Chinese New Year of the Slut (or the year of the Cock) – Part I

“Goodbye bacon.  Goodbye whiskey.  Goodbye alprazolam.  Hello dick.”

I officially declared my new year’s resolution of getting my shit together in the few days leading up to 2016.  Part of harnessing my wild and untamed shit and keeping it corralled within well-defined fences included a strict Puritanical love life, and less drinking and self-medicating with my free-flowing stream of prescriptions thanks to my apathetic physician.

My first mistake was thinking I could actually do it, and my second mistake was announcing it out loud, on several occasions, and in front of many people.  That is an absolute set-up for failure in and of itself.  It’s like being on a 15′ diving board and yelling at your friends below to watch your best Greg Louganis performance and it ending with an ungraceful belly-flop instead. (Please note that I am excluding the Louganis head injury dive which then sparked a disruptive AIDS scare among the Olympic community).  Greg, you’re still a champion!

We kicked off 2016 with a bacon-themed New Year’s party at my house, requiring all incoming foods either be wrapped in bacon, include bacon as a top ingredient, or at the very least contain some form of pork product (I cheated and used bacon bits because I’m lazy as fuck).  I should mention this was a blow-out affair for me since getting my shit together also included going back to a vegetarian diet (I know, I set my goals too high).  I wanted to savor the last night of gastric freedom and to eat as much bacon as possible, and survivable.  This meant I needed to get just a little high to get that appetite warmed up and ready to pork.  So, I did that too.  I also got drunk since I was planning to give whiskey a Dear John letter.  We had been in a tumultuous relationship for months!  I needed to get everything out of my system in preparation for my life cleanse.  I did forget one substantial piece to the New Year’s resolution and that was celibacy.  I was incredibly full of meat when I went to bed, but not that kind.

Fast-forward to the first weekend of 2016, which was basically just 24 hours later since the 1st was on a Friday, which I’d like to note was as spotless as a high-end porn star’s sparkling bleached anus.    I woke up Saturday bored as fuck and with elevated cholesterol.  The newly transformed me really needed some socialization after a full day of cleansing though.   Anyone with social anxiety also knows that being social is unbearable without a drink or five.  So, drink I did!  I figured it was a very minor regression and I promised myself I wouldn’t wake up with an empty Cook-Out tray on the nightstand and grease smears on my pillow.  I woke up with something far worse though…

I cut myself off by Midnight and tried to sober up a bit for the walk home since getting mugged and assaulted were also crossed off my 2016 to-do list.  I finally stumbled back to my house along with a few friends to finish of the Basil Hayden’s so it wouldn’t cause any additional threats.   There were also several minutes before the Lord’s day descended upon us like the bar lights flipping on at 2:30am, and I figured Saturday was already shot so I might as well go all in.  Here’s where I should point out that all the friends were male, and all of them left, except for one who decided to stay behind and continue the party.  Unfortunately he was the one I wanted to leave the most and coincidentally the least attractive of the group.  Go figure.

I had no physical interest in this pudgy lone ranger with a Guy Smiley head, but I knew the reason he decided to hang back was because he figured it was a sure thing.  Drunk girl + candle lit house + Rolling Stones playing in the background + more whiskey + bed = fucking.  I should have seen this equation coming but math has never been my strong suit, nor have New Year’s resolutions apparently.

Fuck we did.  In fact, we must have fucked so hard that the memory of it got fucked right out of me too.  Sometimes blacking out is the best thing that can happen…

The one thing I do remember is waking up the following morning next to his over-sized melon and thinking “goddammit, how do I get this toad out of my house??”   He on the other hand woke up wanting to talk about relationships and grabbing dinner later.  He even offered to tell my ex-boyfriend what had transpired between us the night before just to make sure our union started out legit, you know, since they were friends and all.  I never said I was a good person…

Lying in my bed and listening to him meander on about how past loves had emotionally burned him was more painful than going to my OB/GYN the following week and telling her I needed yet another STD test, despite having had one only a couple months earlier.   Play with fire and eventually you’ll get chlamydia…unless you’re me, and then you’ll just be convinced of your own invincibility!  (side note: come up with superhero name and persona for vagina since nothing sticks to that bitch).

Within 48 hours of 2016, I had managed to break all but one rule…and at that point I thought “fuck it, I’m eating bacon!”   And it all just went rapidly downhill from there.

To Be Continued…

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