Monday, February 08, 2010

Party with the clit killer

Saturday night I went to a birthday party for a friend.

This friend has parties often and it’s usually the same old crowd. Therefore, I wouldn’t say I was excited about the party in particular. More that I was excited not to be sitting on the couch in my pajamas, yelling at the TV and swilling out of a large wine bottle. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, right?

My family drove me nuts all day so by 4pm I decided I was going to get ready and leave early. It took me even longer than usual because everyone had an opinion on what I looked like.

Mom: You’re not wearing your hair like that, are you?

Aunt C: What’s going on with your hair?

Mom: You have on too much make up.

Aunt C: No! I didn’t mean it like that!

Mom: I did.

Lee: There’s something wrong with the front of your head.

Mom: Are you wearing that? *attempts to button top up to my chin*

Me: ARRRRGH! FUCKERS!

I didn’t feel like straightening my hair because it takes a very, very long time. The only problem with going au natural is that sometimes things work out and sometimes they don’t. And by things, I mean my giant, curly fro.

I ended up pulling the front up in a barrette, which, coupled with my dress, leggings, and flats, made me look like a 13 year old from the 80’s. Radical.

I packed up my wine and went to my cousin’s house to hang out until the party. For two hours we discussed controversial issues like men’s double standards and the merits of ineffectual fathers. I finished the leftovers of one bottle and we went on our merry way.

It was rather cold and drizzly. I was cursing myself for wearing that ridiculous outfit when I’d have been far more comfortable in jeans and boots...like everyone else in attendance. I wandered around and greeted a few people then stopped to check out the refreshment table. Thankfully L and W (the two girls I’d come with, in a completely non-lesbian way) began stuffing their faces too. Except they were stuffing their faces with chips and ranch dip and I was more inclined to stuff mine with meatballs.

As I resumed my mingling I noticed several things:

1) It was only 9pm and there was already a drunken woman swinging from a bench press pole and making sexual innuendos to inanimate objects. Best part? It was the birthday girl’s 50 something year old mother.

2) There was the token creepy old guy that shows up to every party within a 30 mile radius of the house he still lives in with his parents. This one happens to be about 7ft tall and sleeps with anything that breathes. He was clearly on the prowl.

3) The guy I ran into the last time I was out on the town was there. I was pretty wasted that night, but he regaled me with my violent antics. Apparently I punched him in the stomach. Hard. He was laughing about it, but I could see him eyeballing the drink in my hand and calculating how many I could have before he needed to disappear.

4) There was the gay guy swigging vodka out of a brown paper bag and doing some sort of air humping dance. If I were him, a gay man at a redneck shindig, I’d be swigging out of a brown paper bag too.

I had a good time at first. I drank my wine, danced a bit, took some shots. The party was half in their garage and half in their driveway where they’d set up two fire barrels that everyone was gathering around. (It’s the country, ok.)

I was standing with my back to one of the barrels, laughing with a few other girls, when a friend came running over.

“Ya’ll! Omigawd! Have you seen (insert first and last name)?”

Everyone but me turned and looked where she indicated.

“He’s so hot! You should go talk to him”, she said, addressing the girl on my left. “He’s got a great job and he’s really sweet...” She continued spouting his virtues to the single man eater, who didn’t appear the least bit interested.

I was well on my way to being drunk, so when I heard the name of the guy I’d hooked up with on New Years Eve, I quietly panicked. It couldn’t be the same one, I thought. He doesn’t hang out with these people.

“What did you say his last name was”, I asked my friend. She repeated herself. “What’s his mom’s name? Does she work at that Dr.’s office?”

She frowned at me. “I don’t know.” She called for her sister and relayed the question to her, who answered in the affirmative.

I must have looked a bit horrified. In fact I know I did.

She leaned toward me and whisper-shouted, “OHMIGAWD YOU FUCKING SLEPT WITH HIM DIDN’T YOU?!”

