Shit Balls and Sharpie

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.

Out of the Wood Work

It’s funny when word travels and people know you’re not seeing anyone anymore. The girls ask if you’re all right and then suggest a night of drinking.

The guys… They start to extend their little feelers out and test the water. Going out on the town for an evening becomes a loaded event.

You wanna go out this weekend?

Maybe. I’ll see if I can get the guys together and we can paint the town red.

Oh. I was thinking it could be more of a one-on-one sort of deal. Maybe we could get dinner and go for a walk in the city. Try our luck on a lottery ticket, drink shots of tequila while we hang our feet over the harbor…

That’s the terrible thing about friends who ask you out: they know all of your favorite things to do.

Eh, what the hell; it sounds like a good time.

Besides, it’d be pretty fucked up if I told him “no” when I have three other dates set up (today, tomorrow, and the day after).

Conclusion: Some people find me cute as fuck.

Life’s a Beach and It Tanned Me

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.

Not to be confused with my ex-boyfriend, Christofucker. I met this Chris way before I started dating the other.

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.




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.