squirm into it like a silly insecure thing. No, he likes Andrea. I still would though. He keeps singing a bit from some song which translates as “Women, women women,” or something. It’s about loving women. He loves women apparently. But SOME WOMEN MORE THAN OTHERS. Whatevs.
He announces I am from an English speaking country. Italian guy guesses England. I grow bored. The game ends in his defeat with me brandishing my ID in his face screeching “LOOK LOOK LOOK” and then he points out that it says I’m Italian, not Irish.
Oh not that bit, well, I have a whole BUNCH of nationalities. He believes I commited an infraction. I order him to buy us all drinks. He shoots one last hopeful look at Andrea, she is leaning heavily on hot Argentinian, probably to get rid of Italian guy, and he escorts me, deflated, to the bar where he buys me one drink and not the two I rightly won. I ditch him as soon as the drink is bought. He bores me. I already have one gullible and boring Italian to bone, I don’t need another the same. I go bathroom.
In the queue a good looking black guy grabs my hand and tries to drag me to the dance floor. I lean behind a pillar and dig my heels in going “nonononononono!” like a petulant child.
He gives up. If I was Andrea he would probably have written a fucking poem to me. I just get manhandled and if I don’t go along with it, tough titties. Actually it’s probably how I was dressed. I was wearing a very tight and short t shirt dress that maybe is just a long t shirt.
Yeah that’s it, it’s not my looks it’s just how slutty I appear. And am. Ok. That’s that mentally dealt with. Moving on.
One guy is right in my face grinning and asking me something. I shoot out a “guesswhereI’mfromandbuyadrink?”
He is confused. Why? You have a drink.
NO. If you win….. I slep with you.
I sleep with you! I wiggle my eyebrows. I believe I have discovered a hussle.
He looks a little disgusted.
I don’t want to sleep with you.
OF COURSE YOU DO. I laugh. You are a man. Of course you want to.
I laugh more and whack him on the shoulders. I tell him it is hilarious how he feels the need to be so repressed and lie to me about how he totally wants me. He claims that no, he doesn’t want to fuck me at all.
Whatever. I tell him to have fun masturbating alone and storm off, looking pretty fine and slutty, probably, as I leave.
We are in a taxi. Andrea insists work! work in the morning. I think if I can only ditch the better looking friend, I can make a go of it with hot Argentinian guy. I pretend to wheedle her into coming back to wherever we are going. I don’t put all my heart into it. She crumbles. ALL right I’m coming.
Fuck. I didn’t want her to come, now I gotta watch hot guy make bambi eyes at her while Horatio with his advanced widow’s peak gives me the shaky “does this mean we’re gonna…” face and I drink and consider whether to go for it or not.
No. I’m fucking his flatmate, and Horatio is super unattractive. NO. Bad mfo.
Back in the house. I pull out one of my stupid party tricks. Look how weird my legs bend!
I sit on the ground and yank at my legs. They don’t bend. Oh. I must have fucked them up bad.
No one is impressed.
Andrea is sitting on the bed beside hot guy. Then it’s just me and Andrea.
I tell her not to let him opress her as a woman. She tells me she wants to fuck him.
I give up. there’s nothing I can do with that. Ok fine.
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. She’s too damn pretty it’s not fair.
Why do I only have pretty friends?
I need one of those token fat friends who eats all the pies and I can be all fake sympathetic with and pretend he’s gonna call you back, he’s TOTALLY into you.
Except I am too likely to get drunk and launch into a diatribe against fat people and them taking up all the air and space. This is why I have pretty friends, probably. There is nothing I can say to offend pretty people.
Except the stuff I inevitably wind up saying about abortions and stuff.
URgh cringe. Flashback of me bellowing at a party over Christmas, “I not only believe abortion is ok, I think it should be fucking mandatory”.
Anyway Andrea looks at me all coy and is like “so… you and HORATIO?”
And I’m offended. Andrea, does this mean you have me classed as an ugly friend? am I your… gasp… Who ate all the pies friend? am I your fat friend who makes you look good? Shit. Shit. I am amn’t I? But I’m not fat. I definitely amn’t, it’s just water weight because in about two days my crotch is gonna get the Tarantino treatment. Ugh and I just wanted to get some sex on. I wish I had the balls to do period sex like I used to. When I first met husband we took a bus, 14 hours I think, up to Brazil from Buenos Aires. I had my period, we had only met ,the bus was full, but around 8pm we had sex in his seat anyway.
And then rejoined the conversation with the people around us.
