Doug's Daily Meditation

I guess I'll stick with the phonetic days of the week, trying to make them subjects, and make this

F$%k IT FRIDAY

You're all dressed up.  You even put on a tie.  Nice, man.  You want to go out.  If you're a boy, you want to get laid.  If you're a girl,  maybe, but the boy has to fit some kind of description you've written into your head since you were about 5.  Nice guys are not part of those descriptions, even though you might say you want a nice guy, but you don't.  At least, not just yet.  Maybe later.  

Boys aren't so choosy.

So, boy, and that's who I'll write about because, even having mostly female friends, I've never really understood the female psyche...  So boy, there you are at the bar.  Nice place.  Lots of Ivy League girls around.  Maybe you're an Ivy League boy.  Doesn't matter.  It really doesn't.  This super hot girl bumps into you, spills half your drink.  "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she says as you grab some napkins and try to wipe it off your shirt and pants.  "Let me buy you another."

"No," you say.  You're cool.  "Let me buy YOU one."

"Really?" she says.  "Let me get my girlfriends."  Which she does.  You buy them two or three rounds.  You realize, and you're getting drunk right along with them, that you can't afford more than another one or two rounds, then you'll be flat.  "Ooooooh," one screams, "You're so ADORABLE!"  She bumps up next to you.  In fact, she lets you feel her breast against your chest.  Because you're getting drunk, money has less meaning.  What the hell.  

You buy another round.  "OH, I just LOVE you," says Breast Girl.  She even kisses you on the lips, a feeling you'll never forget, but later that same night, you will wish you could.  You all down the shots, something horrid like Sex On The Beach, that represents, very possibly, you're not exactly sure anymore, the last of your liquid Fungibility.  If there is such a thing.  You've been studying business, so maybe you think your ATM card is worth something you once imagined to be equal to it, like a bar of gold.  It isn't.  It definately is not now.  At the moment it isn't worth shit... or maybe a little more, you're not sure.....  "OOOOHHHHhhhh," says Breast Girl, "One more?? Oh, just one more."  "C'mon" say the other girls.  "Hell yes!!" they all shout.  "One more!"  It's a declaration.  It's not a decision kind of thing.  Maybe you have it, maybe you don't.  The money.  But OK.  Tequila Sunrises.  Down they go.  Breast Girl snuggles up again, now you feel both breasts, her bony thighs, you know she feels you, she kisses you some more.  Then she locks into a real kiss.  "Oh my God," you say.  "Hey," she says, "We're all lipstick lesbians."  She kisses you again.  And what a kiss.  "I feel very confused," you say.  "Oooh you're cute.  Maybe next time."  They all start to leave as a pack.

You start to follow, but the bartender says, "Your bill, buddy."  Whew.  You made it.  You sign, but don't leave a tip because you know you barely made it.  The bartender looks down at your receipt then up at you and you know he thinks you're an asshole.  "Look, I get you next time, I really will," you say.  He still looks at you, he still thinks you're an asshole.  You rush out the door.  They're gone.  How did they get away so fast.  You walk around the street, looking, listening hard, how did it get so quiet, but they just aren't there.  F$%k it, you mutter.  Oh, F$%k it. You know the idiot scholarship jock, hovering around in the background all night, confident, crew cut, bullet-head fuck, always had a Bud in his hand, went home with someone. He didn't pay for shit.  How could she kiss me like that?  How...

You'll never know.  You'll go back next weekend, but she won't be there.  You give the bartender a big tip, but he still thinks you're an asshole.  

You'll meet your wife at a bar-b-que.  Her you'll understand.  Sort of.  But you'll always wonder. After all, your wife is very pretty, has breasts a lot like Breast Girl's.  What did she do when she was in college?  She'll never tell., not because she wouldn't: she believes a good relationship is based on honesty.   But it's entirely likely she does not even remember.

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