But love doesn’t make sense. I mean you cant logic your way into or out of it. Love is totally nonsensical. But we have to keep doing it, or else were lost and love is dead and humanity should just pack it in. Because love is the best thing we do.
But love doesn’t make sense. I mean you cant logic your way into or out of it. Love is totally nonsensical. But we have to keep doing it, or else were lost and love is dead and humanity should just pack it in. Because love is the best thing we do.
There were many times in my life when I had thought I was depressed and a countless number of times I’ve actually used the word “depressed” in conversation. Think about the amount of times you or someone you know has said something along the lines of “that was so depressing” or “ugh, I’m feeling so depressed right now.” For most people, it becomes a common word that really only describes something as “really sad.” We love describing things in extremes when necessary. That water wasn’t just cold, it was FREEZING. I wasn’t just mad, I was FUCKING PISSED. I wasn’t just sad, I was DEPRESSED. I only knew depression as a word, a way to describe an emotion. I learned about it by seeing others say it during a conversation, watching a person who is depressed in a movie, or reading about it somewhere. So in high school I felt out of place, I felt like I was different and didn’t get enough attention. There was even a girl who I liked who didn’t like me back. At this point I classified myself as depressed. Was I really? Turns out it’s really hard to think you are feeling something when you never actually felt it in the first place.
My father died when I was younger. Think about how strong this statement is. If I imagine an adult or a teen that has lost a family member, I instantly think of depression. I think about how easy it is for someone to completely lose it and go down a dark path. A path filled with drugs, alcohol, suicide or madness. I for one have not had this experience. Yes, of course it was an incredibly sad month or so. But I was so young; I didn’t even know what death was. I could hardly grasp it when my mom told me. “Dead…you mean like…he’s never coming back?” Those were my words, or at least as close to it as I can remember.Maybe I do have some deep trauma that will never go away because of his death but I wouldn’t actually classify myself as being depressed because of this experience.
However, I do agree that it did affect the way I grew up. Getting raised by just your mother changes you, I’m sure there are plenty of studies out there stating why someone would need a father figure in their life. Really the only thing that bothers me is that one fucking line that almost everyone uses when they find out about my loss. “Oh I’m so sorry.” People will say something like this when they find out that my father is dead. They say this when they have embarrassed themselves after assuming that both my parents are alive. “Don’t worry.” I always say. “He passed away a long, long time ago.” I for some reason always try to soften the blow, try to let them know that I’m in no way offended or upset they reminded me about it.
Next there was the death of my dog. This was a step closer to depression. I grew up with my dog as a kid and had lived with him far longer than I had with my father. He was older than 10 years old, I forget exactly. I could have been around 16 years old when he died; I spent so much time with him. It was much different than the death of my father. For one thing my parents had already been divorced so I wasn’t spending that much time with my father in the first place. I was also older now, I understood death. I was also the one that told my grandma and mom that “I think we have to put him down.” I saw his death coming right around the corner, I have no idea how I fell asleep that night. When I woke up I accompanied my dog to the vet where I stayed with him in the room, petting him as the vet put him to sleep. He lay motionless and I knew that it was over. Really the worst part was still coming home to my grandparent’s house every day, expecting him to be there. Every single time my brain was surprised that he wasn’t anywhere in the apartment. Now if I told you I was depressed, would that be logical to you? When someone tells you a story like this, it makes sense for you to describe it as depressing. You can see how a person can potentially be depressed. But was I? I was incredibly sad for a couple of months but I can’t say for sure that I know for a fact that I was depressed.
Here comes the big one. My first breakup… I still have trouble understanding emotions, especially emotions coming from my body and mind. If you think about it, it seems more logical that the death of a family member or pet would be far more depressing then a girl/guy telling you that she/he doesn’t want to spend any more time with you. Think about it. In death, you will NEVER see your loved one again. In a breakup, you know this person is still living and that you could still reach out to the person and talk with them. However, you can no longer, kiss, have sex, or be emotionally attached to them. You can’t call them every day to ask them how their day was and you can’t snuggle them while watching a movie. You can’t send them nude pics of yourself, expecting some sexy pictures in return, and you can’t tell them how much you still love them.
