I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.
Me: I mean… Yikes.
Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.
Me: Thanks, asshole.
Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.
He turned away to look out the bar’s window.
I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting too real.
I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.
I think I’ve reached the “regular” status at Max’s Taphouse. I don’t need to show my ID to Chuck (the bouncer/doorman), and the bartenders recognize my face and know my go-to drinks.
Tim is my favorite bartender. He’s quiet but says pretty funny shit if you pay attention to his hushed words. I told him about the off-duty stripper:
Tim: Oh I would’ve had fun with that. You should’ve asked what she did for a living.
Me: She’d probably tell me her day job.
Tim: Then you could ask if she likes to dance. Ask if she does ballet or…something more exotic.
Between the two of us (I went out with Kelsey), the tab came out to… $19.11. We were drinking heavily and the mixed drinks packed a punch. Tim doesn’t skimp on the alcohol; I like that about him. He must’ve given us a few drinks for free. I think he’s sweet on Kelsey.
I went to the beach yesterday. I needed it. I’ve spent most of my life near the ocean: Korea (it’s a peninsula), Hawaii, Florida (Gulf Coast side), and even when I lived in North Carolina, my grandfather had a beach house out in Sneads Ferry. So yes, seeing the ocean was very therapeutic.
Rachel, Dank Ass, and I got tipsy on Not Your Father’s Root Beer. Holy shit. I can never taste even a smidgen of alcohol in that stuff; the only way to know when it’s hit me is if my ears get toasty. After I drank just enough to find everything amusing, I swam around in a drunken manner, holding my beer bottle above the waves; I think I swallowed more ocean than beer.
And for a fleeting moment, the urge to want to do something reckless struck: I wanted to swim across the bay to the other side. I’m a strong swimmer, but there were miles of water to cover not to mention the many large boats cruising around the basin. I knew I’d never make it. I set my beer down on the dock, put my sunglasses on top of my head, and turned my back to the waves and sun. That’s enough of that, Jess.
And that’s when Rachel’s Uncle Sam started to get silly:
Uncle Sam: So you’re half Korean, huh? Cute. *He put his arm around my waist and turned me towards Dank Ass.* So are you two dating? Engaged? *His eyes flicked to the ring on my finger. Drunk Jess Engaged*
Me: No, we’re not dating. Dank Ass is hung up another girl. And I’m not cute. If I were cute… Things might’ve turned out differently.
I plucked my sunglasses from my hair and shoved them onto my face in case if I started to tear up, spun away from Uncle Sam’s arm, and walked to the end of the dock to let my feet dangle above the waves. Dank Ass joined me a minute later. “He told me that I shouldn’t think about just one girl and I should look at what I have in front of me.” There was a pause, and then we started to laugh our asses off. If something was gonna happen between me and Dank Ass, it would’ve happened a long time ago, and we both know that. We sat on the dock and just… hurt. Christ, misery really does love company… and sun tans.
Fast forward a few hours and we’re all having burgers, hot dogs, chicken legs, chips, corn, anything that could go on a grill. And then we left for my place, fat as fuck. I showered and got ready to go downtown; Dank Ass and I wanted to keep the night going. And then… a text… from someone from a long time ago.
When things ended with Michael, he was the first person I called. He was also the first person I called when I lost my virginity… first person after I had been sexually assaulted. And here he was, telling me he’d be there now.
I left Dank Ass in the bar holding our drinks. “Drink the rest of mine; it’ll loosen you up. I’ve gotta meet someone outside.”
And there he was, motorcycle helmet in his hand, smirk on his face. He hugged me. I felt light. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol working or being held. I wanted to just stand on the sidewalk like that, but he let go and led me to a table outside the bar. We people watched. We didn’t say much. He didn’t ask about Michael; I didn’t tell. His presence soothed my wounds, as it always has. It was the high point of the evening.
After he went home, the night went downhill. I ordered more drinks until I was broke. And then I started rating girls in the most asshole-ish manner possible; it scored me a few free drinks from the gentlemen sitting next to me; they must’ve thought I was hilarious.
That is violently ugly. Chromosome damage ugly. She could be the poster child for fetal alcohol syndrome.
No amount of weight loss is gonna do shit. It’s just gonna drain her titties into orangutan flapjack bobos.
Oh god, she made me change my standard of ugly.