That’s why I got married by the way. I felt like, I am never gonna meet another guy who makes me so horny I will have dirty period sex on a packed bus with people talking around us. I was wrong. I have never done that since, but I have certainly been horny enough.
So Andrea things Horatio and i make sense as a pairing. I was gonna stop her from cheating on her boyfriend but now she has pissed me off, so I don’t give a shit.
Horatio and hot guy come back with a bottle of vodka. I begin swigging from the bottle- somehow I think this is gonna impress them and make hot guy change his mind about wanting to be with the prettier classier one of us.
The guys look horrified. No! Here is a cup and some mixer!
I pretend I was joking. How you can be joking by drinking neat vodka I am not sure, but I bet on their thinking I just have a really weird sense of humour they don’t get. Which is also kind of true.
I go to the bathroom.
My face… ugh. Where did these spots come from? I normally have lovely skin. Since leaving Ireland anyway. Stupid drink and greasy food and chocolate and sleeping on couches and floors. It will do that to you.
Best avoid, I say, having just spent another night eating pizza and drinking whatever I can hustle from credulous Italians and sleeping on another couch.
I try to cover my face with makeup but it doesn’t work because I am drunk. I put on lipstick, realise it is fucked up and all over the place but then decide triumphantly that as a woman, I feel empowered and fuck them if they think I look bad they are just stupid faces anyway. I go back out there. Horatio whispers to me, “let’s leave them to it.” I’m like.. urr but I kinda…
We go into another bedroom. I wonder briefly why we are not in the kitchen or living room.
Horatio does or says something that makes me remind him of the fact that I am already intercoursing with one guy in his house, not gonna double up. I begin guffawing about the prospect of fucking him and then in the morning getting up and bumping into Fabio. This seems like a hilarious sitcom-like situation.
I laugh for a long time. He apologises the next day. We get a taxi. He offers to pay half but it was me who wanted the taxi and not face the world hung over and spotty so I say no, I’ll get it. He doesn’t insist. Stingy bastard. He apologises for being drunk last night and because I am nice and don’t give a shit what he thinks of me, I am like no ha ha I don’t remember you being drunk or anything at the end of the night really, which makes him look relieved and happy but is a lie. I am nice. I know how bad shame feels, so I am nice.
I do actually remember dancing for ages and thinking where all the tall men at? And Horatio constantly grinding off me and I just laughing, laughing my head off.
I didn’t go there and I am glad I didn’t. He is super gross looking and stingy.
AND then there’s Fabio, that would have been some trashy shit if I had gone there. And believe me I was only about one beer away from giving up and going for some awful low standards second best sex.
So a pat on the back that I didn’t.
And now I just have a physical hangover to deal with, for the first time in so fucking long.
And it’s…. not too fuckingbad.
I have solpadeine which is about to get disolved in some motherfucking water and then right in my face and then I may sleep or watch Seinfeld.
The air smells good, the shutters are down in my room… absolute black except for this screen.
So this is what not being horrendously ashamed of yourself feels like.
Good day and happy Sunday slash hangover to you all.
And I have a vibrator now.
Life is motherfucking sweet.
Update: Stealth hangover. Feel awful.
Facebook stalked hot guy from last night… I’m shockingly gleeful that for once, the day after regret is not in my court. He aint hot. He’s OK. That’s it. He was just so far hotter than Horatio.
Ugh I have negroni aftertaste in my mouth.
Remembering hot guy who isnt actually hot, wanting a sip of my whiskey. I handed it to him and he pretended to enjoy it. I remember thinking, what a tool. Of course he doesn’t like whiskey. I don’t even know if I like the taste of it. I just enjoy drinking whiskey. It makes me feel badass, and it doesn’t make me sick.
Saw Andrea on facebook… tried to initiate convo– she’s clearly too ashamed and dying to answer me. Ha ha ha.
Poor girl. I feel bad I made her come back to the guy’s house when i didn’t even want her to, but I’m glad for once she’s hotter than me because that way I was saved from sleeping with him. And now I have no shame to deal with.
Except stuff like dancing. The dancing was pretty bad. Horatio kept jiggling his leg up to me. I guffawed in his face although I had to bend down to do so, and told him I don’t dance with men.
Then hot but not really hot guy spun me around and I told him for some reason, that I can’t dance the woman part because I have a natural tendency to lead and maybe I have a lot of testosterone and that’s why I have so much hair… although I’m not hairy now… and then I trailed off. Luckily on dance floors people can’t really hear you I think.
Actually there are many reasons why he preferred Andrea to me. I have to stop acting like it’s purely a physical thing. There’s also my terrible personality to consider….