In my reality, my ex girlfriend might as well be dead because we never got to hang out again and eventually she started ignoring my messages. Now I’m starting to get it. Perhaps it does make more sense that a breakup would hurt more. Someone who is living actually chooses to take up so much of their energy to try to avoid you where as a dead person…well you know they would have still kept talking with you and loving you but they just experienced a tragedy that cannot be reversed. In any case, I feel much more confident describing my first experience with a breakup as depressing versus all the other sad moments in my life. Every day was a pain to get up. I remember dreaming a couple of times that we were still together or that she got back with me, yet I would wake up and my dreaded feelings of despair, anguish, fear, and loneliness would come flooding back. It’s that day to day feeling where I kept thinking negative thoughts and telling myself that I would never find anyone else like her. I feel much safer saying that this daily struggle was depression.
Well…what can I say? This is awkward. *Empties out a breath of air* It’s been about 4 months since I’ve written, yet it feels like it’s been much longer. Why? Well, let me put it in perspective. Almost every single day for the past couple months; my mind reminded me that I need to start writing again. I need to write. I SHOULD write. I should do something, anything. I stopped DJ’ing, I stopped making videos, and I hardly even watch movies anymore. Really, I’ve been occupying most of my time with gaming. But it’s different now. It’s almost as if I’m forcing myself to play at times, killing as much time as I can on a day to day basis. You see, I wound up buying so many games but I don’t have the time to play all of them with my 9 to 5 job. Every time I come anywhere close to beating a handful of games I just wind up buying more, adding onto the list I’ve created of “games I need to beat.”
The sad part is that into my senior year of college, I want to say that the amount of games I played have dwindled to a small amount. The urge to play them has decreased as well. When I came home from college I started doing things I never really wanted to do in my life. I started thinking about spending more time outside and less time about feeling the need to escape into some virtual fantasy land. I felt like I’ve progressed in life. Not because I think games are a waste of time, but because I feel like I’ve expanded my horizon. I paid a bit more attention to my body. My skin actually wanted to feel the nice breeze, my legs wanted to feel the burn of my muscles contract as I went out for a light jog. I wanted to explore the world, continue to observe it during the night.
I’m still not sure if all of this was really how I felt. Parts of these activities, notably the times I started to go out to the bar near my neighborhood, felt a little forced. The reason being was that during this time I was going through a breakup. The last girl I had been with was Mara, and yes her name will continue to come up in a lot of my writings since over the years she has plagued my mind. She was the party girl. She was the one that introduced me to drinking. She was the one that hated standing still and liked having picnics outside. So part of me felt like I was doing all this to somehow get her attention, even though I knew she wasn’t looking.
Anyway, I just went on a tangent that threw me off a little. The point I’m trying to make is that I feel like I’ve gone in a circle. I feel like I’ve reverted back to whom I was before and that I’ve made no progress in my social life. Freshman year in college, I was the type of guy who would stay inside his room everyday and play video games, escaping the real world as often as I could. I would even ignore my friends since after school they would mainly want to play some sort of sport. This was definitely not for me, no sir. What I never learned in high school was that even if I hated the activity it was still a way to interact with friends and spend more time with them. Fast forward a couple years after I graduated from college and where has my life taken me? I’m back to playing video games every day, now escaping the harsher real world, the stressful job, the loveless romantic life. I’m no longer making plans with friends, it has become a hassle to travel such great distances just to see someone. Is there some greater meaning behind all this? Or is it really all happening because of my depression. Oh right, there’s that.
(I was going to leave this written piece at a cliff hanger but I wanted to add something. This is the first time in a long while that I really felt like writing. I see this as a positive thing. Even though it’s true, a lot of the days I told myself I “need” to write. But that never actually meant that I “wanted” to write. Today I hung out with a couple of college friends I haven’t seen in ages. I was happy. Yesterday I travelled in a snow storm for over 3 hours from work to my house. I came home, saw my mom, and was happy. I don’t know what it is but something might be changing for the better. I’m here to (hopefully) start writing again and get to the bottom of this.)
As she came into the room I tried my best to ignore her and keep my eyes on the screen. When she came around the room giving people hugs, she eventually wound up standing in front of me. “Hug?” She asked me. So without any other choice I had to get up and give her a hug that I didn’t want to give. I didn’t feel much when it happened and I’m glad I didn’t. I sat back down and kept my eyes on the film. It started to worry me, what she would think about me after seeing the film. In a sense, it was my fault we were all in the room watching a documentary about video games and I didn’t want her to judge me because of this. Remember, I’m here now trying to play things cool, like nothing from this breakup affected me. I also wanted my appearance to look sexy, I had my jeans on, a nice shirt, and I put my contacts in which I NEVER do. The funny part about this is that she also had contacts in, which I had never seen her wear before. Anyways, the movie ended and most of the people seemed to have enjoyed it. Chad’s girlfriend was the only one complaining about it. At this point I don’t really care what Mara thought of the documentary or if my sexiness went down a couple notches for selecting such a film.
