Some people just love you no matter what. Or what I should really say is, some people are blind to the reality that you’re a complete twat.
I’d met this guy at work, The Hulk. He’d just started there and caught my eye so I invited him to farewell work drinks. He came, we drank, laughed, I drunkenly kissed him on the neck at one point (?) and we were having a good time.
Then another guy turned up, older, gay, and verrry interested in my current entertainment. He started buying drinks for him. The Hulk said if he was going to continue buying drinks for him, he’d need to buy drinks for me and another new guy we were chatting with. Smooth. That man delivered. He delivered 7 rounds of shots in quick succession. I was already pretty tipsy before that, but I was trying to impress this new guy with my ‘I can keep up with the boys’ skills.
Nek minute I’m outside on all fours vomiting down the stairs to a city train station. And my boss is behind me. And asking The Hulk if I’m ok. And he’s saying no and that he has to go home now. Trains were about to stop for the night and he lived in the opposite direction.
They try to call me a taxi but no one will stop. Taxi drivers are real fuckwits. But its ok, cos now the cops have turned up. I look up from my mountain of vomit and see them pulling over a taxi. Well this is embarrassing. They think I’m not capable of getting home on my own so now the guy who was having the farewell has joined the crowd and they’re getting him to go in the taxi with me.
Well look, I got home ok. I didn’t vomit in the taxi, I slept. They got my address from my licence and it was about half an hour out of the way from where my taxi companion lived. And how do I know this? Because I knew the general area he lived so looked him up in the phone book the next day, went to his house and put $100 in an envelope in his letterbox. I might be a classified by some as a raging alcoholic but I’m a nice person (thanks Buddhism!).
Anyway who did I get a call from the next morning? The Hulk. Checking if I was feeling ok. “Not only am I ok, but I’m going out tonight, you should come!”. Ahh a romance is born.
So we were seeing each other for a month or so when I jetted off on a holiday with Nonsense Unicorn. This holiday is an annual tradition in Australia for school leavers called Schoolies, but seeing as we had left school years earlier, we were in the older crowd called Toolies. Its basically a drunken sexfest.
So sex we did. We had a bar-hopping night organised by some company which gave us free drinks at each bar and allowed us to mingle with the mostly male crowd. And I picked up the guy who ran it. He knew the exact right state of drunkenness to ask me to go back to my hotel. We got to the complex and decided to have a swim in the pool, then heard the hotel owner coming, so ran away to the room. I totes starfished. And he didn’t wear a condom. I was too drunk/bored/lazy/naive to care about much at that point.
A couple of nights later I picked up this army guy (possibly russian?) who could hardly speak English. He didn’t need to. We had some good fun. I had a bed but we played around on the couch because fuck it, why not? He used a condom and thank god, because THE FIRST GUY GAVE ME CLAMYDIA.
And how did I find out? Cos I then gave it to The Hulk. He had asked if I slept with people, I said ‘yeah of course’, so he decided he didn’t want to share me anymore and made it official. I got an std check done to be courteous and found out I had clamydia. He had done one before seeing me, was clean and hadn’t slept with anyone else. So he got another one and yep, I gave it to him.
He didn’t care. He was quietly annoyed but realised shit happens. We took the 2 tablets and problem solved.
In a the course of dating him, I wrote off his car, knee’d him in the balls in front of his friends once, ran out of money in Europe (I went away for 4 months without him) and borrowed about $2000 off him (he ended coming over and spending the last month with me), convinced him to let me have a gf on the side, and then moved 6 hours away with only a few months notice. I once got drunk and vomited in a bowl which he discovered (along with the smell) when he came to bed. Whoops. We even lived in a 27 square metre studio for 18 months basically as soon as we started dating.
And after all of that he’s still as nice as pie. I can’t remember him ever getting proper angry. I’m starting to think he’s a cyborg.
Oh and last weekend I had 3 roots lined up, but got my rags so trusty ol’ Hulk gave me the 3 roots. Another good thing about ex’s, there’s no shame! I don’t do rags sex with randoms or casual sex partners because I don’t want to be remembered for it. Ex’s and partners I figure are fine because I’m sure they can think of worse things about you than rags sex!
Anyway that’s proof that there are nice guys out there, (and probably also proof that I’m a horrible person) but through him I’ve learnt that if you’re still alive then its not worth stressing over. Nothing is *that* bad. Stay cool calm and collected kids, and if you’ve had an std, don’t worry, there’s one positive from it, now you can tick it off The Sucket List. Haha!