J-Blood #69-70

J-BlooD

It was February of 2013. I was disgusted with the idea of seriously dating anyone for a while. It had only been a week or two since the tweaker tried to kill me at work because some girl decided to drag me into her trailer park family drama. I had just bought a house with a whole slough of projects that came with it. It is actually 4 houses on one property but 3 are unfinished and rather shabby. I had always wanted to learn how to build a house, a deck, and do my own cement work. All of these projects had just been served to me on a silver platter all at the same time, at a price I couldn’t refuse, so I sort of swore off dating until it was all done. I figured I would rent out 2 of the buildings or so to cover most of my mortgage so I could actually afford to date seriously again. Dating has been my life’s biggest expense. Dating Kimber in Los Angeles, and taking her to Las Vegas for our faux wedding, then to SLC to go mormon bar hopping cost just about every penny of my severance check which I assure you was a formidable sum of cash. Furthermore…I did a little bit of math in my head and realized that Luisa (my most recent serious girlfriend) had single handedly cost me more than the last 5 cars I bought combined….including gas and maintenance. Her best friend Nikki asked me one time what I would do if Luisa and I ever broke up. I responded “Probably buy a house and write a book”, and sure enough 6 months later I am sitting on my laptop in building number 2 which I like to call “The consensual garage”, since the last house I rented had the crappy run-down shack in the back yard where I did most of my writing that my friends and I referred to as “The rape shed”. I feel as though I have upgraded.

Sequim, Washington was at an all time low for available rental houses. The chances of finding just one rental house at all is borderline impossible. The house Luisa and I found to rent was literally the only listing in the rental house category in over a month. I was actually apposed to getting it at first, but like I said it was the ONLY rental in the whole town. That being said, it is actually worse now...(2 years later). Baring this in mind, I thought immediately after my real estate agent showed me the house….”I could charge whatever I want for this place”. Not to mention the fact that I could fence both sets of houses in and allow renters to have pets, therefore allowing the possibility of jacking up the price even higher and have some investment money for landscaping from the pet deposit. All I have to do is focus in on the projects for a while until someone moves into the place.Blah blah blah... That was when I swore off dating until ithe houses were done. That was also when I met J-blood..........Gah!

Although I had sworn off seriously dating temporarily, I felt that I needed some minor pursuit (just to prove that even when I am at my busiest I can manage a really bad date). My mom and sister; (who are my heroes and without a doubt in my mind some of the most generous people I have ever met), wanted to help me move. The text message went something like this.

Mom: You at work?

Me: Nope...writing

Mom: Did you call in sick?

Me: Nope, I called in dead.

Mom: Atta Boy! ;)

Mom: Are you picking up boxes for the move?

Me: Mom they are called girls....some people might even consider them women.

Mom: I wouldn't...

J-Blood and I got set up on a date by our friend Jerrick. I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the date to begin with but I figured what the heck, maybe it will make for a funny story. There was a 1980's Prom theme party at a bar in Port Angeles and I love to get dressed up for events like that. I talked to her on the phone for a brief moment before I picked her up. She didnt sound particularly enthusiastic either, but she wanted to get dressed up too. I hope she likes to drink, because that may be the only way to make it interesting.

I picked her up at 8pm. She lives in a small 1 bedroom apartment above an auto parts store. Which means I cant just knock on her door, I actually have to call and let her know that I am waiting for her downstairs. When she came downstairs I was kind of baffled. She was much more attractive in person. The first thing I said to her was “wow, your facebook pictures do you no justice!” She must have took it as an insult because she had no response at all. (or she just thought I was uglier in person) We loaded up in my car and started to head towards Port angeles about 30 minutes away. During that 30 minutes we pretty much just talked about our last relationships and how terrible they were. She cheated on her ex-with some nutjob from new york, because she was bored with her boyfriend that works at the recycle center and lives with his parents. She said she did something with him that I had never heard of before. She called it “Pegging”. Its when a woman puts on a strap-on dildo and fucks a guy from behind while giving him a reacharound handjob. The thought of this is quite disturbing and made me feel a little bit inferior. It sounded like she enjoyed this act of synthetic sodomy and unfortunately for her....it was never going to happen with me. EVER!!!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pegging_(sexual_practice)

She also made mention that she is also into girls, which is sort of a turn on and brought up the question. If she is with a female, is it cheating? My answer: No, not really. A female makes love much different than a man. A female knows female anatomy better than any man ever will. If she has the desire to be with a woman once in a while because it is a void that a man cannot fill, then I say it is ok as long as they are safe, clean and the guy knows about it before and/ or after it happens.

When we got to the bar, we both knew a few people there and we were very comfortable in conversation, both with each other and with each other's friends. She became very chummy with one of the girls that I work with. Sandy. Sandy is very attractive but is taller than me so I kind of wrote her off as a dating prospect. The three of us had a couple of shots and a beer and chatted for a bit. Another mutual friend Jennifer walked up and greeted us and then promptly took Jblood to the ladies room....for a half hour. I went around like a busy bee talking to every familiar face in the joint. The cute bartenders are fun to flirt with so I stayed at the bar and went back and forth between them and whoever else walked up to me to shoot the shit.