The rest of the party I avoided all contact with her. I avoided looking into her eyes and I never struck up a conversation. Most of the time I tried to stay away from her and stuck around my Asian friend or another mutual friend we had named Lily. There are only two points in the entire day that I had contact with Mara. The first was during dinner time. We had wound up in a diner and awkwardly enough we were sitting across from each other. But it was across an entire table length. Imagine a rectangle and both of us were sitting on the shorter sides of the rectangle on opposite ends. Yes, now you see what I’m talking about. She actually initiated the conversation at the table. She asked me how my trip was since she knew I was on vacation not too long ago. I instantly made eye contact with her and told her a small amount of details. I talked with confidence and smiled a fake smile. I went through the subject quickly and I don’t believe I asked her anything in return. The table conversation moved on and I begun to ignore her again. The next time I had contact with her was at the very end of the party. I anxiously awaited her to ask me about her jacket. We gathered around some cake and with the way everyone was sitting, I was closer to her then I wanted to be. I had a delightful conversation with Chads mother and she even mentioned how good I look and noticed I did not have my glasses on. Communication came between Mara and I because she told Chad she didn’t know which road to take to leave his house. Someone mentioned that I had a GPS and that she could follow my car. Luckily, this never wound up happening because I wanted to stay a bit longer and she had to leave sooner. She said goodbye to everyone, I don’t remember if I had to give her another hug or not. She left the house and with much surprise had never brought up the jacket, which was lying in my trunk.
Months go by and as expected, I never heard back from her. The jacket continued to haunt the interior of my vehicle and my perception of it changed over time. I imagined it nestled comfortably inside a large metal casing; a predator waiting to feed on an oblivious insect. Every time I opened my trunk I would see it staring at me or feel its presence. I knew I had to do something but part of me expected Mara to contact me about it. There were days where I really thought I should burn the jacket, just as I had already told her I burnt it; as a joke. I had fantasies of recording the pyrotechnics and sending her a video of the burning fabric she had once owned. I had to do something about this cursed piece of clothing but I instead I kept waiting for the “right time” to do it.
On an average weekend, I decided to visit my friend Phil upstate. The details of the weekend are hazy but I do remember the very end of my time with him. I lifted open my trunk to put away the air mattress I slept on. Once again, I felt the jackets eyes on me and before I could close my trunk I thought to myself, “enough is enough!” Phil already knew about this whole jacket incident as I gave him the details the night before. I noticed he had a huge garbage bin right outside his house so I asked him if it was alright to dispose the jacket in there. He nodded; I grabbed the jacket, walked over to the dirty bin, and tossed the evil spirited thing inside. I didn’t feel much, I was expecting a curse to be lifted and was anticipating a great deal of satisfaction. But no, it was just like throwing out any ordinary item on the planet. As time went on I did however notice a change. This thing was no longer lingering around in my life. As the jacket died, one of the many connections I had with Mara the demon had disconnected.
Emptiness V.S. Heartless
Tommy: “A little wet out there?”
(And yes, Kim does look REALLY weird in the first picture. But that doesn’t make her any less sexy…well kinda.)
What significance can a piece of clothing have? Let’s take one step back and think of this question in a broader sense. Can any inanimate object mean something to you? Its interesting how one particular object can be worthless; take it and throw it in the trash, while another one can be worth more than pure gold. Hoarders are the first group of people that pop into my head when I start thinking of giving meaning to possessions. They keep piles and piles of worthless items around for as long as they feel it necessary. Anyone else can look into their world and see a house filled with garbage but in their eyes these are thing they would never dare to throw out. It’s almost as if throwing something out would be like hacking off a piece of themselves and throwing it away. Now let’s take one step forward. I want to keep the idea of a worthless object but put significance inside it according to where it came from or from whom it came from.
Let’s say you have that pocket watch your grandmother gave you or that silver necklace your deceased brother gifted you. It becomes sentimental and often enough people would do anything to keep that item safe. There’s also all those objects and items you keep around for memorabilia. The very first rock concert ticket you kept, or a wristband of the time you ran a couple of miles for cancer awareness, or the seashell you kept from the time you went to the most beautiful beach you had ever been to. What about those items you consider lucky? A hat that you always whore as a kid because you believed it had magical powers. What about those pieces of clothing you wear that you could never bring yourself to throw out? My sweater for example was starting to get ripped up, filled with holes, and I still wanted to keep wearing it.
