"You know, blue hair looksh ver-very... becomin' on ya. No, sheriously. 'Course, if I were on ya, I'd be... be comin', too."

No joke.
I didn't realize that there were people out there that actually used this line. I mean, come on. "Nice shoes, wanna fuck?" is more likely to get you somewhere, guys.

It was the climax of a highly uncomfortable bordering-on-painful evening. I had agreed to go out with Emily after the Balinese dance concert, which is probably where things went horribly wrong. I will freely admit I should have listened to Neil and stayed in... because, of course, there's no chance of him ever reading this.

I climbed up the four flights of stairs to Emily's room and found her there with our companions for the night, Adam and Jason. ("Call me Jay.") All three were drunk, or on their way to it. Jason was busy showing Emily pictures of himself on a leash... that went through his tongue. He informed us all that he was only bisexual when he drank and preferred being dominated by forceful women. Emily oh-so-casually mentioned the whip she had stored away in her dresser, then brought out her collars to play with. She and Jason wore her matching set of dominant and submissive spikes. I avoided making eye contact with anyone and felt very glad I'd chosen to forgo any sort of pointy jewelry this evening.
The aspiring alcoholics stopped by Adam's room to reload on orange juice and Mr. Boston. After being accosted by a very strange, very intoxicated girl to do... I don't know what at eleven, we went off to Java for a little live music. Or so I assumed.

Adam and I tried to make polite conversation as Emily and Jason groped each other in a conspicuous manner. For the most part it worked. When we got to Java, I found out the real purpose of our visit. Since, other than a few ex-boyfriend related alcoholic episodes, I'm a good girl, I was less than thrilled. I was ready to to head back to the shoebox I call home when Emily pleaded with me to stay. We stood outside in the cold while the boys went into the house to conduct their business. This, of course, is where the drunk boys come in.

I've got touching issues. Big time. You do not touch me without my permission, or I will remove your hand, quite possibly from your arm. Apparently this, along with my oh-so-welcoming brooding stare and combat boots/trenchcoat ensemble, draws men in droves. Well, if you count three boys as a drove. I do. Hell, it was a first for me.

One of those charming lads stumbled into me and mumbled in his beer-scented breath the line quoted above. Yeah, that won him points.

After the boys finished up inside, we all declared that it was bedtime. Emily retrieved her collar from Jason after slipping him her room number and we went our separate ways. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow morning at breakfast. The last thing I need to hear over my first meal of the day is what her last meal of the night was. And I know I'll get the full story. Every detail. while I'm trying to eat or drink something white and creamy. Shudder.

Oh. In the ongoing saga of the fiery ruins of my first relationship: life still sucks. Just in case anyone's been keeping track. ((wry grin))