Minor?
The night I went to the Weezer concert
was a disaster, but not a complete bust. I was bored and/or lonely
afterwards and decided to go to this Latin club in Atlanta called
Santo Domingo (wonder if it's still there? I'll have to Google it,
because that place was the shit). Before going to the club I had to
ditch the computer tech guy. I did the good ol' disappearing act on
him, by getting in a mosh pit, making my way out of it to a beer
vendor and shamelessly hid behind their trashcan. I knew I was in the
clear when I saw him wondering around with a look of what I can only
describe as the abandoned dog. I watched him exit the perimeter and
felt like a total bitch for ditching him that way. I'm sure he dialed
911 and reported his curly headed fuck for a blind date missing. In
my defense his picture on Myspace was pretty deceiving. I was taken
with a web cam, at night, by only the glow of his monitor. He had a
disheveled look about him which I love because it radiates the “I
give a shit but don't want you to know that ” look. Which reminds
me to go ahead and warn you in case you didn't already know this, but
any guy that only has one picture, no matter how hot he may look in
it is most likely ugly or old or married. Ok let me just go ahead
and give you the rules of thumb I go by when it comes to Internet
pictures. First of all, I go through all the pictures if less then
ten, use what you can or more then ten just use ten random ones. If
70% or more you find him attractive in then you might have a winner,
if 50% or less don't bother it'll just be a waste of time. Secondly
if in every picture his shirt is off then the most you'll get out of
it is sex, and that's after he's conned you paying for both of yálls
dinner. Lastly he must show eyes and teeth in his pictures, if not,
he's hiding something. If he is always in sunglasses doing extreme
sports or extreme bathroom photos, he's either a.) hiding a lazy eye
or b.) hiding the complete emptiness of his soul, which I can only
assume he sold to the devil for those sunglasses because what normal
jobless, student can afford Prada? If he doesn't show his teeth, they
must be yellow, missing, or just jacked the fuck up, and you don't
want to deal with any of those.
Back to the story sorry I like to
rant. So yea felt like a big bitch for dumping him that way. But also
feeling relieved I didn't have to spend one more second with him. I
should have known by his job he'd be boring and play WOW all the
time, my fault. I did my walk/drive of shame in my beat up 1988
Toyota Corolla a.k.a POS. POS (piece of shit) had absolutely no A/C
unless you consider rolling down all four windows and driving 80mph
on the highway A/C, if you do then yes POS had A/C. It also had a
leaking windshield, which only mattered when it rained and I was
sitting in some random apartment complex “borrowing” someone's
wifi, so beach towels in POS was a must, even though the closest
beach was 5 hours away, even the closest lake was 2 hours away. And
of course like the wonderful mother I am there was always those big
ass, overly obtrusive car seats in the back. This car was such a
piece of shit that if I drove while it was raining the car wouldn't
go faster then 35mph. And even if you're driving in the slow lane of
I-75 you're going to get run over. So I took the chance of driving in
the rain just to make sure I got some hot Latin ass that night.
So I'm cruising my top speed of 35mph,
sweating my imaginary woman balls off, getting pounded in the face
with rain as if I had a sunroof down. One hour and 15 miles later I
reach my destination, Santo Domingo, my little slice of heaven. By
this point in my life the doormen of Santo Domingo knew me, this was
either because I was in there more then them or because I was always
the only white girl or white person period that ever came in. Even
the bartenders knew my preferred drink at the time.....Patron. Look
if I'm going to get drunk I aim right for the jugular, balls to the
walls, rock out with your cock out, or my imaginary cock and balls. I
was so proud I could actually walk into a bar and say, “my usual
please”.
With enough money to pay my entrance
and one shot of Patron I did just that. Then set on my quest for free
drinks from any man willing. Which in a Latin club could be quite a
challenge since only about one in five of them speak English and
Spanish. And my Spanish was as good as a 100 Mexicans in a Ford
Ranger crossing the border without getting caught. Conversations
normally went like this:
Me: Hola
Random Hispanic (RH): Hola, Como te
llama?
Me: Sherra y tu?
RH: Jose Eduardo Gonzales Jesus Lopez
Rojas Martinez
Me: Ok.......(make drink motion with
hands and pray for the best)
A short, chubby like creature of mud
mask complection finally observed my not so universal display of
sign language and got me a drink. After a few minutes of trying to
maintain a conversation I realize this fat fuck was married, I guess
I would've realized sooner if my eyes weren't so glazed over by the
thought of tequila. And it took that tequila shot to bolt me into
reality. I had imagined her name was Lupe or Rosa, and they met at a
local restaurant they worked at, falling in love over the deep fryer.
But this didn't stop me from taking the second shot he offered
because I was going to use the little tid bit of information to get
rid of him...after I took another shot and before he asked me to
dance. Smiling a brief moment to get pass the burning sensation of
the tequila going down my throat I suddenly looked horrified. As I
grabbed his hand in disgust I yelled. “Marrido!” I stormed off
towards the dance floor before I could laugh. Ultimately to avoid
contact with him I'd risk being the only white person not only in the
club but the only one to be brave enough to grace the dance floor on
reggaeton night.
In general I'm not scared of short men
no matter how big they are. Because I have this false sense of
muscular strength in my body. Which in reality is quite
disappointing, and a tad shocking. In my mind it would be easy to
beat up a man that's shorter then me even at that time of my life
when I weighed a whopping 110 lbs. More afraid of a gay man that's an
inch or two taller or shorter then me. Which I should have reason,
we're more equal in most ways.