Usually these types of items bring positive and happy memories. Why else would you keep them around right? I also want to mention that not all objects carry positive energy. What about the objects you deem to have bad luck associated with it? I’m sure you’ve heard about a cursed item before. My mind just wanders off to the imaginary land of fiction, where you walk into an ancient Chinese shop where the shopkeeper tries to sell you a cursed item for a discount and you can’t help but buy it because it’s so cheap. Or that piece of pirate treasure that should never be touched because otherwise the dead pirate captain will rise from their grave and kill you for taking it.
Now I want to get to the point. As the title of this entry states, what I’m actually writing about is a jacket. It’s an ordinary jacket; it’s not cursed but it did give me a wave of good and bad memories. Well…mostly bad memories. This story is followed right after my 4th breakup with whom I’m calling Mara, the demon of seduction (Already written about in a four part series). I sorta felt my mind cracking during the relationship as well as during the breakup, but I still tried to hold onto her. So I proposed to her that we should become friends with benefits. We wound up kissing after the breakup and I also wound up fingering her in a public park. Things seemed to be going well again even though I knew I was trying to put myself into a fairy tale and my mind was creating a false fantasy. We talked about hanging out more often and playing it cool. At this point Halloween was coming and I still had memories of asking her if she wanted to do something on Halloween together. I didn’t think that was going to happen anymore but I did tell her about the costume I wanted to wear.
My goal was to be the pop singer Ke$ha which basically means I was going out in women’s clothing, a wig, and some jewelry. With this idea already floating around I also legitimately feared being cold on October 31st whilst dressing down in short shorts and a tank top. Mara proposed lending me her Jacket for the costume. I liked this idea because I already went through the trouble of buying all my clothes, I didn’t have to spend more money, and I didn’t have to resort to asking my mom for a jacket and explaining why I needed it. At this point in time the disastrous hurricane named Sandy hit New York and several other states. This ruined the plans I had with my friends since traveling became impossible and we planned to do it in New York City which was going through a major recovery process. Time flew by, during Sandys aftermath I even felt my relationship dying a second time. I am referring to my fairy tale friends with benefits relationship. At first Mara used Sandy as an excuse to not see me but afterwards she also started to use her new job as an excuse not to see me. Anyways she slowly drifted away from my life and my mind. I tried to jump back into the dating world and that’s where the rest of my blogs kicked in. A handful of times I would realize that I still had Maras jacket. It stuck around like a wound that was too stubborn to heal. Once in a while I would even feel a kick in my emotional state of being. At some point I put the jacket deep in my closet and it was easier to forget. But then, out of the blue, the memory of the jacket came back with a vengeance.
My friend’s birthday was coming up, his name is Chad and you can see him mentioned in Part 3 and 3-2 of the Mara: Demon of Seduction Series. Chad and his girlfriend are basically in the same circle of friends, so a handful of times I have hung out with him and Mara simultaneously. Knowing this, you can clearly see that I was incredibly worried of seeing my ex at the birthday party. I hoped that she would not show up but I pretty much knew she was going to be there, so I mentally prepared to see her. I knew I had to play it cool and make it seem like the breakup had no effect on me. My life should appear wonderful and I should show no interest in her. The day before the birthday party I was sitting at work, most likely browsing a website out of boredom. A Facebook message popped on my browser and I froze for a second realizing that Mara had just messaged me. I quickly remembered to breath and hated that familiar feeling that churned in my stomach. I tried to calm down and told my brain to pretend like it was no big deal. I wanted to think that I had forgotten about her and that I didn’t give a shit about what she was up to in her life, but I knew that was mostly a lie. She started the message off exactly as I am going to quote it (minus the name changes): “Hey pancakejunior, glad we’re both going to Chad’s birthday tomorrow. Can you do me a huge favor and bring my jacket with you? Thanks a bunch!”
