The Diary of a Drunk (Part 2)
Continued from Diary of a Drunk Part 1
We parked, stumbled out of the car, and pretended to be sober as we presented our IDâ€™s to the bouncer. They must be hard up, they let us in. We walked right up to the bar and ordered another shot of Patron, this one really hurt going down. Perhaps the 20 minute drive had given my stomach time to decide that it didnâ€™t want to swim in alcohol anymore. I felt like hammered shit!
I sat down on a stool over in the corner with my head bobbing up and down admiring my new t-shirt with â€œ50 Tequilasâ€ in big block lettering across the chest. I looked up just in time to see my wingman getting shot down by a girl who would be a 7 on the weekends, but was easily a 9.5 on a Tuesday. The halter top, with no bra really works for me. It wasnâ€™t cold out, but her nipples were poking out of the thin fabric of her shirt. â€œThere are some great fake tits in this cityâ€, I thought to myself and at least Illis was trying.
I had lost the ability to talk, but I still tried to offer some condolences as he walked over to me. We sat around looking at each other for awhile wondering why we were still out; could it be time for some late night pizza and some Advil?
I couldnâ€™t believe my eyes. The girl who had just given Illis the Heisman 15 minutes earlier came back over, put her arms around him, and gave him a kiss. That was a fast change of heart. She pulled him over to the side and started grinding on him. They sat down at the bar and after what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes, motioned me over to come sit with them.
I clearly had nothing better to do, so I walked over and sat down. She pointed to her friend across the bar and told me I should save her from the guy she was talking to. Thankfully for me, even as drunk as I was, I saw that the guy had 3 inches and about 40 lbs. of muscle on me so I declined. Just as well, she said, sheâ€™ll be over here soon enough anyway.
The bullshit flowed back and forth as Illis and his new friend got acquainted and I sat there, trying not to fall out of my chair. Eventually, as predicted, the friend found her way over, sat down next to me, and complimented my eyes. I wondered how she could even see them. I must have looked half-baked and Chinese at this point, but hell, I am a sexy bitch.
After a couple brief introductions the ladies demanded we go dancing with them. Now, I am not much of a dancer when I have the ability to walk and piece together coherent sentences; but at this point of the night, I would be lucky if I didnâ€™t piss myself. I had to try though, never leave a man behind; and who knows, maybe Iâ€™ll get some helmet out of it.
Theyâ€™re out on the dance floor, I am struggling to keep my butt in my chair and this chick canâ€™t keep her hands off me. I must just exude game, damn this is easy! â€œSo did you really drink 50 tequilas at one time?â€ she asked, reading my shirt. â€œSure didâ€, I smiled thinking, what a dumb bitch. Now a little piece of ass aside, all I want to do is go to bed. Illis, dripping with sweat, walks up with his new play toy and they are ready to go party back at my place, thank god!
Outside the bar, we hail a taxi. As our ride pulls up, you canâ€™t miss the Bob Marley blaring out of the cheap stock speakers or the chronic cloud oozing out the windows. Is this guy fucking kidding? Either way, he was more sober than we were and I wanted to go to eat, so we jumped in. I mumbled out some cross streets and motioned to the driver to pass back whatever it was he was smokingâ€¦he did. The car turns into one big hot box as we are driving down Scottsdale road.
I looked to the left, thru the haze, to see Illis biting his girlâ€™s ear and shoving his hand up her skirt, nicely played! As charming as I usually find myself, I am still wondering what this girl is doing with a drunk fuck like me. A little unsure of myself, I decide to stick to the small talk instead of undressing her like my partner was doing next to us. â€œSo what do you do?â€ I asked, just biding my time until we got home. â€œI am a lady of pleasureâ€ she answered in what I now realized was a fake Australian accent. â€œA what? Is that like a hooker? Youâ€™re a fucking hooker? You have got to be shitting me!â€ I couldnâ€™t believe it! Well ok, it did make sense. I was way too drunk to be interesting to anyone other than myself, but I was still pissed. â€œHow muchâ€ I asked. â€œ$1000 each for the rest of the nightâ€.
To be honest, I love a good hooker as much as the next guy, but a grand for a girl on a Tuesday when I have about a 13.2% chance of getting wood just didnâ€™t make sense. So instead of explaining this like a gentleman I started yelling at her and insulting her. Through all of the commotion, Illis had never bothered to remove his tongue or his hand from his little street walker friend.
Finally we pulled up to the house. I jumped out of the car, threw $40 at the cabbie for the ride and the weed, and grabbed Illis by the shirt collar not knowing how much he had already owed this chick. â€œDude, we need to talk! Come over here! These girls are fucking hookersâ€ slurring and pissed off. â€œI knowâ€ Illis responds with a little giggle. â€œMaybe you donâ€™t understand. Not sluts, a grand each kind of hookersâ€ I tried to explain to his drunk ass, â€œgo ask themâ€.
After the confirmation of prostitution, a loud shouting match erupted in the middle of the street. Realizing that they werenâ€™t going to extract any money form the two drunk guys, the hookersâ€™ attitudes changed abruptly. â€œWell can we at least come inside to use your phone to call a taxi?â€ Just hoping this night would end, I motioned for them to follow me. I unlocked the front door, threw my keys on the coffee table, and told Illis to get these bitches out of here quickly as I stumbled angrily up the stairs to pass out.
The imaginary drums beating on my head told me it was time to get up and take my morning piss, although it was likely sand would be the only thing to exit my body I was so dehydrated. I threw on a wife beater and my Angels hat and walked down stairs ready to go grab some Subway from down the street. â€œWhere the fuck are my keys?â€ I whined as I stepped over my friend sleeping on the floor. Being in too much pain to put forth any serious effort in terms of a search, I had to settle for a Gatorade and a Hot Pocket form the Circle K at the corner before crawling back into bed for the rest of the day.
After sleeping most of day and skipping through my Tivo, I awoke the following day a new man, recharged and ready to go. I had a couple friends pick me up for lunch because I still couldnâ€™t find my keys. â€œ$11.51â€, the man declared from behind the counter for a sandwich and a bowl of chili. I handed over my debit card starving and ready to get down of this food. â€œI am sorry sir, you card was declined for insufficient funds. Do you have another card you would like to use?â€ I demanded he run it again, I knew I had money in there, but it was declined yet again.
I called my bank in a rage wondering what the hell was keeping me from my sandwich. The operator sounded confused, â€œYou are in Scottsdale right now? It appears that you just withdrew $3200 from a credit card machine at the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas.â€ Fuck me!!! I had one of those stupid mini keychain debit cards on my keys and the hookers jacked them from my house before leaving and apparently had the last laugh. â€œHey bro, buy my sandwichâ€, I pleaded with my buddy. The hookers may have won this battle, but they hadnâ€™t won the war! â€œGod, I fucking hate tequila!â€
Lesson 1:Â If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
Lesson 2:Â Never let a pissed off hooker into your house.
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About Noah Dipasquale Noah currently resides in Scottsdale, AZ and is your average 23 year old guy, living in a 30 year old's body. He considers himself deeply romantic; meaning he will cuddle after sex for about 5 minutes before falling asleep. Noah justifies his not being an alcoholic by not drinking in the morning, on week days. His life revolves around sex, and for some reason tends to masturbate even more when he's getting it regularly. He is the self-proclaimed 13,765th best looking male in America and once spent an entire night telling every girl that he spoke with that Red Bull prevents pregnancy and STD's, most believed him. Lastly, Noah definitely did not go to Jared.