PBR All-Star.

Ow. I'm still in pain from the weekend debacles. My heart, head and body ache. ALL. OVER.

Let's get to it. Friday night I took my gal pals to the Flipper's birthday party. It was nice to see him and he lives in a sick luxury building. Everything was going fine until my friend Island* took me aside and said she heard his friend's refer to me as his girlfriend. Helllllllls to the no. I did not like that. The Flipper also thought he was being cute when he told me he had a surprise for me. Hoping it was a shot of Cuervo, I was especially pained to see him hand me a lollipop condom. No ladies. I can't make this shit up. I told him I was going to give it to my friend George* and he grabbed it back, hinting that we could use it for later. I tried to shrug off the incident until he brought it up again, in front of all my friends. So when it was time to hop into cabs to go to a bar downtown, we were sure to get lost and go somewhere else. I felt so cheap and used. It's one thing to want to hang out again, but it's a whole other issue when he assumes I'll just hop back in the sack. I finally texted him that I wasn't going to show up because I was insulted that he would fling a lollipop in my face, let alone a condom one. How dare you toy with my emotions. What if I had licked that thing? So what did I do instead? Met up with good ole SMB.

I'm starting to grow a bit attached to SMB. When we went back to his apartment later that night, I ended up keeled over in pain. I still haven't figured out what happened (don't worry - I'm going to the doc) but he took good care of me. He carried me to the bathroom, then to the couch, then back to the bathroom again. I was impressed. The next morning I awoke pain free and we sat around just talking. Then we went to lunch and talked. Then we walked through some flea market, through a hat shop and through a farmer's market and talked. Then we sat on a stoop and talked. We did so much talking that I finally got on a subway to leave at 3pm. I really liked talking to him.

Saturday night was the PBR Tour. Yes. You read that correctly. I was about to embark on a tour of bars along the lower east side that served PBRs. It was quite a scene. I showed up with an entourage of men (okay, they were all friends, but I still like to roll deep) and started to drink the night away. And guess who showed up? The juggler. We chatted for a little bit at bar #2 and then met up again about four hours later, after I had consumed too many tall boys to count. He started to remind me about our last encounter and out of nowhere, he says this: "I'd like to take you home tonight, but I have to take care of a friend." Translation: I invited another girl here already, not realizing you'd be on the tour. So I'm booked for the evening.
He's officially off the list.

So I ended the night back in my living room with a 6-piece chicken nugget happy as a clam. It may not have worked out with the juggler, but I think his skills may have rubbed off on me. Three in one weekend? Not bad at all.