Audacious & Salacious in Stilettos

After leaving the bar and making it home to nurse my bruised ego (Mr. Clean Douchebag landed a low blow), I decided it was a brilliant idea to call Mr. Unexpected back—like a teenage twat—and bitch about my experience.

I should mention that I don’t really drink much anymore, so a little goes a long way these days, and I had definitely overshot my tolerance. So yes, we barely know each other and he’s certainly not my boyfriend. Talk about mortifying. I think I’ll just melt into the floor now…

In my inebriated mind, I concocted the perfect plot for revenge.

I’d return to the bar wearing my sexiest corset (black), black shorts, and my favorite black strappy stilettos—channeling Kathryn from Cruel Intentions: sexy as hell, a little trashy, but somehow pulling off classy.

My intention? Stroll into the bar, find the birthday boy, give him a movie-close-up kiss, turn on my heel, and walk the fuck out.

I was peeved to find the bar had cleared out by the time I got back—the party people had been kicked out for some reason. Alas, my plans were thwarted.

However, in sober retrospect, I’m grateful for that. It was a little over-the-top, even for me.

Naturally, I made friends with the threesome at the bar (a couple and their male third-wheel). They seemed nice—though I was pretty sure the girl was Southern-fake-to-your-face nice, and the boyfriend was showing more interest than prudence allowed.

As for the third-wheel? He was a dead ringer for Johnny Depp’s Hunter S. Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. And damn if I wasn’t spot on. He was kind of a nut, but not in a threatening way.

When I made my polite excuses to leave, I didn’t realize that giving the girl my phone number would result in the couple pawning Fear and Loathing off on me.

I had barely walked out of my apartment with Apollo when my phone started ringing—and low and behold, Fear and Loathing was striding across the street toward me.

He wanted to come on a walk with me and Apollo, proudly offering to give us a tour of Old Village, since he was apparently Mount Pleasant royalty with “noble” ancestry dating back generations.

I was baffled. Ultimately, my kindness overruled any sense of self-preservation, and I consented.

Yes, it’s an acutely uncomfortable truth: I’d be that woman in Silence of the Lambs who helps the man load the couch into the truck.

I might not be the right size for a body suit, but damn if my skin isn’t incredibly soft and would make an excellent scarf.

The walk itself was fine—pretty old-world houses lining the street.

Then, mid-sentence, Fear and Loathing pulled out a bag of what I correctly deduced was cocaine, whipped out a card, and carried on as though nothing was amiss.

I have to admit, it was impressive that he could keep talking and somehow not lose the powder to the wind.

He walked peculiarly—awkward yet functional—looking more and more like Depp/Thompson. Damn, I nailed that.

Sometimes I wonder whether I manifest my thoughts…

Suddenly, a call came through from 10 Second Tom (so aplty named because when he parties, he asks you the same questions every few minutes like the character in 50 First Dates).

He wanted me to stop by because a friend of his wanted to meet me. Then another voice jumped on the line—a man saying that 10 Second Tom told him I was “gorgeous” and pleading for me to come over (with 10 Second Tom in the background affirming I’m “cool as shit”).

If Model Perfection, my soul sister, had been with me, she would’ve said hard no-go.

But in my intoxicated mind, I saw a great story in the making—and I was admittedly intrigued by the cocky voice on the other end.

Oh my… wait for it.

I had no idea what I was about to walk into.

Entering 10 Second Tom’ apartment, I was greeted by three of his friends—a couple and another guy.

I immediately realized I wasn’t mistaken: the girl was butt-ass naked and rocking hair I could only describe as depressed mermaid blue.

The nonchalance of the scene was disturbing, but I cracked a smile and said,

“More power to you, girl!”

because I’m the asshole who will always address the very naked elephant in the room—directly and without haste.

It was a relief to let others entertain Fear and Loathing so I could end my impromptu hosting duties.

The group was absurd. For starters, I had to keep dodging indirect advances from the couple trying to solicit me for a threesome.

Have you ever been leered at by a naked girl and her boyfriend?
I do not recommend it.

Meanwhile, 10 Second Tom was waterboarding me again with the same repetitive questions—he must’ve fried his brain with whatever party favors he indulges in.

Luckily, Robin da Hood was normal—finally—and we had a great conversation.

It wasn’t long before my curiosity was satiated and I was ready to bow out gracefully.

Once Fear and Loathing finally exited (the boy could not take a hint), I stayed to chat with Robin da Hood, who has since become an invaluable sounding board—helping me locate those elusive words I’d go to the mattresses before surrendering.

And so, while I appreciate a little absurdity, this one was off the charts, and I won’t be repeating these choices.

Also, 10 Second Tom might be an incredibly sweet guy—but I definitely have enough friends.

From the most recent development, Depressed Mermaid Blue blew up my phone the next morning—apparently due in part to her boyfriend being extremely sleep-deprived (and, I’m sure, on a multitude of other things).

He was trying to find me—for whatever reason—and I knew exactly what would’ve happened if he had.

Thank God for deadbolts and chains.