Last week me and the Best GirlFriend got up to our normal hijinks three days running.
First night we went to the last bar of the pub crawl run by our friends, getting only slightly stupid by the end of the night. Well, we two girls were only slightly stupid. Our two male friends/co-workers were bouldered. Larry and Curly* have a disconcerting yet affectionate habit of groping sundry body parts under the influence, and we retaliate with nipple twisting, ice down shirts, and the occasional entire drink poured over head. So there was that. Then we took them home and attempted to get them upstairs quietly without waking up the entire street. At which point they decided to jump on me. Imagine if you will two 6 foot-ish boys both attempting to administer a bum-rush bear hug to a 5'1" female. The bruise on my ass is turning an interesting shade of greeny-purple. Various other exercises in 4am absurdity ensued, but as they are vastly more entertaining for the parties involved, I'll spare you further details.
Second night we went to Goa, traditionally one of Rome's more snotty discos. Being two females with a male acquaintance already inside the club, it wasn't difficult getting in. We eventually found said acquaintance, not that we were looking that hard at the time.
A bit of background on this guy: He has in the past, organised pub crawls (competition to our friends) and has now moved on to organising various deals with Rome's discos. He's Italian, but has more of a foreigner's mentality. Rather Albanian? Dunno. We see him around often enough, but he never, ever remembers my name, nor indeed ever meeting me previously. I attribute this to the fact that he's usually busy drooling onto my Best GirlFriend's Tits (yes, Tits with a capital T). As I think he's a bit of an oozing slimy git, I usually just attempt to restrain myself from rolling my eyes, reintroduce myself, and then promptly let my eyes glaze over as she talks and he oozes. For some reason, she doesn't think he's that big of an arsehole. Maybe due to the fact that he comes in handy for getting into the discos.
So as the night at Goa progresses I fall into my usual routine around Mr. Oozing Git when my Best GirlFriend's niece calls. She's with her boyfriend (who's in a wheelchair) and two other guys. Which is going to make getting into Goa difficult unless the BG can make big enough doe eyes at Mr. Oozing Git so that he will talk with the door guys. Mission accomplished and we find ourselves a corner near the bar. We're all just standing around yapping and drinking, and occasionally busting into some dancing when Mr. Oozing Git starts dancing behind me. Ew. Where the fuck is this coming from? Shouldn't he be drooling on BG's tits? I slip onto the dance floor where Bg and her niece are dancing. Unfortunately as it's getting late, the club is starting to empty, so this isn't giving me a whole lot of evasion coverage. I probably should have just stayed where I was as Mr. Oozing Git come up and asks me to dance.
Keeping in mind that he was very useful in getting us and four other people in, we start dancing. Then BG calls over to me that everyone's about to leave for our afterhours haunt. Thanks to the BG I end up riding with Mr. Oozing Git in his Smart. Where I am subjected to the Thirty Zillion Questions And Small Compliments That Make Me Look Like I Am More Interested Than Just Getting Into Your Pants When All I'm Interested In Is Getting Into Your Pants. I mean, come on. Is it written somewhere in the Male Rulebook that you should compliment a girl's hands so that she thinks you are special and deep and not like the Other Boys who just are interested in tits and ass and getting some? I've gotten that from twice now, once before and now from Mr. Oozing Git. So either it's written into the Male Rulebook or I seem to meet an unusually high number of hand fetishists.
We arrive at the afterhour bar and push our way to our normal corner and proceed to dance and drink into the wee hours. The entire time, I have Mr. Oozing Git all over me like herpes on a hooker's snatch. The man seemed to grow a pair or three of extra hands. He made my two friends from the previous night look like a pair of amputee priests in comparison. So gritting my teeth and remembering that he was useful in getting our friends into Goa tonight and most likely would be useful in the future, I took one for the team. Not in the carnal sense. While Mr. Oozing Git has a body like iron and some might find him rather attractive, I am not attracted to him because he's, well, an oozing git. I merely tolerated his four pairs of hands and grinding of crotch into my backside for the most part, and pushed the hands away when they started to get more frisky. It's not like I could move away very easily without offending him (it was jam packed at the afterhours hole). So I gritted my teeth and thought mercinarily thought about having yet another option for getting in free to Rome's discos while the BG and her niece giggled over their Vodka and Red Bulls at my near-pathological eye rolling and the pissy look on my face. And we eventually left.
The next day BG and I were in the office alone discussing the previous nights events. I promptly baptised Mr. Oozing Git as Il Calamaro di Ferro (The Squid of Iron, brought on by BG's comment about his physique and my inability to remember the word for octopus in Italian). I marveled at il Calamaro's apparant switch from BG to me (at one point in the night I think I vaguely begged her to take him off my hands) and she just laughed and said she knew it from the first minute we met up with him in Goa.
Ti stava guardando con quello sguardo assassino, come Mr. Boink Buddy ti ha guardato questa estate.**
Fuck. Am I that clueless that I don't see these smouldering, I Want To Shag You Rotten looks boys apparently send my way? Don't get me wrong, I can tell when a guy is interested in me during the course of a conversation. But it seems I am rather clueless to this Lust At First Sight Look eminating from the male species. So I have now asked the BG to warn me when she sees this sguardo assassino.*** This is why clothes are such a pain in the ass sometimes. If we were all naked it's be far easier to scout the signs. Because nothing could be clearer than a boy and his penis both enthusiastically waving at you from across the room.
to be continued...
*not their real names obviously
**he was looking at you with that look, like Mr. Boink Buddy looked at you this summer.
***Oh and we had a rather good laugh over the fact that the tour guides of Rome seem to be strangely attracted to me. Collect 'em all!
No comments:
Post a Comment