Bitch, you have got to be fucking kidding me. Do I even get a “how’s it going” or a simple “hello”? NO! Where is the small talk? This just shows that she did not want to put ANY fucking effort into knowing how I was. She doesn’t even want to talk to me! And when’s the last time we talked? It’s been months since I had heard from her!It truly pissed me off. I wasn’t upset, I was outraged. The message was unexpected, completely disrespectful, and hurtful. Keep in mind she was the one that cheated on me, she was the one that broke up with me, she was the one that kept playing with my emotions, and now I have to deal with “doing her a FAVOR” and bringing her jacket back? No! Fuck no! If she had asked in any other way, if she had started the conversation pretending to be interested in how my life was or how my day was going, maybe I would consider giving her stupid jacket back. But the way she presented her sentence and the fact that it randomly came to me after months of no contact… No, she is NOT seeing that jacket. After internally screaming and trying to think of what to say and if I should respond at all, I finally cooled down and this is exactly how I replied: “Sorry, already burnt it.”
Mara: “The funny thing is, I’m not sure if you’re serious or not.”
Me: “Haha. I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”
Mara: “See you tomorrow”
Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow cunt. I really had no idea what to do. Deep down inside, and I mean really deep down, the gentle and nice part of me was going to bring the jacket back to her. I mean think about it, why the hell did I even still have it in my house? Why didn’t I throw it out? There was still some part of me holding onto her whether I wanted to admit it or not. Going to the party and giving her the jacket would finally get rid of it. Good riddance, I would gladly like it out of my hands. But now I’m in a predicament. Giving the jacket back is no longer a means to an end; it no longer has anything to do with a kind gesture or the right thing to do. It comes down to principle and meeting these demands of returning the jacket to the devil would not do me any good. In a way I would feel manipulated, probably a similar kind of manipulation she might have pulled that lead me to fall for her in the past. My last thought led me to believe that if I did this for her I would be considered weak, something she actually sees me as already. I know she sees me as weak because when she broke up with me she told me the reason she did so was because I wasn’t dominant enough. So the decision to not return the jacket is made, right?
Wrong. I still had an internal struggle with myself. I started messaging some friends and got two opinions. One girl told me that Mara was a bitch and that I shouldn’t bring it. One guy told me that nice guys are always the most valued winners in life. Giving back the jacket does not prove that I’m weak but still shows how good natured I am. He told me that if Mara had to tell her friends this story, the only thing she would be able to say is “oh my god, my freakin Ex was at the party. Ugh, I hate him so much; he even gave me back my jacket that I asked for.” She would be at a loss, there’s nothing bad she can say to her friends about me. On another note he also reminded me that there’s no reason why I should keep the jacket in the house. But the best advice that helped me decided on what to do next came from this simple strategy. Do not give her the jacket voluntarily; instead wait until she asks for it. I then would have to pretend I had forgotten where it is and then realize that I did bring it. “Agh yes, I think I did put it in the trunk of my car. Let me double check to see that it’s there.” This is what gives me power! On the other hand if I would instantly give her the jacket without her bringing up the subject, it would show how weak I am and how I still am thinking about her.
The next day had arrived. I got ready, grabbed the jacket, and carelessly threw it into the trunk of my car. I had brought along an Asian friend of mine that Chad and Mara knew. He gave me comfort and extra courage to face my ex at the party. We were the first to arrive at Chad’s house, not including the fact that Chad’s girlfriend was already there from the night before. We sat around the TV watching some clips on Youtube and then I suggested we watch a movie I had brought. It was a documentary called “Indie Game: The Movie”. It’s about independent game developers and the struggles they go through to get their games out on the market. It’s very emotionally gripping and dramatic. So much so, that it made me tear up in various parts. I have started to notice that there are many strange moments where I would start crying when watching sad or dramatic films. Sometimes the scenes that make me cry aren’t even supposed to make the audience sad but it hurts me somehow. I feel like this started to happen because of the issues I have mentally about my bad relationships and not completely because of the films themselves. Whatever the case may be, this one in particularly really struck my nerves but I figured since it’s just the 3 of us and were all gamers, that my friends would appreciate the film. I didn’t count the 4th person, Chads girlfriends, as part of the group and this was rightfully so because at the end of the movie she expressed how incredibly boring the film was. The reason why I’m going into so many details with this documentary is because during the middle of the movie, the rest of his friends showed up for the party and this included Mara.
Lmao! This just keeps getting better and better.
"I bet you started watching a ton of porn since the breakup, right? You’ll get bored of the normal stuff so you’ll start watching the really specific shit, like grandmas doin it and twins dressed as Eskimos. And then eventually you’re gonna search for girl’s peeing on each other."
Here we are! The not so epic conclusion to the Lonely Week In Vegas trilogy. This is where I escalate the story to a mind numbingly action packed climax. Everything you were anticipating is finally going to be injected into your brain at the speed of light. The story picks right back up from where I leave my hotel room to search for the most amazing night in Vegas whilst simultaneously looking for a girl to bring back to my room.
