FUCK YEAH, POTTERY.
It’s hotter than a kiln up in there.
Posts tagged women
Turning thirty is incredible for a number of reasons, but mostly it’s a flimsy excuse to get completely blacked out during dinner before forcefully grabbing each of your friends’ genitals (regardless of gender) and shrieking, “I want to fuck this!” At least that’s how I rang in my third decade of existence. Just ask Odysseus, whose balls are still smarting from my iron-fisted grip, months ago.
Thus when Zeus celebrated the arrival of his dirty thirties last weekend, I anticipated more of the same shenanigans, since we selected Atlantic City as the destination for the revelry. Friday night brought a lavish dinner followed by clubbing, and since I was there under a thinly-veiled guise of work, everything was comped. I can put down my fair share of alcohol, but by the time the third bottle of vodka hit our table, it was clear we’d need to share the spirit love.
Venturing into the crowd, a trio of blonds immediately stood out. Approaching, I was beaten by a juicehead Guido, his obnoxiously large tribal tats visible from space. As he perspired upon them, I heard him repeatedly offer them shots. The girls reluctantly accepted and he charged off to a nearby bar. After he left striking distance, I sauntered over. “Want some free alcohol right now?” They quickly nodded followed me to our table.
My best friend that’s a girl is undeniably incredible. Let’s call her Alala, to keep it in the Greek deity family (she picked the name because it’s the personification of the female war cry. And she loves a solid war cry.) She and I were out in Los Angeles together recently and after one late night of revelry and some slight debauchery, the group of five of us retreated to her hotel room where we proceeded to pour her entire mini bar down our throats before we took to her balcony overlooking a main LA street. That’s when shit turned awesome.
The balcony was situated just above and beside a major club, with another popular bar a stone’s throw down the road. Both were approaching closing time, so the foot traffic below our drunken perch was steady. Spurred on by her natural bubbly-ness, which only intensifies with the addition of liquor – and a little encouragement from us, Alala decided to bestow gifts upon passersby in the form of hysterical conversations. And the occasional drink mixer pouch or magazine. (Yep, she tossed both down at various points.)
The first group was a dud; just a gaggle of bros who wanted to come up and hang out. But they didn’t have much of a problem standing on the street shouting up to a group of strangers at 3am, which was all the reassurance Alala needed. Down the street, a t-shirt clad man was staggering from the bar across the wide street while traffic whizzed by him with alarming closeness, horns blaring. “That boy is going to die,” Alala said, matter-of-factly in between puffs on her cigarette. Amazingly, he made it to our side of the street and just before he reached us, Alala reached out to him.
“Sir,” she yelled in a tone of mock seriousness. “You nearly were killed! You need to be more careful.” Which prompted the man to respond that he was perfectly fine. Which led to his attempting to show us just how “fine” he was by walking back out into the middle of the four-lane street and performing a backwards handstand of sorts. Which led to us screaming that he actually was going to meet his demise unless he came back to the sidewalk. Which led to him eventually obliging.
“Women cannot complain about men anymore until they start getting better taste in them.”
Bill Maher
“Women get the last word in every argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.”
Unknown
Negging, per Neil Strauss - the authority on the topic - is peppering a girl with backwards compliments, “false disqualifiers intended to lower the target’s comparative value to the seducer.” The premise is rooted in the belief that attractive women are so accustomed to “men fawning over them that someone who actually challenges them will be seen as interesting.” It’s so unbelievably effective that it’s never failed me once. The problem with negging is the overwhelming majority of the guys are doing it wrong.
I know Strauss. We’ve worked together a few times and I’ve taken him out in the city before. I’ve watched him pick up five girls over the course of a single night, secured through his mastery of the neg. He took them all home - together - and had what he later described as a “crazy orgy.”
“Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
“A man’s face is his autobiography. A woman’s face is her work of fiction.”
Oscar Wilde
When Deranged Girl and I arrived back at my apartment, and after tossing each other into a few walls in the midst of making out, we fell into bed. With enough whisky, vodka and tequila to send a grown elephant into a coma sloshing around her system, she was actually far calmer and more lucid than I anticipated. I expected a sloppy drunk, who’d flop about uselessly, slur through more theories about the Rev. Al Sharpton being the savior of the Jews (an actual tidbit of “knowledge” she dropped earlier in the night), and pass out before any naughty activities could begin.
I met Deranged Girl at a dive bar. I was out with friends, and she was the plus one of an acquaintance of mine. We took an instant liking to each other, and even the glint of crazy twinkling from her eyes did little to deter me from hitting on her mercilessly, as I was profoundly attracted her. She reciprocated but routinely dropped boyfriend references in the conversation.
As she explained it, he was a four time convicted felon. Which doesn’t make much sense, since they live together in California – a state that has a strict three-strikes-before-life-in-prison statute in place. The last time he went to prison, he allegedly bit a man’s finger off. The time before that, he apparently assaulted a guy in a bar so badly the victim ended up in critical care. I zoned out for the other two offenses. This is not a man who gives loving, tender hugs, I gathered.
Judging by all the candy below these amorous ladies, I can only assume they’ve fallen from the best pinata in the world.
(via notyourblonde)
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