Jblood finally exited the bathroom with Jennifer, who is very attractive and sort of similar in body shape to Jblood. They smooched a little bit at the bathroom entrance and It almost made me feel like I had some competition. Jblood however walked right up to me and we started making out. “This is too easy” I thought. We were both comfortably buzzed but knew what we were doing. I was wearing my goth platform shoes that make me about 4 inches taller, so I sort of towered over her. I invited her to take a couple of shots at the bar, and then to dance. She agreed whole heartedly. We slammed a couple of shots of fireball and headed straight to the dancefloor. They were playing all fun danceable 80's tunes. I was into it and the shots were making me more into her. We were intermittently making out while dancing to some of the most awesome music to come out of the 80's. Whitesnake, Micheal Jackson, INXS etc.... We were having a blast. I was having some trouble balancing in my gigantic platforms and with all of the twirling and bouncing I lost balance and fell on a knee level table backwards, spilling a couple of drinks on some nerdy couple. Nerd 1. got up and even though he was only chest level on me, he started running his mouth. I looked at Nerd 2. (the female) and she had a disgruntled look about her as well. I offered them both a fresh drink and as I was refilling their Nerd brew...

I turned around and noticed Jblood locking lips with someone else. A female....It was Sandy. Sandy, is one of my best chick friends and I had no idea that she swung that way....or got drunk enough to swing that way. Either way I thought it was kind of hot but still somewhat intimidating. After a couple more songs and another shot of fireball I asked if she was ready to go back home. She works early in the morning and we both knew it was going to be a short date anyways so it took a little bit of pressure off of both of us. She agreed that it was time to go and kissed me like she meant it.

We got about 6 blocks down the street towards home and she asked if we could stop somewhere for food. Of course I had every intention on feeding her so I asked where she would like to go. She said burger king. WTF?Burger King? Then it dawned on me....it was 130 am on a sunday night and everything was closed except fast food joints. Ok, I said...as the Bright lights of BK came up on the horizon. We got to the drive through and I asked what she wanted. She just said “Water”. I would have argued but that has always gotten me in trouble in the past on a first date, so I shut up and got her an extra large water. We pulled out of the parking lot as she was downing her jumbo water...and within 6 gulps she quietly said “could you please pull over?” I looked at her whimsically and pulled over without hesitation. Little did she know she was sitting in the aftermath of several peoples “could you please pull overs” when I did hesitate and ask why. Before I could come to a complete stop in the Rv park almost directly across the street from BK, she had already grabbed the mega sized water cup from the center console and unleashed every shot and beer that she had ingested into it with one big heave. The pressure from what should have been projectile vomit, sent the ice water and her vomit all over my car, all over her face and clothes and all over the right side of my face. I had just enough booze in my system to not get nautious but sympathetic. She hopped out of the car when I came to a full stop and continued to release what was left of her adventure over the hubcaps of my car. She got up after just a couple of minutes and apologized in a very polite manner about the shape she had left the inside of my car. I couldnt get mad at her. I thought she was very sweet and polite.

She slept the rest of the 25 minutes back to her house and when we got there I offered to make her dinner so she at least had some carbs in her stomach. When we got up to her apartment she immediately headed for the bathroom so I immediately headed for the kitchen so I could fill her guts up with something that may save her from hangover hell the next day. The only thing I could find that would do her any justice was a loaf of bread and some cheddar cheese so I immediately mustered up the idea of grilled cheese sandwiches. I turned on the stove top and put together a grilled cheese sammy, slapped it on the pan that was already on the stovetop and went to check on jblood. Jblood was fine, but I waited outside the bathroom door until she came out. She was wearing a bathrobe with nothing underneath.

Me: feeling better?

Jblood: yeah, much better thank you.

Me: I was just going to let myself out because I thought you might feel embarrassed, but I want you to know that there is nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens all the time....

Jblood: whats that smell?

Me oh I was just going to cook you something to make you feel better in the morning.

Jblood....now running to the kitchen: The stove runs really hot....oh shit!

Me....now running to the kitchen: what?

I turned the corner to see j-blood dousing the now flaming pan with baking soda. The flames were going up the side of the wall and what was left of the culinary masterpiece that I had constructed looked like a small pancake asteroid had just landed in her frying pan. The flames were going out but the whole room was full of smoke. I dashed to the sink for water but by the time I had filled the glass the fire was out. I apologized for the mess and she said it was ok, she hadnt planned on eating anyways. She gave me a hug and said she needed to go to bed. I left semi-baffled but believe it or not...

This was not a bad date....this is just how we met.

Bad Date # 70

Jblood

J-Blood had been seeing each other for a week or two. I felt very relaxed and confident with her. She had a relatively rocky relationship past but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and I pursued her anyways. Against my better judgement I took a Saturday off of work to go see her roller derby bout in Seattle....(Something like 100 miles and a ferry ride away). It was St. Patricks Day so I felt it was a good idea to visit my dad just north of seattle. I called him at the half way point and he was eager to have me over for a shot of bushmills and a handful of percodans. (They go hand in hand like peanut butter and jelly in my mind)

I get to dads house about 30 minutes before the bout starts, I mention that I was in a bit of a hurry and he fired back “C'mon son, we got cess pools to suck!” which is a pretty common line in his household. It came from some movie in the 80's that we had watched together and immitated whenever we went on road trips. Dad handed me a small handfull of happy pills and a bottle of bushmills. He quoted Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's “Fear and loathing in Las Vegas”...which he refers to as the “Bingemaster Bible”. “As your attorney, I recommend you take these immediately”. There was a shot glass already on the table that was part of a pair that we had “Permanently borrowed” from a Mexican restaurant down the street a few months prior. He had the matching one in his hand. I was thirsty and ready to get on the road. I would say we comfortably pushed down 6 shots of Bushmills and rambled off an Irish limerick before guzzling each one like the professionals we are. I shot up, gave him a hug and headed out the door.

The downfall of percodan and alcohol is that it makes me want more percodan, alcohol and makes me chainsmoke mercilessly. I must have had 6 cigarettes in the 20 minute drive and two more on the 5 minute walk from the parking lot to the Key Arena; where J-blood's roller derby bout was held. Percodans also turn me into a bit of an asshole when they wear off so i have to keep a steady flow of alcohol flowing through my system to avoid a sandy vagina.