And then one chick tried to argue with me about the rating I had given her.
Ugly Chick: I’m cute; you’re just a fucking bitter bitch who has no friends.
Me: My friend is in the bathroom right now, but this guy is buying me drinks so I guess he’s my friend too… *drunkenly pats back of the dude beside me* And lemme tell you something. I’m cute too; some guy told me that today! But men aren’t attracted to “cute.” *makes air quotes with fingers* If they were, they’d all own puppies.
I think I blew her mind with that one. It’s something I’ve recently realized myself.
Dank Ass and I got the hell outta dodge after that remark. We walked to the wharf, I kicked off my shoes, and let my feet dangle over the nasty water. We started to yell our frustrations across the harbor.
WHY DID SHE USE ME?!
I REALLY MISS MICHAEL AND WANT TO TALK WITH HIM!
WHY CAN’T SHE JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH?!
Oh shit… ducks. Dude, Dank Aaaaaasssssss… Look at the ducks. I WANNA TELL MICHAEL ABOUT THE DUCKS!
That was the end of the night. We walked back to the car: him in a brooding manner, me dancing in circles around him, singing snippets of songs.
I wonder what all the people passing by thought of us.
I’m drinking it. I feel good. My teammate’s boyfriend, Sydney, is the bartender. He’s taking care of my mental health. Who needs a fucking shrink?
Chris, my ex, is texting me. He smells blood in the water. My blood. He says he can come over. I’m about to hand my phone over to Justin so I don’t make any regrettable decisions, but first: “So how’re things with Bethany?” Drunk Jess has arrived.
The haze is kicking in. The good numbness that makes me think all is well, makes me feel nothing. All suggestions sound like Nobel Prize-winning innovations. I’ve placed my fate in the hands of Sydney, Justin, and Megan.
Please put me to bed. In a flower bed… That means bury me in the ground.
There’s a lady who teaches an aerial arts class. Her name is Morgana. I think she likes me. She told me I should sleep with the 27 year old virgin from OkCupid. I told her he’s probably not a virgin and just found the holy grail to getting women to do the kinkiest shit in bed on the first date in an attempt to corrupt him. Clever Will.
I’m done. I won’t be ready for a new person in my life for a bit. Rebounds are unfair to the other person. I need time to hurt and heal.
Let the healing begin. Sydney has placed another gin and ginger in front of me.
It’s Saturday morning. If I had a TV I’d probably watch cartoons, but I don’t. Instead I usually receive a phone call, text, or visit from Zach and/or Sam, my real-life Looney Toons characters.
Zach came over for coffee at about 0700.
Me: You’re never up at this hour unless if you haven’t slept the night before.
Zach: Yeah, so? Can I have some coffee?
He asked me this as he was taking the coffee grounds out of the cabinet and filling the Keurig with water. He’s either an asshole or we’re really good friends. Probably both.
Me: So how was your evening?
Zach: I went out on a date that I didn’t even wanna go on.
Me: It couldn’t have been that bad if it’s ending just now.
Zach: She was supposed to be a one-and-done chick. I picked her up at a bar; you never keep those around.
Me: I didn’t know you had such strong principles on who you rail. What made you bust?
Zach: The way her tits bounce when she’s on top. HAHAHAHA!!! *I glared at him over my coffee cup* She left a ring at my place and I had to return it to her.
Me: I bet it was a $2 ring from a fucking yard sale. She probably just wanted a reason to see you again and you fell for it.
Zach: I don’t wanna hear anything out of you about people leaving shit behind. Remember that shitty take-out Tupperware Michael left here that I told you to throw away when you thought things were over?! AND YOU KEPT IT?! God, you’re such a girl sometimes.
Me: Okay, a few things. When I peed this morning, I definitely had a vagina so I’m a girl alla time. I didn’t meet Michael in a bar… AND he’s way closer to being Cinderella, leaving his fucking glass slipper at my place, than ANY chick that you’ve banged.
Zach: You’re right.
Me: I know it. So why’d you stay up all night, besides… ya know?
Zach: I made sure we went back to her place so she couldn’t leave anything with me. She lives in the city; you’re apartment was on the way back home. Besides, you always feed me and let me sleep here after a rough night.
Fucker just ate all my cookies and is sleeping in MY bed… and I know he saw me putting sheets on the spare mattress for him too!