Only Fucking Me

           So, I went to that wedding this weekend with the bartender right?  Let’s recap for a moment…

I was invited to go to a wedding with this guy I know but I kind of don’t know that well.  I don’t think I would go as far to say I know him well enough to go to a fucking wedding with him, but whatever.  I am a nice person, so I go. 

Now, the night before I am supposed to leave I have a raging party at my house.  I mean, were all toasted before midnight rager.  So my friends and I are all sitting around drinking and trying to come up with a plan to get out of going to this wedding.  And like I said, I am a nice person, I would feel like a complete doucher if I just bailed on him last minute.

“Explosive diarrhea?” says Reg.

“Hives and shit?” says Sando.

“Just tell him you don’t want to fucking go!” says Cheese.

“Give me the phone I’ll text him for you,” says Zola.

With this, I am also drunk and I don’t want to think about hurting someone’s feelings.  But I know this now; don’t EVER agree to go to a wedding with someone you barely know, without a plan of escape.  This wedding was on Long Fucking Island.  Did I have a plan of escape?  No.  No, I did not.  Was my life a walking and talking shit show the night before?  Yes, yes it was.  Am I proud?  No!  Do I want to throw up writing this blog right now?  More than 100% yes.

So fast forward, I am in Long Island, hung over as shit, and I just want to die.  He knows about the party I had the night before so he said he understand how I am feeling bla bla bla.  I don’t care.  Just stop fucking talking.  At this point even silence is deafening. 

We get to the hotel, check in, and head to the room.  I thought I heard the lady say something about a suite.  So Im thinking, “sweet, 2 rooms, I don’t even have to sleep in the same vicinity as him, winning!”

Well, being that I have zero luck in fucking life, I wak into this ‘suite’ and what do I see?  ONE bed.  One fucking bed.  Granted it was a big bed, but all the same, I am NOT mentally prepared to sleep in the same bed as this dude.  Shit could get weird.  I decided that I wasn’t even drinking that day being that A. It is hot as balls outside, and B. I am still drunk!  I don’t need a relapse. 

I stifled an annoyed groan, and immediately text Sando telling her about the solo bed.  She tells me she knew that was going to happen and to have fun, call her if I need her.  I needed her then!  At that moment!  Too bad I was almost two hours away on Long Island.  WTF!?

As the wedding goes on, I get more and more mad knowing that I am stuck here for the rest of the night.  There is NO ONE staying at the hotel other than family and close friends of the bride and groom, so where does that leave me?  Alone!  With this fucking guy!  I don’t want to be alone!  He drinks probably 15 liquor drinks and I have water.  The more he drinks, the more I have to convince myself that there is no way in hell we are going to be able to bail on the room and just drive home.  I could have!  See, this is where, once again, I need to heed my own advice and have an escape plan.

So the wedding is now over and I am tired as shit, I just want to go to bed and sleep for years.  I go to the bedroom and I get ready to hit the hay.  He comes in doing the bob and weave thing and I am disgusted.  You know when you look at someone and your just disgusted?  You want to vomit on the lovely plush carpeting and walk home.  Well, that’s where I was.  I was fucking annoyed and grossed out by the dude. 

I do what ever girl does that wants nothing to do with an inevitable bedmate.  I face the wall and curl into fetal position and wait for the sandman to dump sleeping powder in my eyes. 

“I’m a good snuggler,” I hear from behind me.

My eyes shoot open and I feel the bile and distaste risisng in my throat. 

“That’s nice, good night.”

Fuck that noise.  I am NOT about to do the whole, ‘let me throw it out there that I love to snuggle and I am good at it, so maybe by the time were spooning I can pull the typical guy move and give you the reach around,’ thing.  Sorry, I want to vom. 

A bit later, as I am now sleeping still facing the wall (I don’t think I moved at all), I feel the bed sag in front of me.  I wake up with my eyes still closed and think to myself, ‘where the fuck am I?’ ‘why is my bed sagged?’

Then my eyes fly ope and he is going to attempt to kiss me. 

WOAH!! 

CREEP STATUS!

Who the fuck does that!??!

Now, I know that little girls always want to be Snow White, you know, or Sleeping Beauty and be woken up by kisses and shit.  But not this chick!  I aint no princess!  I am fucking freaking now.  I am about to be night raped!

I grabbed his face and start screaming.

“What the fucking fuck dude?!”

Bumbling, “Oh, no?  That’s not going to happen?  I guess I just thought….”

“Stop thinking!  Your not good at it!  Go to your side of the bed and go the fuck to sleep!  I am not doing this with you tonight, or ever for that matter!  Get the fuck away from me bro!”

Then in the moonlight that’s coming through the window I can see he is wearing nothing but underwer.  What the fuck!?  As he is falling and babbling to himself I quickly reach behind me and build a barrier wall out of pillows.  Fuck that.  I need some kind of defence.  Pillows will do!

Again, he lays down and I am now teetering on the edge of the bed trying to get as far away as I can.  Then I feel him inching closer.  Dude is fucking persistent.  I don’t know how much more clear I have to be when I say, get the fuck away from me!

Needless to say, I don’t sleep a wink for fear of the return of the night rapist and I wake up promptly at 7:30am.  At which point I start banging around in the kitchenette and making coffee and flushing the toilet excessively in hopes of waking him up.  And it works.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?  Oh, nothing.  I am just cleaning up a little.  Did I wake you?  Sorry, I guess you now know how I felt at 4am.  Are you ready to leave?”

“I cant drive, I was thinking I could kidnap you and we could go to the beach?”

“I am not going to the fucking beach.  I need to go home.  Ill drive.  Get up.”

He rolls out of the bed, gets his shit together and starts chattering.  My inner monoligue is screaming, “I DON’T FUCKING CARE AT ALL!”

I fly upstate in this convertible.  It took me an hour and change to get home from Long Island.  Upon reaching my house, he asks me to hang out later that day to which I answer, “I have plans.”

I mean, I guess it was rude, and I don’t think I care all that much.  I am SO over guys.  Weird guys.  I just don’t think I have luck with men, and I am just fucking done.  After this adventure I am never going to another wedding as a favor, and I am never again riding in a convertible, and I am never again going to be fucking nice.