“SHHHHH! Shut up! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“YOU DID! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SLEPT WITH HIM! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

I wasn’t exactly sure what the big deal was. The way she was acting you would have thought I’d slept with the mayor.

“But he’s so nice”, she said.

“So?”

“You don’t just sleep with a guy like that.”

“Well....” I didn’t know what to say. I’d expected him to call me. After all, he kind of owed me one. When two weeks went by and he still didn’t call, I chalked it up to a one night stand...a relatively unsuccessful one at that.

She continued to heckle me about it and the more she spoke, the more nervous I became. I knew he was standing several yards away in another group, but I couldn’t make myself turn around and look. I was positive he’d overheard her antics, especially when she motioned her sister back over, calling her a bit too frantically.

“She slept with him”, she said to her sister.

“NO WAY”, her sister shouted, dancing in place.

I sighed. There was no way I could casually speak to him now that the loud mouthed twins made it look like I was telling our business to the entire female population. I knew he was embarrassed enough about his performance without being made to think I was spreading the details around. I knew my face was beat red.

When pressed for details about him I simply smiled and shook my head, then wandered off to the kitchen in search of shots. I downed several and avoided going outside for awhile, waiting for them to move on to the next drunken topic.

When I finally returned to the group, I was facing his direction. For the rest of the night I followed him with my eyes, paranoid about what he may or may not have heard. He seemed ok, but I wasn’t. The more I drank and the longer I looked at him, the more disappointed I became.

Why hadn’t he called me? Why hadn’t he at least said hello? Why was he ignoring me? Should I go talk to him? I can’t. What if he heard all of that?

As the night wore on our group got smaller. I ended up standing around the fire with him and three or four other people. He was directly across from me and not once did he look at me. Finally, during a lull in the conversation, I said, “Hey, how’ve you been?”

“Pretty shitty”, he said without looking me in the eyes.

Fuck.

I said maybe one more sentence to him the rest of the night. Then I watched him mack on a girl that was barely old enough to drink (if she was).

Ok, get ready for the rant:

So we slept together. Ok, big deal. So he wasn’t great at it. Ok, big deal. I didn’t bad mouth him to anyone. I was even willing to let him try again sober, which HE suggested, not me. I can understand him being embarrassed. What I cannot understand is him treating me like I’m not there. Seriously? Fucking rude. If I can be nice to him, smile at him, and keep my mouth shut, the least he could do would be to do the same. A simple, “Hey, how are you doing” would have been nice. Or even a “sup” and a head jerk.

Am I overreacting? It was a bit of a blow to the ego, I’ll admit, but there’s just something wrong with the whole thing.

According to my mom he’s this really sweet guy that just picks the wrong girls. He’s really weary about involvement because an ex really broke his heart. According to my friends at the party that know him, he’s a really sweet guy that’s looking for something serious.

Ha. Really? I’ll bet he found that serious thing he was looking for in Miss Pre-Teen’s pants.

That wasn’t nice. Gawd bless him and his erectile dysfunction.

Anyway, I finally left a bit worse for wear. Unfortunately my car got stuck in the mud and had to be pulled out. I’d let my cousin borrow it a bit earlier to pick up a friend down the road and when he returned, he decided to leave the sunroof cracked open and sink my front end into a marsh. Nice. In hindsight I probably shouldn’t have screamed “goddamn it” repeatedly at him out my window. I’m sure I looked a bit psychotic.

On a positive note, that girl will probably be out of commission for the next week. That man is like the Edward Scissor Hands of the clitoris. Ouch.




Note:
I was going to make Erin’s video blog when I got home from the party, but trust me, it wasn’t really the best idea. Now it looks like I might have to do it sober. The horror!

28 comments:

Tony said...

Hmm..I don't know the entire story, but I'm pretty sure if he really is Mr. Sensitive, he's butt hurt that YOU didn't call him. By the sound of him, he's probably one of those guys that feels sorry for himself because every single girl he meets ends up "hurting" him. It's not your fault. He's just a sensey. I used to be like him...minus the Edward Scissorhands deal. The ladies called me Magic Fingers...because I'm really good at rubbing their...you know...backs.

mo.stoneskin said...