The first thing I did when I walked in the door was get a beer....Well,  A $9 CUP OF PISS WATER that is. I had almost finished it before I even got to my seat. I managed to find a couple of her friends a few rows behind the ground floor. You could smell the estrogen in the air. It was like WWF for Bull dykes. The only way I could describe it was the same smell you would experience at a WWF wrestling match combined with the dumpster behind Skippers seafood restaurant in the middle of summer. There was enough man hating vagina in the room to suffocate god.

When I finally sat down there was a game already in progress. J-blood wasnt playing yet but she had sent me a text saying that she could see me. I unfortunately couldnt differenciate her face, among the endless sea of bull dyke vagina in the arena, so i minded to my beer and quickly fading buzz.

I was feeling the urge to chainsmoke again when all of a sudden my seat pushed me forward with a jolt.It was two mildy attractive fairy lesbians(girls you wouldnt know liked girls). They were hollering at the opposing teamand one had accidentally kicked my seat in the excitement of standing up to announce the shitty call that one of the refferees had just made. I looked behind me and slightly upwards as I smiled a genuine smile. I wasnt actually agitated by the seat kicking I was amused and laughing at some of the things they were yelling at the ref. They sat back down and through all of the cheering and hollering I could still hear them cackling behind me. One of them said “Damn, baby im gonna need to get another beer. You are starting to get ugly again” They both howled in laughter as I turned around and laughed with them. They must have found me somewhat endearing because they asked if I wanted some popcorn. I knew at that point I should probably put something in my stomach besides Piss water, Bushmills and Percodan so I gladly accepted. The better looking of the two said “our only condition is that you refill it for us, they refill it for free”. That was when I decided I was going to sit somewhere else when I got back into the arena from my smoke break. Frankly I was ready for another beer any ways. I munched down the gift they had bestowed on me and guzzled the last sip of beer in my cup. The game was coming to an end so I figured there was about 15 minutes in between games to get it all out of my system.

Unfortunately I think the popcorn and beer fueled the fire of bad decisions that were already coursing through my diabolical brains. I was not mentally prepared to give key arena another $9 plus tip for another dixie cup full of piss water. I needed strong drink and fast. I stashed the refillable popcorn bucket in a planter box just before the main exit. I hopped outside and sparked up a cigarette. I eyeballed my surroundings like a hawk searching for a young shrew, trying to find a bar within walking distance. I knew if j-blood knew where I was sitting she would keep a close eye out for my return. This was after all very important to her so I didn't want to disappoint her. So I sent her a text explaining that I had switched spots to get a better view.

The clouds parted and shown a light on the familiar hue of neon beer lights just kitty corner from the crosswalk I was standing next to. I figured that I could probably get a pint of decent beer and a shot of irish whiskey for the same price they were raping me with in the arena behind me for a dixie cup full of piss water.

I made a mad dash across four lanes of traffic and my sunglasses started to fog. It was march so I was wearing two layers of shirts and a jacket and already sweating like Micheal Jackson in an all boys summer camp. It was bright and sunny outside even though it was colder than my ex-fiancee. I took my foggy sunglasses off as I neared the brightly lit sign in front of the dive bar which read: “BIKINI NIGHT”. Seeing as how I actuall ran a bikini bar a few years prior, I felt quite comfortable just cozying up to the bar where “Gwen” was working. It was only about 6:30 so the bar was relatively empty. Gwen looked nervous when I approached her and asked for a shot of Jameson and a bud light. It was clear that she had no idea what Jameson whiskey was . It was also clear that it was her first day on the job. This equation made it abundantly clear that I was to fuck with her immediately. “This must be your first day” I said with a wink. All 90 pounds of her turned around to face me as she was still looking for the bottle of Jameson that she almost had her cute little digits on unknowingly. She said “Ya, actually youre my first customer ever”. I pointed right at the bottle as she was turning to face me. She looked back at me shyly with that same “its my first day, go easy on me” look. “Hey, gorgeous” I said. “Don't worry, Im a bartender too. We will get through this together”. She located the bottle of Jamesons and poured a measured shot into a glass that was much larger than necessary. (another sure sign that she was brand new to bartending)

I didnt even really think about it but sort of jokingly said. “Well, the sign out front says that you can turn any shot into a body shot for a dollar”. This poor young victim looked just like mena suvari from american pie and amercan beauty. She was adoreable and petite, with a sweet and shy demeanor. ( a perfect target for public humiliation)

I told her about my experience as a Bar tender and bar manager. I also told her that body shots are how bartenders get their best tips. She couldnt have been much older than 21. She didnt really understand bar lingo, and looked at me as if I was speaking swahili. I described a body shot to her in perfect detail. “you pour the shot into your belly button and I suck it out” She thought I was making it up. I turned to the guy on my right and asked “Hey man, what is a body shot?” He immediately described it almost word for word how I described it. She looked increasingly more nervous. I had overheard her manager tell her that he was going to the bank for a minute as I was walking into the bar, so I knew that I had her cornered. She was alone. So what if there wasn't really a sign in front of the building that said “Make it a body shot for $1” what did I have to lose but her dignity? “Is she really going to interrogate her first customer? Fuck no! She was putty in my hands. My goal here was clear. I was going to trick this hot little bikini girl into letting me lick all over her body for a dollar in a town were you aren't even allowed to touch a stripper when you are getting Seattle's version of a lap dance. All I have to do is have her convinced that it is a good idea before her boss gets back and tells her that there was no body shot sign out front. I was laughing hystarically in my mind. This is the perfect crime.

