First, check out Pattoons (http://pattoons.blogspot.com/) for his toon of yours truly. Thanks for making my boobs so huge, Patt!
Second, I made out with another stranger!
After cocktails with Bogda, I stopped off on the way home at The Balcony Club to hear a little music before bed. Except they quit early since it was Thursday. So I talked to some random people and overshared about dating dudes in bands and made everyone tell me a story. Next thing I know, I was kissing Sam, the jazz piano player from Egypt who loves Chick Correa. I don't know who Chick Correa is, but that name is in crossword puzzles all the time so it's familiar to me.
Anyway, this guy was a little too aggressive. Like when I was done kissing him and tried to pull away, he kind of wouldn't let me for a second. Flag on the play, man, flag on the play. Then he tried to use some philosophical crap on me to get me to sleep with him. Some sort of "seize the day" garbage about living in the moment or somesuch nonsense. I didn't buy it. So he requested another act without actually saying the words "Well then, how about a hand job?" but that's what he meant.
What a marroon. There's no way to romanticize a quick wank in a parking lot.
Then he wanted to go to my place so he could go to the bathroom. I told him there was no way he was getting in my house and he tried to make me feel guilty, which didn't work because I am such a bitch and don't care if people have to pee, but he didn't know me so he tried the "I have to go" ruse anyway. So I gave him a fake number and went home. He so picked the wrong girl.
Jersey Frank was a better kisser and more fun. He never gave me the heebie jeebies.
P.S. Jazz still makes me nauseous. Seriously, what the hell is going on with that crap?
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