It's cold. So we're slathering up with peach body butter from The Body Shop. Because it smells like summer. And buying 6 bottles of red wine. 'Cos it's cheaper.
J has not been in a good mood this weekend. She was supposed to be chilling with Druggie. They'd rented a house on the beach and had planned to spend the whole time getting stoned and eating while staring off into the sunset. Perhaps not the best weather for it, and most of the beaches are still full of drunken 18-year-olds on schoolies trips but it would still have been fun. However Druggie bailed at the absolute last minute (J was actually at the train station with her luggage) because her possessive boyfriend apparently 'put his foot down' and refused to allow her to go.
Since when do we need the boys' permission to leave out house? M had to deal with this shit last week from the increasingly clingy E and she was not impressed. M refuses to be the kind of girlfriend who holes up in a bedroom with her boy watching Futurama repeats and eating nachos until they're both too fat to be seen in public and don't even talk to their housemates (*true story, although not involving M or E*). M's pretty normal though, especially compared to Durggie. Druggie and her boyfriend do have a weirdly intense relationship, characterised by mutual domestic abuse, acid freak-outs and hospitalisations. Unpleasant stuff. They aren't good for each other, but they love each other. Supposedly. What can you do?
Anyway, J was pretty damn pissed off when she realised she was left with a weekend's supply of weed, no friends and a massive bill for a holidays she never took. She decided to get massively fucked and blow out her memory of the night. Hence the weed and the 6 bottles of wine. She went clubbing with P and a bunch of her other gay friends since she hadn't hung out with them for awhile, but after throwing up on a transsexual and realising she wasn't going to get to have sex with anyone with a penis she ditched the gay boys to start looking for a hook-up at 3am in the city streets. The options thus being homeless hobos and male prostitutes. And apparently a guy J sees regularly at gigs and has never hooked up with. He told her he's wanted to have sex with her since the very first time he saw her (probably about 9 months ago, and a fact J already knew since she'd seen that look in is eye) and she figured what the hell and had sex with him. He turned out to have a killer body hidden under his stupid baggy jeans and was fantastic in the sack. The only hitch? The following morning he was awkward as hell, J felt like her brain was about to leak out of her ears, and it took her 2 and a half hours to get home on public transport. Where are all the fucking taxis?
A went on a another dinner date with the dude she had dinner with a couple of weeks ago. It's important to lay a little context here. A doesn't date. She has sex in secret and rarely talks about it, except when she's had a few too many tequila shots and starts rating guys she's slept with out of 10. She doesn't do dinner, or the movies, or romantic walks on the beach. She is more likely to give a guy a black eye than her phone number. But this dude seems to have found a way to 'date' A. A eats. Like, a lot. As in she's the sort of person who'd go out for dinner with a guy and the guy would order the 200g steak and A would order the 400g steak and the waitress will be look at her and say 'seriously?' because A is tiny and A will then order extra chips and lick every last drop of sauce off the plate. When she drinks, A gets even more hungry. One time, she threatened a bouncer with a lawsuit if she didn't get him something to eat. She got garlic bread.
Dinner date keeps hanging around rock clubs where A dances/thrashes and around the time it's 4am and there's no more good Misfits tunes to play he sweeps in and suggests they go get food. He's managed to do this three times. Three times isn't a fluke or luck. Three times is a pattern.
It's like this. Most people will sleep with someone once, if just for curiosity. A second time can follow without meaning anything. If it was really good, well you just want another go. If it was really bad you find yourself thinking you should give the person another chance and really, how bad can it be? But the third time establishes a pattern. Once something happens three times it's a given a fourth will follow. It's true in sex, in dates, in life.
So is A dating this guy? He's super smart and manages to challenge A with his intelligence and extensive knowledge of politics, world affairs, history, literature and art. And can even be smart when he's drunk. And smoking crack. Plus he's a ridiculously good kisser. Perhaps it's the tongue piercing. The hilarious thing is that A refuses to acknowledge she's going on dates. She just claims to be hungry. Then again, maybe A doesn't know what a date is...