I managed to convince her that I needed to lift her up onto the bar top, lay her down flat on her back, and have her pour my lucky shot of Jameson right into her belly cavity. I very politely sucked the poison out of her while she giggled uncontrolably, spilling nearly half of my beloved whiskey onto the bar top. She layed there partially in disbelief as I grabbed her a few napkins to wiper herself off with. I didnt care to look at the time but I was pretty sure my 15 minutes was up. It was the first day off in what seemed like months and because of the amount of drugs and booze that were surging through my systemi had completely lost interest in the roller derby bout and was more focused on messing with the hot little bar wench.

After she had completely dried herself off and I had helped her down off of the bar top like a gentleman. I figured that I had gained her trust, and showed her that I meant no harm. It was quite the contrary however, I was just getting started. I tipped her $20 bucks and her eyes bugged out like a 9 year old boy getting a bb gun for Christmas. The guy that was sitting next to my right cheered us on. “Good job Gwen!” Im sure he was almost as excited as I was at this point. The money and the cheering gave her confidence...(which is how strippers and porn stars are made). I then proceeded to tell her that what we did was kind of the kindergarten version of body shots. Real body shots are done with tequila, salt and lime. The guy to the right nodded in agreement as we both looked over for his approval. She coyly asked the correct and most important question in body shot etiquette. “Where do you put the salt and lime?” “Ahhhh yes.” I fired back. “I will lay you back down on the bar, pour a little salt on you and you just hold the lime in your teeth as you pour the tequila into your belly button”. “That seems kinda silly, but I guess...” she said with a cute little shoulder shrug. She get herself back up on the bar with out my help. I started to conjour up every bit of trickery in my mind...everything was moving in slow motion....i needed this experience to be devistating to her. I was after all skipping out on a date to pursue this diabolical act of mind control.

She layed down flat with her head on the bar top, with the lime wedge tightly gripped between her teeth. I told her to trust me...which was funny because at the time I was drunk and high and I didnt even trust me. I held a second lime wedge in front of her face and said “Dont move”. I then squeezed a little bid of juice onto her forhead and it dribbled down the side of her head towards her ear. Muffled by the lime in between her teeth she muttered “Wuth awe yew thoowing”?I covered her eyes with one hand and said again “Dont move”, or this is going to hurt like a bastard”. I poured a few shakes of salt on her forehead. I could feel her flinch from the first shake. Even though she couldnt see me shaking the salt onto her face, she could feel my body movement over her. Once I was done shaking the salt on her forehead, she asked while laying very still, eyes squinted shut; “I thought the thalt wuth thupposed to go on my belly?””Oh yeah?! I forgot, youre right. I guess we will have to improvise”. She couldnt move because the salt and lime mess would have dumped right in her eye. The bar was too narrow for here to roll off either way without possibly hurting herself. She was forced to trust me. Blind, scared, but inevitably trusting of my expertise. She poured the shot into her belly button and about two more all over her belly and the bar. I licked a fat squiggly line underneath her belly button, which was just about the only dry place in her belly area. I dumped a few small shakes of salt onto the freshly moistened area. It was just about time to go in for the kill when I noticed a couple of girls walking in. One was kind of butchy tomboyish dar skinned brunette that was built like an olympic athelete. and the other...a ginger. They both looked at me as I was hovered over the bartender like a cheetah over a freshy killed gazelle. They shook their heads in disgust. You could tell that they were the man hating, supreme-feminist type. I looked them both right in the eyes as I proceeded to slowly lick the bikini clad bartender's bare mid-rift, move up to her belly button, suck the thimble full of tequila out of her tiny belly button. I slowly moved towards her head where she lay patiently for me to lick the salt off of her forehead so she could move again. Instead, still staring straight at Wilma Rudolf and Carrot top I went for the lime wedge that was lodged between her teeth. I opened my mouth and then proceeded to lock my lips onto hers. She still couldnt move because of the salt and lime on her forehead so she just let out a yelp of mercy through her nose. I squished the whole thing into my mouth, rind and all. Juice dripped all over her face and neck. Still waiting for me to free her of her blindness so she could help out her second and third customer in her bartending career. I spit out the rind in the garbage can just below the right side of her head underneath the bar. I stuck my tongue out at the dyke duo like a 5 year old in the passenger seat of a passing car. I started licking her face, starting with her chin. She was soaked in lime juice and it was delicious.I slowly worked my way up from her chin to her cheek, then to her forehead where the pool of freshly congealed salt and lime juice had formed a small mountain above her brow. The process of licking the salt and lime off of her face probably only lasted about 30 seconds, but im sure it felt like an eternity to her. I was full-blown molesting her face with my tongue in public. I was her first customer, at her new job on her first day of bar tending ever. As I was tonguing the last of the salt off of her forehead I could see her manager out the front window. My first reaction was to gasp and spit out the mouthful of salt, tequila and lime all over her face (don't ask me why, I panicked). I quickly dismounted off of her like a jockey at the Kentucky derby. He saw Gwen laying on the bar top and rather nonchalantly I dropped another twenty on the counter right on top of the twenty I had tipped her for the first shot. I then quickly bolted for the door. The manager hadn't seen me on the bar with her, so his first impression upon walking into his establishment was that his brand new bartender was laying on the bar top in a bikini, her face was covered in a white congealed substance, her eyes were suck shut from the sting that came along with that substance, and somebody had just left an unusually large tip for a shot and a beer. It was time for me to go and let her explain the situation.

I headed for the door like a freight train that was late on departure. Wilma Rudolf and Carrot top were barricading the door like a couple of Hollywood bouncers. I bumped shoulders with Wilma and scurried out the door. By the time I was half way back across the four lane street I could hear one of the girls growl “Watch it, you dick!”

