all the alcohol from the weekend to seep out through my pores

or anything from my wishlist

recovery

WARNING, WARNING: MOM, YOU *DO NOT* WANT TO READ THIS ENTRY. I APPRECIATE THAT YOU NOW READ MY JOURNAL. THAT MAKES ME HAPPY. THIS ENTRY IS THE TYPE OF THING THAT WOULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AT BEST. IF YOU MUST READ, AT LEAST DO NOT READ THE SECOND SECTION ABOUT ANAL SEX. LOVEYA.

Anyway...

Part One: The Rules of Being a Woman

Pure. This is a place that is on my list of places NOT to go back to of my own volition. Perhaps my opinion was clouded because the night before we had partied at Rum Jungle and that was amazingly awesome and fun. At Rum Jungle, security was not comprised of assholes who threw certain person (me) out of the club simply for stopping too long to talk on her cell phone. At Rum Jungle, security did not yell at us for giving girl-on-girl lapdances but instead were grateful, as it should be. At Rum Jungle, within five minutes of getting in the door, we were invited into the VIP area. At Pure, despite getting invited into several VIP areas, it took us an hour and a half to convince security we were allowed to be in there. Plus, Pure? Those people aren't as pretty. My girls this weekend? They were pretty and here to get their party on. And they did. I've never seen girls so good at getting past a club line. We didn't wait in line ever. Anywhere. So, Pure was a scene. We were all wearing matching hoochie shirts. It was a bit much. And then this happend:

Hot Man Who is at Least Five Years Too Young for Me and May Have Just Turned 21
"I cannot believe for a moment a girl as sexy as you is standing here without a man next to her."

Now, let's be real. That line's not so bad. What makes that line bad is if you know that the guy who dropped that line had just watched me sit at a table full of guys we were with for half an hour and then had followed me when I got up and left the table to go in and watch the Pussycat dolls for a while. So, in fact, he and I both knew that he knew that it wasn't an issue of there not being a man around. I was wearing a Catholic school girl skirt and very little else. Having a man around was not an issue.

And here's where I went wrong. If you are a single girl, there are four rules to live by:

1. If wearing lipstick, always also wear mascara.
2. If sad, watch a romantic comedy with Meg Ryan.
3. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.
4. When you want to offload a man, give a fake phone number, but always give it by simply replacing one of the digits in your own phone number so if you run into the man again when you're out, you can always act like you gave the correct number and he wrote a digit down wrong.

The problem arises when you are too drunk to, for example, remember your own phone number. This state of drunken can happen when your intake for the evening is an entire bottle of wine, a double digit number of Red Bull and vodkas, four shots and an unidentified drink. Also, you are beginning to work on sleep deprivation because it is now approaching four in the morning. And when this is the state you are in, you will believe you are switching out a digit in your phone number, but in fact what you are accidentally doing is giving out your real phone number. Argh. MISTAKE. MISTAKE. ERROR. ERROR. And now this man who dropped this LAME ASS LINE on you is calling. Oh my. The cure to the disease, ladies, is to never leave your girls even for a moment, even if the Pussycat Dolls show is about to start. Sigh.

What Kind of Girl Looks Like the Kind of Girl Who Likes Anal Sex?

This is actually how this went down. We'd been partying with these Canadians for two days. Not unlike my girls, these guys were here to get their party on. They ran up VIP booze bills that are larger than the cost of a small house in Pittsburgh. And also, for the most part, they were very, very, very dirty boys.

In a different world, in a different time, with some different things going on in my life, I would have been so into these boys. But on this particular weekend I was more than content to let the girls have them while I facilitated and acted goofy and had fun. But also, I was wearing a Catholic school girl skirt and not much else. And so the most dirty of the dirty, dirty boys kept whispering dirty, dirty things into my ear all night. And in between that he would mix me very strong drinks, not realizing how much I have to drink before I will be drunk enough to do stupid things that I shouldn't and don't want to do. And so what happens as the night goes on is that the dirty, dirty boy gets increasingly frustrated that a)he is getting drunker and drunker by having to keep up with me and b)my level of response to him is not exactly what he was hoping for. By which I mean that we're not in the bathroom having sex.

So he continues to step up his efforts through the night, while also getting drunker and drunker. And then, close to the time at which we're about to leave, we're standing there, and this ACTUALLY HAPPENS:

Very Dirty Boy
I'm going to say something, but don't take it the wrong way, okay?

Me
Are you going to tell me I look older than 30?

Very Dirty Boy
Oh, God no.

Me
Okay, then I won't take it the wrong way. Promise.

Very Dirty Boy
(And for some reason I don't understand, his volume level suddenly jumps 10 times what it was and THE ENTIRE ROOF OF CAESAR'S HEARS THIS)

You totally seem like the kind of girl who really likes it up the ass.

And, and I'm not joking, everybody in a twenty foot radius turns and looks at us. And I mean, what do I say? I ponder telling the truth (which you can figure out for yourself on your own time). I ponder asking what kind of girl seems like she really likes it up the ass. I ponder many things.

But what I choose, sadly, rather than to just walk away, is to preface my walking away with a five minute speech about the dirtiest sexual positions that I like. Then I turn and walk away. And though I was going to go back and apologize afterwards for leaving him there all, you know, cold and let down, I then got kicked out of the club because of my thirty second stoppage for a cell phone call.

Yeah, in a different world, that story would have ended with a second story about how I snuck out of that boy's hotel room in the middle of the night. But I am a better behaved girl than I was 10 years ago.

Pure. Yep. Pure hilarity.