When it comes to hosting wild, crazy, single-girl debauchery, I pride myself on being your go-to-girl…
But when it comes to putting my vaginal morals and commitments on the line in light of aforementioned hosting…well that’s where shit gets complicated.
My sister’s still in town for the week and, by the grace of God, so is Rusko and just about every other amazingly awesome dubstep DJ.
Angel demands we go because the guy she’s been playing fuck-tag with is FINALLY coming down from the Bay Area in the perfect storm of drugs, sex, and house music.
“Guys it’s been a fucking year and we’re FINALLY hanging out…AND he’s bringing a shit ton of Molly WE ARE GOING!”
It’s pure science that they’re finally gonna fuck.
I also have officially ended things with Drummer after he so RUDELY FORCED HIMSELF on my incoherently unwilling ass!
OK fine I didn’t put up much of a fight…and yeah I wanted it…and sure the sex was fucking MIND BLOWING AS USUAL…
But WHATEVS YO!
I told him that, while I was not OK with this back and forth booty calling disguised under “let’s just be friends,” I was obviously the one doing it to myself.
And that I would no longer.
I envision the following days to be an all-encompassing culmination of a weekend too wild for words…
Or so I’d hope.
The four of us get ready as I pour out whatever’s left of my Molly onto my vanity mirror.
I never like to do drugs by myself but there’s definitely not enough for all of us to have a good enough roll.
Because it’s not capped, we’re gonna have to snort it.
If you’ve ever snorted MDMA…you’ll know that it’s like getting 112425435 paper cuts in your nose the entire time.
Not a feeling conducive to the fact that we all just did our makeup.
Instead, Cookies suggests “Hey guys…why don’t we just each take a slab of almond butter on our fingers, dip it in the Molly, and eat it!”
Not only are my girlfriends sexy…they’re wickedly smart too *thumbs up*.
Now walking up to Avalon at 11:00 pm (the earliest I’ve probably EVER been out on the town in Hollywood), Cookies, Angel, my sister, and I know damn well we didn’t pay the 30 bucks for the pre-sale tickets to get in…
Shit we sure as hell don’t even intend to pay the 30 bucks to get in on a regular night.
Consider us bold and proud as we posit the prediction that we can just WALK our fine mother fuckin selves in NO LINE, NO TICKETS, NO PROBLEM.
…consider us delusional.
As usual, the three of us head to the front of the line and innocently ask, “Umm…is this the line to get in?” while cooing softly and running our hands up along the big beefy bouncer’s biceps.
He simply laughs at us.
“Yup. Aaaaaall the way back there ladies,” he scoffs as he points down the street then turns his head away while we’re STILL STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.
Fuck you man!
Not only does the line wrap around the block, if we ever DO make it to the front we’re gonna have to pay the $65 cover.
Ladies and gentlemen…commence Angel’s bitch fit, as she turns from seemingly innocent and sweet skinny blonde white girl to horrid, devilish incredible HULK right before our eyes.
“Oh fuck this shit and fuck that bouncer! THIS IS BULLSHIT!! We ALWAYS get in WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?! Oh we’re getting in there God dammit! Call up The Bartender! CALL HIM NOW!! Tell him to get us in now!” she demands.
Dammit………The Bartender from Bardot.
The guy I’d met and fucked within a given two hours about a month prior.
The guy I gave a one-armed hug to as I jumped in Cookies’ car to drive away as fast as possible after, speeding down through the Hollywood Hills as I cupped my vagina and apologized profusely to her.
The guy who for some reason won’t stop hitting me up when I FOR DAMN SURE intended it to be a ONE NIGHT STAND.
I thought we both understood that.
The look on her face suggests this is not a debatable suggestion, but rather a strict order that I will be violently attacked over were I not to act accordingly.
Hell hath no fury over a woman who needs to get laid.
I’m not gonna lie…I’m definitely intimidated by what her face currently conveys, plus she’s like a fucking foot taller than me…
SHE WOULD STEP ON ME IF I OBJECTED!
I need to get shorter friends…
I pout with a sour puss as I pull out my phone and text The Bartender:
“Hey…I’m outside with my friends…can you get us in?”
His immediate response:
“I’m coming down now.”
To be honest, I’m actually quite surprised that he so willingly agreed.
I haven’t seen him since the night we met/fucked well over a month ago and I ignore all of his texts/Voxes/calls (aside from the usual “I’m pretty bored why not?” replies).
You know what though…
The last Vox I got from him (after the slew of “Yo’s” and “Hey what’s up?”s) was simply:
Listen, I wanna take you to dinner. Plain and simple. Just let me do that.
Ah…I’ll admit…it was definitely sweet…
But I still wouldn’t budge.
Needless to say, right now, I’m pleasantly surprised that he’s willing to get us in on such a busy night.
And so are the girls.
As the four of us wait in front of Bardot, the knots in my stomach tighten.
Seeing a guy I definitely did not enjoy fucking is just as mortifying as waving one of my used tampons at me.
I’m gonna spare the details of what made the sex something I’d rather never experience again…but I will say that sex on Molly is not the same as sex coming DOWN from Molly 10 hours later.
This is exactly what I’m doing as I see The Bartender make it down the stairs and look around.
He still looks as handsome and exactly like Scott Speedman as ever:
Short curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, rugged jaw line, broad chest, big dick.
(I mean I’m sure his dick is still the same size as when I last saw him)
Anyway…he spots me in the crowd and gives me a slight disarming smile to his right and holds his gaze on mine.
Somehow I melt…and wanna further punch myself in my vagina for doing so.
He motions over as the four of us head his way, cutting the line as other Hollywood hopefuls talk as much shit as possible about the four whores now heading through the door.
Angel is pleased for the moment.
This is the first time I’m seeing The Bartender since we fucked.
He grabs my hand and leads us up the stairs into the club as I introduce him to the girls, the three of them now thanking him like he’d just poured out a kilo of cocaine for all of us to partake.
We get to the top of the stairs and he whispers into my ear, “Hey sexy” before he winks and then heads back behind the bar.
Good Lord…my vajay jay is flattered.
He motions for me to come over as I see him line up four shot glasses on the bar.
Oh God…I don’t think I can handle getting drunk and going home with somebody I already had bad sex with.
I then remember that I’m mildly on Molly again.
Shit…yeah no this definitely isn’t happening tonight.
Instead of rounding up the girls to take free shots…I bolt for the dance floor downstairs, fully intending to avoid The Bartender for the remainder of the night.
Besides…we’ve gotta get my girl fucked.
And THAT is a whole other mission in itself…