I made it back into the building and blended in with the crowd. You would think that a guy trying to blend in with an all female crowd would be risky, but you have to remember...most of these women were bull dykes and most of these women are even manlier than I am. I snuck into a different seat with new cup of piss water and a fresh bowl of popcorn (thanks to the fairy lesbians half way across the arena) I noticed that the whole team was playing and j-blood was on the sidelines, not only that but she was the only one on the sidelines. It was kind of a coincidence that I had landed myself in the seat I landed in, because it was actually the cheer section for j-bloods team. I leaned over to the one familiar face in the groupand asked why j-blood wasnt playing. “Oh, she probably wont get to play because of her ankle”. She said. I almost just got sick on the floor in front of her. I was furious.

I took the day off for this????? In the world of bartending folks, taking a saturday off is a terrible financial move. I missed out on a minimum of $300 cash, plus all of the expenses that come with traveling to Seattle like gas, ferry fare(both ways), unexpectedly having to pay for an expensive hotel for both of us, bar hopping, dinner and breakfast for 2, I would say that this date was comfortably costing me somewhere in the 6-700 dollar range. Which if im not mistaken, calculates to about 1 round trip ticket to Vegas, with accomadations and enough hookers and blow to kill an entire platoon with cocaine overdose and venerial disease. I was getting grumpy.

To my left I saw a couple of people out of the corner of my eye heading towards me. There were two empty seats to my right and I simply assumed that the empty seats belonged to them. The 4 people that I had to pass to get to my seat stood up for the newcomers. I then stood at attention with my popcorn and fresh dixie cup of piss water. I had my eyes fixated on j-blood. I had reached WTF mode and was about ready to bail. I turned and made eye contact with the first newcomer. “Pardon me” she said. My junk shrivelled up like a slug on a salt lick. My heart skipped a beat and I was frozen. It was Wilma Rudolf and Carrot Top. They were about to sit right down next to me. (talk about uncomfortable situations) Not only does this mean that I am going to have to sit through the rest of this game that I know and care nothing about. But now I have to sit through it all next to two judgemental man-hating lesbians that actually have beef with me. Not to mention the fact that they were sitting in my girlfriend's cheer section, so inevitably they knew j-blood. I was doomed! It wouldnt be long before j-blood knew about my bartender tongue molesting episode across the street. Then of course the whole team would know. It was bad enough I had dated one of the team mates step daughter while she was engaged just a few months prior. That in itself was ackward enough. I was squirming, and just wanted to crawl out of my skin even though I was about 2 ½ sheets to the wind.

I reflected on mine and j-bloods relationship and realized that I didnt even want a girlfriend. What was I doing here? I think subconsciously it was a cover up to show the tweaker that tried to kill me that I was in a comfortable relationship and didnt need his wife for companionship. I looked down at j-blood. It was the fourth quarter and she still hadnt left the bench. I was annoyed at this point. All of my lifes stresses were beaming off of my bald noggin in silent fury. I was alone in a sea of bulldykes and roller skating enthusiasts. This had about as much appeal as getting an anal probe with an ice fishing drill.

There was about 30 seconds left of the game and j-blood finally got thrown in the game. She hadn't even made it around the rink once before she was fouled out and sent to the penalty box. The game was over, they lost.

I can look back on this experience and say comfortably that I have gotten $20 worth of entertainment in better places, but I thought roller derby kinda sounded fun. Granted I spent most of my time across the street fucking with the bikini bartender but I got the jist of what roller derby is all about. Its speed skating meets football....with more rules (and no ball).

After the girls were let loose through the main gate, all of our section waited patiently for them to get out of the building. I made the gentleman move and offered to carry her gear to my car and offered the other girls a ride to the hotel we were all staying in.

We all got situated in our hotel rooms and decided it was time for dinner and cocktails. They all wanted to go to McMinnimans pub which happened to be directly across the street from the restaurant I actually wanted to go to. The Rock. I allowed myself to be dragged into the overcrowded restaurant to our overcrowded table as I was dreaming about the stone fired pizza and glorious drink menu that I could literally see from our table. I orded a shot of Jamesons and a beer that ended up tasting like dirty feet. The guy next to me was even more wasted than I was so we were on a totally different level than the rest of the worn out sober roller crowd. We both agreed that we should have gone across the street to the real party joint. These roller derby girls put off a completely different image than their personallities project. Granted they are all very nice, but when I see tattoos and mohawks and crazy colored hair I think “tequila shots and table dancing before dinner'. Instead we had a very reserved polite group of young ladies that partied like 8 year olds.

“What do you mean no pre-dinner tequila shots?”

I was bored. The dude next to me and I went shot for shot with Irish whiskey until our guts were full. I forced one shot and a beer on j-blood and she became tipsy almost immediately. Dinner came and was passable as sustainance but I was still dreaming of the glorious wonderment that is brown sugar breadsticks and drinks that border Washington state liquor control guidelines.

I dragged j-blood to the rock immediately after I paid the bill at Mcminnimans. I was like an excited puppy on a short leash at a wayward kitten farm. Once we were in...surprise surprise, she agreed that we should have just skipped Mcminnimans and come to the rock. Good tunes, good pizza, and a drink menu that floors even its closest competition. Much to our demise, we had shown up during last call so were were both only allowed one drink. I ordered us each something called a lava lamp. This incredible achievement in contemporary mixology defies all the rules that go along with pouring drinks. It is essentially a mixture of every booze on the shelf and a liquified orange jello shot in an actual lava lamp, complete with lights. I certainly don't want to tattle on my favorite local chain, but there is no way that drink is legal.