When you say "large" bottle of wine you mean larger than 750ml, some sort of mammoth bottle? And do people actually still drink out of paper bags?! Unbelievable. Can't believe I wasn't invited and, well, I expect you might have looked psychotic but I wouldn't like to suggest it...

Gorilla Bananas said...

Some people have a low threshold of embarrassment, Missy. Whatever you say to him, the words he will hear are: "What the hell were you doing to my clit?".

BugginWord said...

FYI it's hard to type a comment with one hand permanently in a defensive position over your vag. You poor, poor thing. We (me and my vag) feel your pain.

Eric said...

Well that's fng awkward if it's only four people around the barrel fire and one of them doesn't even talk to you.

What a retard.

Rusty Hoe said...

One of the best titles I've read in ages.

He's a dick. It's as simple as that. Whatever happened it's poor form to act like a sulky 2-year-old. His issue not yours.

I have to wonder if he is one of those 'nice guys' who uses pity "oh he had a bad breakup", to act like a dick?

Prosy said...

I thought this story was going to end with you accidently setting yourself on fire via the open garbage bin flames, but I guess thats just me at parties.
Boys stink. I would be pissed too.

Homesick Cajun said...

Sounds like he was so embarrassed that he didn't want to face you. Which if you think about it, you'd probably be embarrassed to talk to him if the shoe were on the other foot. Doesn't make it right though! He should have called you, and he should have at least spoken more than two words to you. Men are idiots sometimes...especially when it comes to being a limpy lol!

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

Maybe he has that issue where he wants a serious girlfriend, but once he sleeps with a girl she's no longer girlfriend material. He sounds like a manchild nutbag.

Can he sculpt your bush into a topiary though?

The Vegetable Assassin said...

Get your revenge by approaching pre-teen conquest girl with a metal thimble and saying "Honey, this is a clit guard. You better use it if you plan on walking for the next week without grimacing."

Or maybe walk away with your dignity, you decide.:)

What a dickhole.

mylittlebecky said...

ugh, this is why some people shouldn't be out in public with the REAL people. what a poophead.

edward scissor hands, *dreamy siiiiigh*

Ellie said...

Oh, I love it. All of it. And look - she probably needed help finding it, so maybe ms. preteen could be the one.

P.T said...

Awww poor guy must have been intimidated by ya! Or he was embarrassed because he is aware of his poor performance!

valentina ♥ said...

unfortunate situation, but i enjoyed reading this story. you write wonderfully.

Secretia said...

Reading one of your posts is much better than any half hour of tv sitcom!

Secretia

Harna said...

Edward Scissor hands of the clit...another one to add to the list. I usually call them clit smashers or iron hands. You'd think that by a certain age, men would realize that those are NOT moans of pleasure.

Judearoo said...

I'm with P.T on this, he was probably just embarrassed. And think about it, he probably didn't expect to see you there either. That said he could've at least been polite. Wounded ego and wonky willie; best avoided.

Baz said...

Sounds to me like he was embarrassed, and as Judearoo said, he didn't expect you to be there either. However, unless he's expecting the same results as last time, I would have expected him to 'have a pop' and at least try to put the record straight. Sounds to me that he never goes back for seconds, or even one and a half's*/quarters*/thirds* etc.

*delete as appropriate.

Sally-Sal said...

Sometimes I think guys hide behind the word 'nice' when they're really kinda douchey.

A lot of the so-called nice onces I've known have their not so great or outright terrible qualities.

He's the Michael Bolton of clit stimulation.

The mad woman behind the blog said...

I've been waiting for part two of this story and sadly, it went exactly as I expected. Weird that I lived this same thing about 15 years ago.
Sorry suga, I do like the thimble/clit armor idea.
He'll proabably find that serious thing he can't shake in miss pre-teen pants, clingers all of them.

Vic said...

Not a nice guy. A coward. No wonder he likes the preteen if that's still where he's at himself.

