Mr. Caramel, wise hungover thoughts

Dates and beer = masturbation conversations

The effects of alcohol are never pleasant. I understand and realize how I had such a massive headache. Sometimes it’s not just because of the physical aspect, but more so of the stupidity that unravels.

All drinks were free. This never ends well. I’m not sure if this is the equivalent of an open tab, only difference is the drinks taste better when they are free.

My cup was a bottomless color of ale, that I am assuming since the lights were off and only an illuminating kitchen glow surrounded us.

It started off with 4 strangers at the bar. These are after hours when the bartender keeps who he wants in. Technically, 5 strangers, since I just met Caramel a week ago.

I was rushing to meet him downtown but luckily my bus driver didn’t care if he killed us or not. Once off, and on the corner of Market and Van ness, I walked down a dark street I never went by to a bar I didn’t know existed. I soon saw a man who looked familiar. It was Caramel. He was carrying a drunk girl with a group of giggling friends swarming him. Presumably those being her friends, a couple of gay guys laughed as this wasted white girl effortlessly hugged on the back of Caramel. They took pictures, they almost let her fall. What great friends those people were to that girl. Flashbacks of me being that wasted girl crept into my mind.

I thought Caramel knew the lively group, but apparently he just met them. He noticed how drunk the girl was and how shitty the friends were and of course being the gentlemen and go-getter guy he is, stepped in to lend a helping hand. Or how he put it, “ride the black man.”

After they left, he embraced me in a hug and we walked into the closed bar.

These strangers that sat were all older. A crowd I always seem to fall into, at least 26 and older.

I crept from the awkward distance stool and slowly walked towards him where he was playing bartender. The real bartender, I want to say at least a 35 yr old Filipino man, sat in between two drunk girls who rambled on the proper way to make a Manhattan. It was obvious the interest was in the blonde as he leaned more towards her side. These girls were roommates, and they were drunk. and they were easy. I ended up talking to an old jewish New Yorker who raved about Obama and the upcoming election. An activist, and a strong man who told me what he’s been through. Caramel, still being in the spotlight kept coming back and forth to refill my cup, to smile at me, to tell the whole bar how beautiful, how sexy I am. He was in the spotlight.

The old jewish man talked to Caramel about Brooklyn, being that they both are from New York. His east coast accent came out and he kept throwing himself more into that light. I had to play catch up since every one was already glossy-eyed and he kept giving me those Stellas.

They keep talking. I keep drinking.  Trying to listen to their conversation. This is wonderful. I become more at ease. I down another cup. The tension wiggles off my spine. He stares at me. Theres that smile again, that damn smile. I don’t know what he’s going to say.

“What are you thinking? Honestly?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Just…about…whats on your mind?”

I smile and raise my glass. I wouldn’t have a clue as to where to start. I wish I knew more, I wanted to go back to this conversation, but the drunk girls and horny bartender got his attention. Oh, he plays the part well.

The night continued as they got rid of the old jewish man. Soon it was the drunk roommates, bartender, Caramel and myself. We left the bar to the back where a dark hidden room was. Lit by sexy red lights it lulled the beer and set for an obvious mood.

I sat next to Caramel. Soon the bartender got a bag that was filled with white powder. He placed it on the table and generously offered me a line. This was my first time ever witnessing this, and I wasn’t ready to indulge in it. Caramel looked at me speaking on my behalf that I wasn’t going to try it. Soon, a credit card divided 3 little odd-shaped lines. Each size and shape varied by the person. Blonde drunk girl had the small one, the bartender had the middle long one, and Caramel had the medium-sized thicker white line. Myself and the other not-that-attractive-roommate, just watched.

He was embarrassed. He kept apologizing and asking me to not judge him. He seemed like he was judging himself, a well know trait of a fellow Gemini. Again and again he kept rubbing his head, apologizing to me, stating that I’m already judging him.

I didn’t want to judge, I have no right. A black tube of some sort was presented and each took its turn like a vacuum hose picking up the line, with one finger on the nostril, allowing better suction.

I kept getting more drinks, I wasn’t sure what number I was on and I don’t remember how but I ended up outside the room, with Caramel, as the bartender played his “d” game with the drunk blonde. By this time I guess the roommate left home.

I was completely oblivious to the fact that they were having sex next to us. I seemed elevated and my ears didn’t pop and I assume this is why I didn’t hear sex noises. We talked about Atmosphere and what song he should play. I jabbered about random things until I woke up and remembered what word vomit I spat out. Apparently, I went off about masturbation. How much I use to do it, how much I loved it, and how its a natural thing. Then he ended up asking me if I was a lesbian. Again, I don’t know what I said for him to ask me this.

He confessed to me that he was going bald, and asked me if he should shave it off or use some kind of hair treatments.

How drunk is one when you mention balding problems and masturbation?

I, being grabby, took his glasses and put them on. He gave me this look. He shook his head, he bit his lip. He told me how sexy I was in his glasses. His compliments got me high.

About 5:30 a.m. and we’re finally taking the Muni home. People were ready for work and I was still up. He talked to anybody and we stumbled our way underground to catch the bus. He spoke in an english accent to the main guy patrolling, because when you’re drunk you can be any one you want to be. We were tourists not knowing how to work the machine and the kindness of the man helped us. I looked in my right hand and not knowing how, I had an open, delicious, New Castle. I had to throw it out, but I’m an English tourist, so I didn’t get in trouble. Once on the train he told the guy next to him how adorable my feet were, being in my pink Oxford shoes. He put my legs on his lap and just held them. We were both drunk and could care less how we looked on that train.

Once off, he tries to get me home again. I, hesitate again. I don’t let him walk me home and hover over the hills to my house with a huge smile.

I then go inside to sleep in the same room with my ex and text Caramel goodnight.

I wake up, and I think I’m still drunk. I have to be. There isn’t enough water to flush out my system.

I start to smile and recollect the events as I make my trips to the bathroom. I apologize about my masturbation talk through text.

I’m a moron to talk about masturbation, seriously, who does that on the third date?

My insides are a mess but those damn drunk butterflies tell me to keep going.

I head off to work, hung over, paranoid, and on about 3 hours of sleep. Yeah, that’s me, I just got promoted.

I know everyone can read it on my face, “I drank a shitload last night and into the morning.”

When you’re drunk, and you recall the events, whats the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said?



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