We had less than 2 minutes to down the alcoholic anamolies as the bartender put the last of the stools up on the bar for cleaning. We walked by the drunk dude that I was taking shots with at Mcminnimans and his girlfriend. They were having a shouting match so we avoided them like a turd in a punchbowl. We could overhear their conversation as we were escaping to the other side of the street. Not that we were eavesdropping but we simply couldnt avoid their banter. She was exclaiming the word “Drunk” a lot which eludes me to believe that he said or did something embarrassing at Mcminnimans as we were pounding down our drinks at the rock. I know I should never have left my fellow drunkard alone at the sober table.. poor bastard.

The rest of the crew that we were sharing a double room with (including but not limited to) Wilma, Carrot top, and wouldnt you know it...friggin penelope's dad. This wouldnt have been a problem if Penelope didn't literally marry someone a week after our brief suaree. .

I was sort of butthurt about the whole situation with penelope so I decided to stir the pot a little bit.

Me: So, you must be Penelope's dad

P's Dad: Oh, you know Penelope?

Me: Haha! Do I ever?

Whether he knew or not, he shot me a look that could have turned the world to stone. (something tells me he knew) but that is a different story all together.

Needless to say, it was Awkward city and I was the mayor. I needed to get away from there. I asked J-blood if she wanted to go on an adventure to find a local bar. She agreed wholeheartedly and we ventured in the wrong direction right off the bat. J-blood had made it very clear on our first date that she does not do well with large quantities of alcohol. For some reason or another I just thought tonight would be different. Everywhere we went I was cramming shots and beer and giant mixologist anomalies down her throat and she seemed fine. That was until We had to cross the 6 lane highway (aurora ave. for you Seattleites) on a saturday night, drunk, with a 4 foot cement median seperating the northbound and southbound traffic. I wouldn't have figured this to be a tremendous feat for someone that beats up girls that are bigger than her on roller skates on a daily basis. However, we found a good break in traffic and despite the malicious honks we got from some pee-holes that were pulling out of the alley next to us as they were about to run us over, we made pretty good time to the median. We climbed up over the cement median which I assure you is much taller than you might believe when you are driving.

The traffic on this new side of the median was much faster than the other side. There was no turning back though. I was panting and thinking out loud to myself: “I'm not going to let the uber-burly roller derby girl think that I'm an uber-vagina....not tonight!!”

We found a spot and went into a full sprint across the 3 lanes of traffic and stopped at the corner to catch our breath. I huffed out the words “we mate it” Right as an oncoming BMW honked and a hand with its (middle finger extended) shot out of the sunroof like a spring loaded practical joke gun (you know the ones with the red flag attached to the extension with the word “bang!!!” typed on it). I looked at j-blood and she was winded. Hey are you ok?” I asked. She was kind of hunched over and put her pointer finger in the air as to say “one moment please” (Always so polite)

She then proceeded to turn away from me and projectile vomit all over the side of the abandoned building we were panting in front of. Suds, shots, the inevitable lava lamp, and of course our 3 course McMinnimans feast were spraying in such fantastic high pressure streams it would make a garbage pail kid jealous.

In between bursts of vomiting she would apologize to me briefly before she returned to the execution of whatever unfortunate small ground dwelling animals that happened to be in the way of her wretching. (I found it endearing)

I have always been kind of a germaphobe but for some reason, I had just enough alcohol in my system to think that kissing her after her projectile vomiting display was a really good idea. Unfortunately in this case, it was not. She was reluctant to kiss me back but I felt as though kissing her would re-assure her that vomiting didn't make me less attracted to her or turn me off in any way. Well it didn't until I could taste it. I guess when it is your own vomit and you can identify most of the flavor through the acrid taste of stomach acid, you can pretty much guess its origin “oh, that's right! I did have bleu cheese on that burger didn't i”? one might say to his/ herself. Well, when its someone else's vomit, the mystery of its origin is primarily the turning point from tolerable to downright foul. Its kind of like smelling your own fart. To you it is tolerable to be smelling your own brand. In fact, i'm sure somewhere in your childhood or even in your adult life you have caught yourself cutting the cheese in the bathtub and actually going out of your way to inhale the fresh bouquet of gas form fecal matter emitting from your anus. However, when someone else farts and you smell their bouquet it is poison that you need to get away from immediately. The same apparently goes with vomit. The second j-bloods j-chunks hit my taste buds I immediately gagged and turned to the very building that j-blood had painted with her stomach grease and I painted a rather fashionable painting of my own. It sort of resembled one of the ghosts from pac-man....but chunky. I feel like it was a bonding moment for both of us. We were relieved for a number of reasons but primarily:

A) because our stomachs had been emptied of a 3 course meal, along with almost every kind of alcoholic spirit on the shelf in a matter of seconds and

B) Because there was no need for J-blood to be embarrassed. She was no Longer the only pregnant girl at the prom.

So after our wall painting expedition, we decided that it was time to re-poison ourselves. It was closing in on 1am and last call is usually just before 2am in Seattle. We had very limited time to continue on our adventure, and get re-drunk before the bars were all closed. I dragged J-Blood all over south queen anne by the seattle center looking for a bar called the Funhouse. The Funhouse is an evil clown themed bar that I had some pretty good times that I barely remember. I had taken a couple of dates there a few years prior and found this bar to be unique and entertaining. We got to the place where I thought the building was, and in its place was an abandoned warehouse covered in graffiti and from the looks of it; someone else's stomach grease art project. There was a homeless man in front of the entrance, so I asked him where the fun house was. He chuckled madly and said “You're looking at it”. Apparently the Funhouse closed down a few months previous to our attempt to visit, for having too many drug related deaths in the building. I thought it was rather ironic that the Funhouse was shut down because people were having too much fun in it. Regardless of the comedic irony of the situation, I was so discouraged that the one bar in Seattle that I was actually looking forward to visiting was closed that I decided we should give up our search for a bar at 130 and we just grabbed a bottle of hooch at the 711 and bum bagged it through the streets of downtown seattle. We started heading back in the direction of our hotel and after 20-30 minutes of walking, we realized that none of our surroundings were familiar...at all. It was quiet, we were no longer in the city but in a suburban neighborhood. We had our hearts set on getting back to the hotel, but we were still craving adventure. It was after all St. Patricks Day, and we were the only people that were sober and still awake.