The first bar I walk into is already kicking. There is a small crowd surrounding the front stage where a man is talking very loudly into a microphone. Behind the man is a DJ who is spinning tracks that are very “pop-party / dance” themed. Imagine the “Cha Cha Slide” song or even the “Hey Macarena” song playing where everyone in the crowd is interacting with the lyrics to the song or the orders that the man on the mic is spitting out. A lot of these people also had balloon hats on for some reason. I ordered a beer and watched these people dance along to the music, thinking this might be someone’s birthday party. I then saw everyone get into a conga line with the promise of free shots for whoever participated. I still wasn’t sure if I was allowed to participate, fearingI might be crashing someone’s celebration. But after long while of slowly sipping my beer and witnessing the pure silliness of the moment, I came to the conclusion that this bar probably does something like this every weekend just to get people hyped up.
I couldn’t help; staring at the bartenders belly button piercing. It was incredibly sexy and she had the body to show it off. I was curious to chat with her but the music was blaringly loud so I figured it would just make an awkward conversation that would sound something like “WHAT?, HUH?, SAY THAT AGAIN!?” My adventure continued as I set off to the next bar. There was a scantily clad young girl handing out coupons as I walked in the general direction of my destination. It offered one free frozen Margarita with the purchase of another drink. As I entered the second bar I had to choose my seat. The bar, in the middle of the room, was built like a square. Each side of the square had seats available and I wound up at the least crowded area. I ordered one frozen Margarita and got my second one for free. This was a bad choice. The drinks came with poor quality, pre-mixed, non-alcoholic margaritas, with a glass tube of Tequila in the center of it. The point of the drink was to take the glass and pour it into the drink yourself. The problem was that the pre-mixed part burnt my tongue (in a sour patch kids / warheads kind of way). The glass of Tequila was very small too; I just poured both into my first drink and finished it up.
As I took one last sip of my terrible drink, some other man, completely unrelated to the man in the first bar, started to shout into the mic. He told everyone in the room that if we continued to sit at the bar we would be offered free shots. Perfect! This time I will actually get it. As the time went by the man on the mic turned into some sort of referee announcer. The television above the bar switched over to a video implying there would be a competition. Basically each side of the bar had its own bartender who would be competing with the other sides. They were supposed to do a series of tricks which involved flipping bottles in the air while creating a drink. The crowd would applaud and the most applause would crown the specific bartender the victor. The television above the bar showed how each one of them were actually semi-famous, appearing on various American TV Network programs in their careers. I watched in amazement as the fluid my bartender was dealing with was magically making its way into a series of mixers. A stack of cups were also set on the table in a pyramid like fashion. Once the mix was complete he skillfully bounced the mixers onto his shoulders and held some in his hand while it all poured into the pyramid of cups, flowing down into the base of the pyramid without missing a drop. We all cheered, I got my free drink, and soon left waving goodbye to my bartender.
The third bar was awaiting me. This time I actually decided to leave my hotel to advance in my quest. I took a tram that connected my hotel to another one. Eventually I wound up in a very classy looking bar. From my memory I believe it was bright pink and the style of the furniture looked 60’s inspired with a futuristic vibe. It also had a line of people next to the bar which I was curious about. Turned out there was a night club there as well. As I stood around the bar I happened to have noticed a gorgeous Asian lady who I figured might be a working girl. There were two men next to her and one of the first things I heard one of the guys say in response to the Asian girl is “I’m married.” He says this and continues to talk to her for a while as I sit down next to him. I was already a little agitated that the Asian lady didn’t start talking with me first. I was much younger looking; shouldn’t that show a sign of a better potential customer? Well perhaps it doesn’t show a sign of wealth. A security guard actually wound up coming and kicking the prostitute out. Not long after the married guy left and in his place came an African American lady decked out in some gold earrings, gold bracelet, and matching black clothing with bits and pieces of them laced with gold colors.
As soon as the black chick started talking with me I knew she was also a working girl. I was a little excited but also disappointed that it wasn’t the Asian. She eventually whispered something in my ear, don’t remember what it was but it was nowhere near as up front as the prostitutes I met the day before were. I warned her that she should be careful because I saw some other girl get kicked out of the bar before she arrived. The man who sat next to the married guy overheard this and chipped in. Turns out he was there for work and the married guy was his boss. His boss actually asked the Asian girl right away if she was a “working girl” and started asking all these questions with how it works and what all the details are within the job. The black chick eventually asked if I was going to buy her a drink. I laughed and said “no” apologetically, I told her I was way too cheap. This made both of the individuals question whether I was here for work and I did tell them I had a really crappy budget for what my job was willing to pay. My new friend at the bar admitted that he was drinking since 3PM and that his company paid for it all, no questions asked! He was kind enough to buy me and the prostitute a drink, which happened to be my temporary choice of vodka and cranberry.