Poor lonely air-humping gay guy. Him I have sympathy for.

Hunter said...

He's clearly an ass-clown.

How is it that bullet points number one and number two didn't somehow hook up?

Joe Hill said...

i think that many readers misunderstood was "edward scissor hands of the clitoris" was supposed to mean. obviously that phrase refers to the beauty and excellence of that movie. it'd be like calling someone the 'saving private ryan of the clitoris' or the 'fight club' of the vagina.' it's a term of praise people, or wait...my bad.

NWO said...

I can always count on you to make me feel great about my life.

For the record, I'd be honored to talk to you anytime. Even over a fire barrel.

The Peach Tart said...

Oh honey. Poor you and poor asshole for at his age not understanding how to treat a woman's treasures.

otherworldlyone said...

Tony: Now you know the entire story. And he sucks.

Mo: Um, I don’t know exactly how large, but it’s serious. If you lived in the area I would invite you to all the parties. Well, maybe I would if you weren’t married and all.

Gorilla Bananas: Yeah, you’re probably right.

BugginWord: Vaginas unite. You know, at a distance....

Eric: Exactly, Eric. I’m glad you understand the gravity of the situation.

Rusty Hoe: Thank you. And I’ve pretty much decided that he is one of those guys. If he isn’t, at least I still feel better.

Prosy: It was definitely a possibility. My friends had to pull me away from the fire a time or three. I almost caught my hair on fire.

Homesick Cajun: I might have been embarrassed, but I wouldn’t have let that stop me from talking to him. I also wouldn’t have let him walk around with a negative opinion of my sexual prowess. I’d get on it again immediately and rectify the situation. HooAH.

Steamy: I think most guys have the issue. Maybe that’s why he tried to kill the clit...he was mad about the lake of vegetation?

Veg Ass: Yeah, I’ll go with dignity. If I didn’t have to see pre-teen on a semi regular basis...maybe, but she and I are in the same wedding this year. Sigh.

Becky: I love Johnny Depp, by ESH gives me the heebie jeebies.

Ellie: Ha, she just might be.

P.T.: I’m sure he was embarrassed to an extent, but I don’t think intimidation was a factor.

Valentina: Thank you.

Secretia: Maybe I should be an actor.

Harna: You would think so, wouldn’t you? Some of them just don’t like to learn. Iron hands...that’s good.

Judearoo: Wonky willie....nice.

Baz: Exactly!

Sally: Haha! Oh, Michael, not again! Yeah, I think he’s one of those guys. I keep hearing about how wonderful he is, but apparently this guy has a Jekyll and Hyde think going on.

Mad woman: Damn, really? I didn’t expect it to turn out that way at all. Be my physic?

Vic: Yeah, he left early, poor thing. (The air humper, I mean.)

Hunter: Mmm....I suspect there’s a good reason, though I’m not sure what it could be. Maybe they’ve already been there, done that?

Joe Hill: While Edward Scissor Hands was clearly an artist with ice, shrubbery, and the like, his... personal touch left a lot to be desired. Fight Club of the vagina is awesome.

NWO: I’m so glad I can bring you up. I mean...well, you know what I mean. Thank you.

Peach Tart: Maybe he’s a victim of poor teaching methods.

Hannah Miet said...

I am writing a chapter of my book today about the man who edward scissorhands-ed me. Thought of you, then started checking my google reader...coincidence.

I feel for you. I don't know what the hell I'd do if my family was attune to my, er, sleeping arrangements. They read the blog...but they don't actually know these people.

Eeek.

mac said...

I was the fella in a similar situation once.

Well, not exactly. I don't have ED or even poor dexterity. But, what I did was loose her number. I saw her at a party a couple of months later. I was nice BUT her friends were quite rude to me...something about using her, Whatever!

I apologized. She gave me her number, again. I called. We had a few dates, but I decided she was a psycho and quit seeing her - Well that, and she had problems like your Edward Scissorhands guy ;-)