Our prayers were answered almost immediately following the last sip of the $5 jug of chardonnay that we had been passing back and forth in our bum bag. The smell of Mexican food tickled our noses, and what do we associate best with the smell of Mexican food kids? TEQUILA!!! Low and behold as the scent got stronger, the dull roar of laughter and cheer that is created by none other than a busy bar became louder. We were drawn to the sounds like curious little kittens to a grasshopper in a pile of dry leaves in fall.

Outside the front door were a handful of stereotypical drunken yuppie douchebags. (You know the type) Their first car was a new BMW that daddy paid for in cash. They got into the college of their parents choice, not due to intelligence or general interest in any particular field of expertise, but because their parents wrote their college application for them and/ or happened to be friends with the dean. Its a good thing they were good at partying because without that, they really didn't have a lot going for them. If you put all of their brains together you would still have the combined I.Q. Of a box full of fly shit.

The douche brigade invited us in as if they owned the place and we were their first customers. We really only had about 10 minutes until last call so we both got Irish car bombs and tequila shots.

(this is exactly what I think is wrong with last call; you go to a bar for a couple of drinks, then when last call happens: you drink as much as possible in the short time you are allowed, then, you are cast onto the streets or worse....to your car (your'e motherfuckin car!...where you get one chance to get home without killing someone or going to jail for a DUI). Doesn't that seem dangerous>?) I would be willing to bet that there was a giant pile of wet tampons in the garbage can of the person that created the law in washington state that stated "there should be a last call at 2am!!"  I also bet that the pile of wet tampons was sitting next to the pile of wet tampons that were created when washington state decided to have a "no touch policy"  or the " three foot rule" in strip clubs in washington state. (I could go on but i won't) I would also like to believe that all of those wet tampons went up in flames when the "powers that be" decided to make marijuana legal in washington state...because somebody in washington state's fine and established control board's bong caught on fire and he needed a place to douse the flame.

The douche brigade went away and in their place appeared a well dressed black gentleman. He had a British accent and kind of looked like Billy Blanks the Tae-bo guy. J-blood was still wearing her roller derby uniform and that struck up a conversation about derby. He introduced himself as James, and he appeared to be the only sober person in the building. He offered to buy us a shot, and as a rule I never refuse free booze. We took a couple of shots of fireball, James opted out but raised his glass of water to cheer with us. The bartender called last call and James offered us one more. James was quite gregarious and seemed to be friends with everyone in the bar. He was high-fiving everyone including the bartender. Shaking hands with businessmen and exchanging hugs with a couple of the 40something gals that were nursing their cosmos in the booth next to ours. J-blood was becoming sufficiently re-drunk at an alarming rate. Although we were kind of bummed that the bar was closing and we wanted to party more, it was probably a good thing that J-blood didn't have any more alcohol. We had done enough painting for the day.

James said he knew of a great after party, it is a members only place but he was a member and was allowed 2 guests, he even offered to pay for the taxi ride to the party. We both politely accepted and James called a cab.

J-blood and I had both put enough poison into our bodies to not really pay attention to where we were going. We didn't really care, we just wanted an adventure. We pulled in front of what appeared to be an Asian restaurant that had been shut down for years. Seriously? This is it? I asked. “Haha! No, its just down the alley” he fired back in his British tongue. I didn't see anything down the alley, not even a sign of life. We followed James half way down the alley and James whispered, “Wait here”. He continued down the alley and knocked on what I thought was the wall, but it was a door...it opened...and James went in. A few seconds later James poked his head out of the same door and waved us in. As we got closer I could hear the familiar sounds of gothic industrial music driven by overpowering sub-woofers. A red light was pouring out of the door and illuminating the fog that the club fog machines were producing. It was eerily cool looking.

We went inside without any hesitation. We had enough booze and hooch in our systems to enter head first into what I like to call DGAF mode. (Don't Give a F#%^) We were ready to handle pretty much anything the night could throw at us except for maybe a busy 6 lane highway or more alcohol.

We got inside and it vaguely resembled a cheap hotel's front desk. The lady standing at the desk was husky, homely and had full sleeve tattoos with scenes I recognized from Dante's inferno. They were quite graphic and horrifying, starting with the first circle of hell on her right shoulder and ending with the last on her left forearm. She was delightfully cheery yet frightening in appearance. She had a gap in her front teeth that made her loosely resemble Louie Anderson, but scary and Gothic. She handed us a couple of 2 page forms and asked us to sign at the bottom. Neither one of us read any of it and signed without hesitation. Now I am going to need to see your identification. We both pulled out our drivers licenses and layed them on top of the forms we had just signed. She asked me to show her my left hand. I showed her and she examined it and the tattoos on my fingers. She said “This might hurt a little bit, but we do this with all of our new guests” She pulled out a small device that looked like a stationary stapler with a couple of cords coming out of the back that connected to a small computer to her left. “We just do this for everyone's safety, you never know what kinds of strange things new people might be bringing into our club, ya know?” she said staring me straight in the eyes.