After sometime went buy I’m sure the working girl realized she was getting nowhere so she left. I chit chatted with my new friend and he got me another drink, this time it was a Martini. Time flew by, it got passed two in the morning and I asked if there was anything at all I could do to repay him. He said no, that the company was the one paying for me either way. I thanked him numerous times and went off to continue my adventure. At this point I was getting drunk, the last drink hit me hard. I had already begun to fear the failure in successfully finding a girl but I did not want to give up. I went outside and waited for the tram to take me back to my hotel. I chit chatted with an averagely looking cute girl who assisted with the tram services. I said goodbye to her and boarded the tram. I sat there in front of 4 astonishingly attractive girls (or at least it seemed that way with all their make-up and glamorous sexy clothing). One of them looked at me, winked and said hello. I could tell she was drunk, which is an interesting skill to have whilst being drunk yourself. I said hello to the ladies, followed by a “how you doin!” in a Brooklyn-esque accent. They all giggled. As I got off the tram one of the chicks came up to me and started walking next to me. “Hey, doesn’t my friend have a great ass?” She asked me. “I want you to say it out loud. Say, you got a fine lookin booty.” I repeated the line she wanted me to say and laughed. She then told me “Go on over there. Give it a smack!”
I was dumbfounded. Even with my mind floating in intoxicated heaven, I was very cautious to do this since I’m never so forward with women that I had just met. “Come on, it’s Vegas!” She shouted at me. I went over and gave her friend a light spank on the ass. “They all laughed and she shook her behind at me. “Give me a better one.” Her friend replied. I took my hand and smacked her ass even harder. We all chuckled and smirked. This is the part of the story that will forever haunt my dreams. One of the various ultimate regrets I have made in my life. As our smiles faded, I wound up heading in a different direction, somewhere towards the exit of the hotel. This was the once chance I was looking for in my not so epic quest from the very beginning. I have no fucking idea why I didn’t ask the girls what they were doing, where they were going, if they were interested in partying with me or coming by to my hotel room where I have a Jacuzzi. Part of me did think they were out of my league and part of me usually isn’t even interested in those types of girls romantically/sexually. But I still feel like I should have had the courage or the interest to continue talking with those girls. I just don’t know! I think part of me really didn’t want to have casual sex. That has to be it because otherwise I’m at a loss of word.
This next part of the story is completely scrambled for me. I actually don’t remember if it was supposed to come before I met the girls on the tram or if it truly does come after. I’m also not sure if all of it is in the correct order but whatever the order may be, I guarantee you that it all happened at some point. Let’s say it goes something like this. I make my way to the exit of the hotel and continue my adventure to bar hop. Since I was drunk I was more interested in finding new people to talk to and getting into strange scenarios, such as the one I had where my new friend at the third bar started buying me drinks. I walk over the hotel I was staying at the night before. As I’m about to enter I see a girl sitting by herself so I sit by her and start talking. She didn’t seem interested in talking for very long, which was especially a shame since I could have sworn I heard her slur her words which means she was also drunk. No matter, I forgot about her and moved onto the fourth bar. I tried going to this spot I was at a couple nights ago but they wouldn’t let me in because I had shorts on. I was slightly disappointed but didn’t care and kept my motion going. The bar I wound up in was themed like a rock star lounge. I got another drink, already wondering if it was a wise choice since I was already feeling great and didn’t want to spend more money. Nothing exciting happened here so I left and wound up outside.
