No, we're not talking about Girl, Interrupted. Fuck, I haven't spoken to her since the awkward ending to our last encounter, although she has gone on a 'like' fest on my Facebook statuses. Me being the Facebook stalker I am, I know that normally means something, but I refuse to concede. I tried talking to her, and she didn't reply. Fuck her.
Man, I'm deviating already.
Anyway. Possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life occurred last Friday.
Determined to go out, I met my best mate and his missus (they actually split up not long after the Ex and I did, but have recently got back together). We went down the high street, popping in to the 'classy' establishments that Kings Heath has to offer.
Eventually we ended up in The Station, which has transformed amazingly over the last few years. It's now full of ostentatious assholes, rather than little chav pricks. Anyway, I'm digressing again.
The couple decided they were going to go home and have something to eat. Eating is cheating people, so I decided to call up my back-up and continue the night away before meeting back up with the two of them.
Joyfully, a few guys were going in to Moseley - the Bulls Head to be precise.
Now, I'm not really a fan of the BH. It normally plays Rasta music or hip-hop. I'm metal people. So I decided that I would spend my evening out on the balcony getting trashed and smoking copious amounts of cigarettes. A good, and bad choice that turned out to be.
Firstly, I bumped in to my sister's previous two ex-boyfriends, who were out together. My initial thought was "fuck, that's got to be weird". but that feeling soon subsided as the Red Stripe began to flow. Seriously folks, I'm nothing if not classy. So we got drinking, and Dave (the one before my sister's current boyfriend) just has this non-stop string of smoking hot ladies coming up and talking to him. He has a fucking glorious beard, it must have been for that reason.
Shortly before midnight, this one girl asks me for a smoke. A hipster. You know, oversized, pointless glasses frames, without the fucking lense in them? I oblige. I couldn't really say no. She departs back to her group of friends, and I'm back talking to the sister's ex's.
Because they both know of The Ex, they asked how she was, and on that note I told them what had happened. It must have been the alcohol, because I somehow got on to the fact that, well, the sex life has been quite dry.
*cue Hipster's friends turning round, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to their group*
At first, I was a little taken back by this. But then one of her friends whispered in my ear and told me that Hipster had recently split from her chap and was in need of a rebound fuck.
Jack. Pot.
We get talking, fuck knows what about...I wasn't really paying attention. But about half an hour later, she invites me back to her place.
Repeat. Jack. Pot.
And she was 18 years old. I felt like a male cougar (what is the male version of a cougar called, anyway?). Honestly, could this night get any better? No. It gets worse. A lot worse...
Shit. I've got to meet The Couple. God no, they'll understand - they've been told several times about my cobwebs down *there*. I know, I'll text him.
"Not meeting you later - and the following deserves constant full stops; I. Am. About. To. Get. Laid. YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
*Send*
FUUUUCCCCCCKKKK!
Instead of replying to Sam's last message, I had clicked on my mother's last text. I had just told me mother I was going to get laid. In a desperate attempt to retract, I sent her another..."Please ignore last message and delete immediately!". Too late. It had woken her up.
And that was my Friday night done. Dying of embarrassment, and barely able to stand, I hopped in a taxi back home and cracked open a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows. Yep, I just left a guaranteed fuck because I had told my mother about it. Grow some fucking testicles Elf. I should have just gone with it. Wait, I didn't even get her number!
Double FUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!
So the moral of this story is; if you're going to get laid, don't try and tell someone about it over a text. It won't end well. In fact, if out drinking, turn your fucking phone off and save yourself the embarrassment.
I'm down with some family getting drunk in Devizes this weekend. Let's see if I can get a country girl. Probably not.
Until next time, folks.
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