Why I Didn't Post Yesterday, Part II

Among the stranger events of last night included my friend behaving quite oddly. Granted, most of the odd behavior began AFTER he’d consumed an entire bottle of Jack Daniels, but still. Even for a drunk person, it was outlandish.

For starters, he didn’t seem to want to stay in doors. Now given the squalor in which my friends live, this is no surprise. Basically he’d lie perfectly still on the couch for about 10 minutes, then, with near supernatural speed and grace, he’d dash outside and fall ass-over tea-kettle into the leaves on the front lawn. Then he’d lie there in the October chill and refuse to be moved, alternately cursing me for not giving him his keys and trying to move him into the house because his lips were turning blue.

Fortunately, he eventually passed out on the gravel driveway and allowed me to load him into his car and drive him home. With him snoring contentedly in his bed, along with the fifty or so leaves he’d brought with him, the interesting portion of the evening REALLY got underway.

Sitting on his sofa and watching cartoons, it suddenly occurred to me: I’m a smooth pimp daddy. What girl wouldn’t be flattered to receive a phone call from me at 11:00 on a Tuesday? My opinion was most likely influenced by the 2/3rds of a bottle of Sky Vodka I’d drunk (I know I said in part one that I'd only had half. Since then, I've seen the bottle. It was WAY more than half).

Now, for some reasons, girls doubt your intentions are pure when you call them drunk off your ass and claim you just want to “hang out.” Cynical whores. And the more insistent they became that I had no genuine fondness for them, the surer of my affection I became. When lines like, “I love you. Come sleep with me, Hot Lips” failed to make her melt, I actually proposed marriage. Twice.

In fact, all in all, I called one girl, and texted at least three more. I was skimming through some of my outgoing messages, and here are some of the more amusing ones:

When a girl informed me she was going to Salem this weekend, I responded: “Are you a Witch? Either way, you should come have ritualistic sex with me.”

To a girl who was in my address book from two years ago who I never actually went on a date with: “So how come you never called me back, bitch? I blame the schools.”

To yet another girl: “I know you have a boyfriend. Until you stop repressing your feelings, I have enough love for both of us.”

You know those breathalyzers that judges put on the cars of frequent DUI offenders? I need one of those on my cell phone. On the other hand, I wonder if I’m really any better when I’m sober.

Needless to say, my romantic advances were not met with the enthusiasm I'd hoped for. Which is why I awoke the next morning, alone on the couch while my friend yelled from his bed, “Why am I so itchy?” Ah, good times.