Hello My Name Is: Drunky McDrunky Pants.
An update. To maintain authenticity, no language or usage (misusage) of text (as words or as in actual text characters) has been changed. At all. My insecurities, real or imagined, are also here for all to see…
Re: ummmm… yeah.
Sent: Tues, Nov 23, 2010 at 1:19 AM
So. I think I sent you a text message the other night while I was completely shitty and arriving home after 3am.
Yeah. Not sure if you got that. It was indeed after 3am and I was indeed completely on my ass.
And. Now I am e-mailing you (cheaper than texting from another country) to tell you that I just got back to my room. It is 1am (so doing better than last time). Why, pray tell, would I need to e-mail you now? Hmmm… maybe because I was almost fucked in an Irish bar by the Irish bartender. Oh yes and I am pretty shitty once again (yay Guiness! I love that shit). But he was cute. And Irish. So the whole accent thing.
Although. Here’s a point. It is SO interesting how easy it is to make girls feel slutty and boys feel good about such encounters (I just wrote “encunters” – ha ha ha!). I mean… I am fine with this (obvi) but it all happened so fast… one minute we’re having a late night pint after he’s closed the bar, the next minute, he’s flipping me against the wall and pulling my (and his) pants down (not that I am minding, mind you, I just think… um…yeah… bartenders are bad enough but Irish ones? You had better strap a goddamn latex something on that asap). Anyways. And so OF COURSE I was like “ummm… do you have anything?” and he says “I’d have to get something from the bathroom” and I think “ew.” but I also think “damn but I am too fat for this shit – thank you food and beer and wine and all that – and I have to pee and I need to shave and shower because like I saw this shit coming and still ew you need to get a condom from a bathroom and so no” and so we make out some more at the door and then he lets me out and bye.
Um. We could go to your place, dumbass. Although. To be fair. I think he lives with other people. I don’t really know. Because I am slutty and don’t care to ask but…. yeah. No. Done and done. Although he might have said I should “call back” tomorrow before I leave. Whatever that means…?
WTF. Hmmm… maybe I should have been more explicit about no meaning no right at this minute and not after I’ve had a piss and you’ve found a condom and we’re not in your bar (although that is kind of hot and an awesome story. But. He did already know where we should go fuck so… how many times have you done this with American tourists again?).
But. Why should I care, really. I mean. I am leaving tomorrow. And I didn’t even tip him, and he went on at the end of the night about how tipping was important. My bad.
Anywyas. I might be too drunk and wishing I were getting really actually laid right now to have this conversation. I hope you and Chris enjoy this e-mail on Tuesday morning.
Damn you stupid cute Irish boys. Why don’t you invite me home. I am leaving in the morning anyway.
Ohg my guy I smell like boy. Omg yum. But I think he may have needed a bigger penis. But you said that doesn’t matter. What do you think about drunk bar encounters (encunters?) – does that count?
OK. Serious. Good night.
Clearly, there is a whole blog here about the whole Studly Boy/Slutty Girl thing that is forthcoming… I am home on Friday and have all weekend to write it.
Oh yeah also – Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll be traveling to Dublin. Eat turkey for me and thank our forefathers for that whole stealing-a-country thing!