Before I wound up back at my room I wanted to scout out for more prostitutes, I had realized my time to find a regular girl to charm over had run out. I looked around the casinos with no luck and then went outside to where I had talked to the prostitutes the night before. Somewhere nearby was a balcony, where I noticed a girl staring out into the distance. Once again I took the chance to talk with a lady who was all alone…(now while writing this story I’m of course kicking myself in the face since I feel like I missed the opportunity with the 4 tram girls). I talked with this newly met stranger for a solid forty minutes. At least it felt like a really long time. I was starting to completely lose myself with the alcohol. I kept telling myself not to slur my speech over and over because I didn’t want her to know I was drunk. I tried my best to form my sentences and the topics I talked about kind of went on auto pilot. I don’t remember anything that we talked about to this day and I don’t remember her name but I do remember we talked and talked. At some point I put my arm around her and asked if that was okay and if she felt uncomfortable. She didn’t move away, I stood there with my arm around her but she pretty much said she had to get back to her friends and then we parted ways. *Sigh*
So I arrived back at my hotel room around five in the morning. I was bummed that I didn’t get any girl in my room but really at that point it might have been useless since I was about to pass out from being tired and drunk. Overall I want to applaud myself for taking a slightly depressing morning and turning it into a semi-epic adventure. Yeah…that’s what I’m going to call it now, a semi-epic adventure! Sure I failed the actual goal that I had. But I went bar hopping on my own, talked with a whole array of strangers, and had a great time. I’m not exactly sure why I suddenly put such a heavy weight on sex. I was never even the type who was interested in casual sex early on in my life. I even have an emotional scar from a relationship that started as “friends with benefits” and ended in me falling in love and getting my heart broken. Yet I insisted to find someone to share a meaningless bout of intercourse with. I just wanted to prove to myself that I still have some charm. It’s been a while since I had a girlfriend and I don’t even want to count the very last relationship I had, which lasted one month. Fuck that! I don’t need to prove to myself that I am charming. This very night I wound up showing myself that I had the courage and the guts to do what some people would fear to do. Sure, I know, I had the influence of alcohol to help me along the way but either way no matter how I look at this scenario, I should be looking at all the positives I have experienced.
I wake up refreshed ready for my first full day in Vegas. The first thing I do is switch to a cheaper hotel since my company no longer covers me. I also skip breakfast and get out of the enormously fancy hotel I was staying in. I get to the check-in line at my new hotel and wait about an hour, get my room key, and plop myself down into my “upgraded suite with a Jacuzzi.” I’ve got no work to worry about and the freedom to whatever I want in this forbidden city. But…what do I do?
Do I have someone to bring to this “upgraded suite with a Jacuzzi”? No. Do I have someone to talk to? No. Do I have somewhere to go? No. I started to regret staying one extra day in Vegas. My loneliness kicked right back in but I knew that if I patiently waited for the night time, I could get into some fun shenanigans and possibly find the one girl to take a hot Jacuzzi bath with. I scout out my new environment, finding out where all the places are to eat and which bars I could go to at the end of the day. I have some lunch and then decide to walk the strip. Nothing really entertained me; I wound up in Caesars Palace Hotel and just turned back. The heat was bothering me and I was still tired from all that dancing.
I got it! I’ll go swim in the pool. I actually love the water so I figured this could keep me entertained for a couple of hours. It’s also something that I thought could relax me. When I got there I realized that everyone was in some sort of “party mode.” There was a DJ in the middle of the day, everyone had drinks inside of the water, and they were just having a great time. This would of been fantastic of course if I brought a group of friends with me, but alas I feared that I would grow jealous of the fun others would have in front of me. I chilled in the water, scouting out for my first potential encounter with a female. There was an older lady I fancied but by the time I took action she was gone. I then noticed a beautiful girl in her 30’s, blue bathing suit, brown hair with large streaks of white/blonde in it.
I just had to talk with her. I watched her as she swam by herself, exposing her cleavage as she popped out of the water; droplets slowly falling down her body. She then sat there on the opposite end where I was. I slowly managed to walk on over and asked if I could sit near her. We got into a decent conversation. Maybe we got around 20 minutes into talking before she said she was heading back into the hotel. I was bummed out a bit but had a big smile on my face. Although I didn’t get anywhere with her I was still brave enough to start on conversation with a complete stranger in the pool. I had successfully kept my eye contact with her and did not fear what she thought about my exposed hairy chest.
Eventually I headed on back; of course my shoulders were to have gotten sun burnt since I didn’t put any sunscreen on. I still had a little while before dinner time and I sort of became desperate. I started texting some girls I knew back in New York. I’m trying to hook up with any one of them and I needed someone else to talk to. I then logged onto Facebook and started a couple more conversations. I was finally connected with friends and females! Although it was done virtually, yet again I felt that temporary relief and happiness. I went to an all you can eat buffet (the food was terrible) and stopped by a convenience store afterwards. It was now around 8:30PM and the real fun was about to begin. This was my chance to prove to myself that I could not only have fun in Vegas by myself but I could also pick up a chick…or at least open up my wallet to pay for one.