Thursday, June 2, 2011

Naughty or Nice

I survived the weekend.  I laughed, I cried, it was better than an enema (but not by much).  Last night I was recounting stories from the front line and my friend said to me suspiciously "You had no idea it was going to be like that?"  *Sigh.*  No.  Ignorance ain't just a river in Egypt, or whatever that saying is.

So in final recap, I saw three penises (or is it penii?  I prefer the latter.  Keeps it anatomical in nature and not as sensational as penises, which sounds like a stutterer tripped while telling you about his extensive pen collection) this weekend.  Not one of the penii was in a private viewing, mind you.  And all three were attached to very drunk men.  I watched girls grope and kiss each other in front of guys 3 or 4 times (not counting the blond-on-blond make-out session on the boat Sunday, from which there was no escaping).  I was molested by one very drunk shotgirl hussy on the boat ("Oh, you get it EVERY time!" she said, in reply to my "Umm, I didn't know you were going to do this... I only wanted a shot..." as she straddled my lap and put her nearly naked bits in my face).  I'd like to mention she was not an attractive hussy, either, so there go any college fantasies about buxom lipstick lesbians.  Not that I had any.  I'm just hypothesizing.

Said shotgirl hussy later fingered herself in front of everyone on the boat (for quite a long time, really.  Quite a champion, that one) when the drunker guy she was trying to hook up with was too incapacitated to do the work himself.  This coming (no pun intended) after his third near death experience of the weekend, when he fell in between the boats and smacked his head.  The first two were the night before when he stumbled into the pool, narrowly missing hitting his head on the side... and then when he passed out in the hot tub and started sinking under, too unaware to wake himself up... His friends pulled him out each time.  But you get the picture: the weekend was a mess!  Where did I fit in?

I didn't.  I no longer have any illusions about being part of the crowd.  The peeps I'm most comfortable with are sensitive and caring (and also snarky bitches, of course)... I thought to myself what these friends and I would have done had they been my companions all weekend.  We'd probably have shared some Malbec, cooked fantastic meals and told embarrassing and funny stories to each other, saving the masturbation for the privacy of our bedrooms.  Hey, if you can't love yourself, who's going to?  The silent sound of one-handed applause playing across the warm night air would have been enough to make any person happy for their contented friend.

One girlfriend hooked up with a fella the first evening and was at his side for the rest of the trip.  I clung to my other girlfriend, turning to her strong, sober presence to get me through the chaos.  This lasted until about midway through Sunday night's pajama party, when bachelor number three finally piqued her interest.  At that time, I and my heavy flannel pj's took myself into my bedroom, got under the covers and prayed that no drunk man would mistake my door for the loo, lest I find it necessary to karate-chop his chestnuts.  I'd have done it, too.  Tired, cranky January doesn't pull any punches but she just might nail you in the nuts if you piss her off.  Lucky for me, and them, I drifted to sleep, earplugs blocking out all but the dull thud-thud-thud of the house music.  We were leaving in the morning: it felt like Christmas Eve.  I know several people from this weekend were getting big, black lumps of coal.


  1. OMFG. You need a week to recuperate from this weekend.