On my way into the middle of the dance
floor everyone was staring at me, of course. I always go right into
the center of the tight crowd not to be the center of attention but
because I don't want as many people seeing me. So essentially I hide
in the middle like there's a gunman on the edge of the dance floor
willing to shoot the worst dancers ie. me. Think of Dancing With The
Stars but the judges have AK-47s. Just FYI I know how to dance now
and I do professionally once I have a series of Vegas Bombs in my
system. (Vegas also the name of my car, what happens in Vegas stays
in Vegas, except if there's a mess, that's a no go.) As I'm “dancing”
this tall guy started dancing with me. At the time I don't know if I
really thought he was cute or it was the tequila goggles, so we'll
just say he was. We made out of course on the dance floor, not
ashamed might I add. This tall, cute guy actually spoke a fair amount
of English, so the conversation was much easier with him then most at
this venue. Mynor was his name, and he was tall like I said, dark
hair and eyes, wore glasses, and dressed impeccably (this at times
has thrown me off because someone dressing like this normally means
they're gay, but that's only in the states, from my years of
experience I later realized most foreign men, especially European men
all dress in the “gay”fashion) . I find glasses on men sexy,
mysterious, and gives them the illusion of intelligence, this does
not apply to sunglasses, especially at night and in a club. We danced
and danced until I sweat out almost all of my tequila, and needed
more. My strategy is to get wasted early in the night, but not throw
up wasted and just maintain. Then slowly sober up before driving
home. It's my way of being responsible, you know so I won't do any
ugly men. He saw the desperation for a drink, it must've been the
twinkle in my eye as I looked on towards the bar. Finally! He offered
me a drink. Another way that I'm a responsible adult is that I always
follow the guy buying me a drink for a few reasons
- I don't want to be roofied, and have to explain to my mother from jail why I licked the cop arresting illegal immigrants at the bar I'm at while screaming, “Celia Cruz is the Queen of Salsa”
- So they don't get me a well drink, because that's the quickest way to the bathroom from either puking or the ring of fire(term used for ass pee, wicked sting ring can also be used) and
- To make sure they pay AND tip, tip because I want the bartenders to continue liking me and therefore never spitting in my drinks.It never dawned on me that only 21 & older had on wristbands. I guess I assumed (drunken assumption) that since I was 21 everyone else had to be too. Wrong.
Mynor and I started dating, and I
ignored all the little red flags popping up. It was quite convenient
for me that he lived an hour or so away, no one could be needy in
this relationship. We decided to be exclusive, well I'd already had a
boyfriend so it was as exclusive as it could be on my part. Weeks
went by, and I was always disappointed with the sex because he was
apparently very inexperienced. Which didn't totally bother me because
my other boyfriend was. His inexperience was quite charming along
with his super sweet disposition. So one boyfriend was entertaining
me at some point of the day, I was starting to feel like I needed to
make a decision between the two. This is the only time in my life
I've ever had this dilemma. Two boyfriends is too much work. The day
the choice was made, Mynor called me and asked to come over to talk.
I knew this couldn't be good, but it couldn't be bad either. I had
just met his family from Guatemala when they were in town visiting
the week before. Did you know Guatemalans call themselves “Chapins”?
Yea me neither.
I was living with my gay ex-husbands,
single mother of one, aunt, Gerri and her one Noel. Noel was just a
few years younger then me, so when I moved in we instantly became
close. We shared almost everything, well more like her sharing
everything because I was always broke. We'd cover for each other, go
on trips to Florida, she'd watch my two lil ones during my late night
escapades, and I'd do her chores. It was perfect. She introduced me
to several of her friends including Albie, the former Abercrombie &
Fitch model, boy was he hot! I'll have to get to him later.
Mynor arrived and we went into Noel's
room to talk. There is no way to have a serious conversation in my
room no matter where it's at. There's always clothes strewn
everywhere and skeleton's of Starbucks left on the dresser. Plus in
my room there's only three things I ever want to happen in there,
sleep, have sex and read...in that order then repeat. I knew I wasn't
getting laid this day and if I was it would have to be in the floor
in the hallway or the bathroom sink. The thought of rug burn on my
ass or knees is just as appealing as having to puke in a public
bathroom at a country/western bar on a line dance night while hearing
“Boot, Scoot and Boogy”in the background. And leg cramps from
bathroom sex is a no go, I like my sex to be comfortable not
convenient. Sitting on the end of Noel's bed I could tell he looked
sad. He proceeded to tell me I needed someone older, that could take
care of me. Totally puzzled because he in no way had ever provided
for me. Ready for the shocker? Sitting down?
“I don't paint during the day like I
told you. I'm actually 18 not 20 and I'm a senior in high school. I
can't do this to you anymore.” I'd love to see my face at that
moment. Just picture a midget with a camera that waits in your closet
and pops out to capture moments just like these. Those pictures of
expressions I'd hang on my wall as art.
Midget hiding in closet: $10/hr
Camera: $300
Look on your face when you find out
your boyfriend still buys carton milks at SCHOOL: priceless.
I cried for a moment but not because I
was sad he broke up with me but that I had a high school boyfriend
and I wasn't in high school. And to top it off I got duped, by a kid.
I did the only thing I could do, call Noel. She laughed considerably.
Once her laughter was slightly subdued I asked her if she wanted me
to hook her up with him, since they were in the same graduating
class. Prom maybe?
Sex Partner Number:
7
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