She gingerly grabbed my left hand and slipped the stapler device over my ring finger. “You are going to feel a little pinch, but I assure you it is completely safe, we haven't lost anyone yet”. She said coyly smiling. “This is going to take about 30 seconds and then you are good to go”. “Hold still”.

I looked at her in disbelief, as she started up her little computer and punched in my information. She clicked a little white button on the back of the stapler device and I could feel the sharp jab of a needle going into the underside of my ring finger. The cords going to the computer were grey so I couldnt tell how much blood was going in to her machine, but it felt like a lot. This felt like a surgical needle, not like the cute little ones they give your flu shot with. This machine meant business. I was almost to the point where I just wanted to say “fuck it” and yank the thing off of my hand, but the risk of looking like a human vagina in front of a couple of tattoo'd bad ass girls was too much. I stuck it through till the end. The machine chirped and Louie grabbed a black bandaid with a skull and crossbones patern on it. “That wasn't so bad now was it?” she said. I raised my eyebrow in disapproval and traded spots with J-blood. J-blood actually looked excited about this. In some sick way I was excited to see her reaction to this device draining her of an unhealthy amount of blood. “This ought to knock the badass right out of her” I thought. “Alright princess its your turn”. Louie said cheerfully. J-blood was just beside herself, she looked like someone had just proposed to her. She held her hand up in front of her with the device attached in admiration. Louie clicked the little white button on the back of the gadget and J-blood winced in pain and tears of surprise festered in her eyes. All of a sudden I didn't feel like such a vagine! After all she is a roller derby girl and her pain tolerance is that of an interracial sado-masochistic anal porn star. That might give you an idea of how bad this little machine hurt. J-blood and I both felt violated. We just wanted to get inside, or better yet...outside. We were freed of Gothic Louie Anderson's finger mangling device and James was waiting patiently for us at the entrance door. J-blood put her skull and crossbones band aid on and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You guys ready” James shouted like a British city bus tour announcer. He opened the door to the club and the volume raised 100 decibels. I could feel the pump of the sub-woofer in my chest. I was also starting to get the same feeling I had when I had a lot of blood drawn when I had a kidney stone years back. I could feel my lips go cold and my body went numb. I had a wave of fear grab my whole body and squeeze. As I looked into the club I could feel the warm air hit my face and arms. It was sort of a relief because I thought I was going to pass out standing up from the cold wave that the blood loss was giving me. She had to have at least taken a pint of blood to have this kind of effect on me.

The inside of the club looked like a cross between an M.C. Escher painting and Jeffrey Dahmers freezer with the Cast of The labyrinth dancing in the middle. Most of the charactors were in some sort of Halloween-like costume even though it was the middle of March. Most of them were quite intricate and involved detailed masks, fake blood, and gothic aparel. J-blood and I definitely stood out. I was wearing slacks and a bright white, large collared Polo shirt. She was wearing a hot pink roller derby uniform and black spandex shorts, and we both looked scared. We were both probably nearing some sort of nutritional shock, due to blood loss and the fact that everything that we had consumed during the day was painted all over the front of a building in lower Queen Anne.

We had no idea where we were and James had mysteriously disappeared. Neither of us really had the energy to dance, but there were no chairs in the club. So we figured the only way to blend in was to just start moving like everyone else. I glanced around trying to find James. I saw everything from Lady-men, to vampires to Harlequin outfits. It truly was the club of misfit toys.

In the back of my mind I was wondering why Louie needed so much blood from us. My first thought was that it was an underground sex club and they were doing an on-the-spot std check. But why would they need a whole pint of blood for that?

A dude that was dressed in a trench coat, with a mask that covered just the top half of his face came and asked if J-blood wanted to dance. His mask was bizarre. It looked like the bird-man from beetlejuice. His mouth was exposed just enough to see his unusually sharp jagged teeth. It looked like someone (perhaps himself) filed down his teeth to make them all come to a point like shark teeth. I was freaked out but J-blood didn't seem to mind. I don't think she had noticed the piranha grill freak show that he had going on in his mouth. I just kind of pawned her off to get him away from me. As she went off with Big-nosed-piranha-bird-man, I went looking for an exit. I looked everywhere for an emergency exit or some other way out besides the front door where Louie was guarding our blood. No avail.

I kept looking for James, as I was in search of a way out but never found him.

I was feeling dizzy and faint. The last thing I remember at the club was slow dancing to Rammstien with J-blood and telling her I was really tired and we should head back to the hotel soon. I'm pretty sure my entire body weight was resting on her shoulders at that point. I closed my eyes.

I woke up back at the hotel next to J-blood. We were both naked under the covers. All of the roller folks had gone to run in the St Paddy's day dash so we were alone. I asked her if she remembered leaving the club at all. She said “no, not really” In fact her last memory of the night was the same as mine. She said she remembered when I told her I was tired and ready to get back to the hotel, and she agreed to go. Then we just woke up in the hotel that we couldn't even find sober and conscious, naked with no recollection of how we got there. Suffering a hangover that the writers of Leaving Las Vegas couldn't even fathom.

So, what happened between the club and the hotel you ask? No, one will ever know.

I was able to track down the name of the club, and as it turns out. It is a well known bar within the vampire community. The staff at the front desk are volunteers... which means the club is not paying them, and therefor not responsible for their actions. If Gothic Louie Anderson decided she wanted to spend a night taking some blood from strangers for personal reasons and then roofie them so they don't remember her face, she could damn well do it. As a volunteer, the establishment doesn't even need to know her name....and after tracking the club down. They didn't, and they never heard from her again.

You win this time Louie! You successfully sucked your way into one really bad date.