No, really, it is a train wreck

Here is a math problem for you, readers:

If Shannon’s share of her apt costs $1200 a month, who she splits with her faux gay boyfriend, and she is suddenly unemployed because she may have accidentally majorly fucked up at work, please calculate the questions below:

A) Taking into account that she is busty, a red-head, nice legs, and a mouth like a Hoover with all of her teeth, how much more can Shannon ask above the going rate of $50 that a toothless crack addict charges for a blowjob? Please disregard that most men looking for their dick sucked by the pier are homos, crack addicts themselves, or are looking to take her for a test drive before they ‘pimp her out’.

B) How many dicks will Shannon have to suck in order to keep her apartment?


Guys, I think this is it. I really think that I am going to be fired tomorrow. I did not understand a set of instructions that I was given and misinterpreted them and really screwed up. AKA, your author will be fucked. Or in my case working at a retail store and sucking dick to make ends meet. And eating “Success Rice.” A rice so loaded with crap and artificial flavors, colorings, and poisons that when I saw that it boasted that its rice is a mainstay on the food pyramid, it made me laugh and forget that I have been crying ever since I left my cubicle.

Lie. Actually, I was crying before I left inside the women’s bathroom. Crying again. Had to stay late in order to rectify another mistake. Again.

In other news, my Saturday night story that I promised. Now we can move on how not only will I be having a “career change” pretty soon but that I am an alcoholic slut. Well, in a quasi-virginal cock-tease kind of way.

Saturday night I come to a very important revelation, despite my love of John, my roommate, and how he is quick to buy me a drink, pay for my admission to gay clubs, and keep me entertained at a bar, his presence has single handedly destroyed dating for me. If it isn’t a gay bar/club that we go to, then we are merged at the hip when we go out to the crappy straight ones, buying each other drinks, walking closely, and laughing at inside jokes. Oh my God, I really am Grace from ‘Will and Grace’.

Saturday night, John and I go out with his LI friends to a crappy LI-style bar in Murry Hill. Bored to tears, John and I are merged at the hip counting down the time for when we could leave. 2 champagnes (well crappy versions of), tipsy, and wanting more from the evening, we decide to leave an hour into the “party”. John wants to go to a gay club and I really do not want to go because I finally look hott and want to go out instead of staying in on Fri/Sat nights watching foreign films as I usually do.

Full pouty lips, smoky eyes, boobs hanging out, wearing a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes, and I am not wanting to waste it on some fucking queens. Instead I call my hetero male friend. I have not mentioned him in this blog because we have a funky relationship. After meeting off of the internet about 10 months ago, he has turned into someone who I love chatting to and think he one of the nicest people going (I know you are reading this) however, we barely see each other. I say that I am always busy, and yes I am very busy, but when I hang out with him I am out of commission for DAYS because he is my satan, urging me to continue drinking when I know I shouldn’t.

I meet up with him and long story short, and a few bars in between and lotsa funny convos and me dancing on tables, he leaves with this girl who he is seeing and I am left hanging out with his friend. It’s just the 2 of us. The friend is very cool, we have a lot in common, and *surprisingly* I like talking to him! Except that I am drunk at this point. And I forgot to mention that I introduced myself to him as, “You missed me dancing on the table. I would do it again but I don’t think they’ll let me.”

Oh how attractive. Now we understand why I have never had a serious relationship in my life.

The friend and I end up leaving and going to a wine bar. Along the way, we are kissing, holding hands, talking…things that aren’t too bad. However, inside as we sit at the bar, this attractive guy (hott!!! Mediterranean looking) sits next to us and starts to hit on me. In front of the guy who I am with. Asshole me, dumbfounded that some tall dark hott lawyer would tell me how hot I am, begins to talk to the hott lawyer. (This is what being fat in college will do to you.) Lawyer invites me outside for a cigg, I follow and tell the other guy who I came with to “watch my drink”…and outside I begin to make out with hot lawyer dude. Phone # exchange in progress and the guy who was inside, comes out for a cigg. He has to know what is going on…Wracked with Jewish guilt, I begin to kiss the guy who I came with as I am saying good bye to hott lawyer dude….can I mention that I am beyond inebriation at this point?!

And yes I feel like shit as I write this, but, I was drunk! And I looked hott that night!! However, back to the story.

I invite myself over to the guy’s apt to “watch a movie” (after I made out with another dude outside) and instead pass out on his couch. In my defense, I really did want to cuddle and watch a movie with him. Waking up, however, it dawns on me that I am an asshole drunken fool, have no class and hastily, embarrassedly, leave the apt. All WITHOUT a good bye note apologizing for my asinine behavior.

Yea, I am one classy broad. One would think that should be it, I’ll never see him again, I fucked up, but I should hopefully not run into him again, right?! Not for your author!!!! Because as we have already established God/fate have a sick sense of humor with me…

Both guys (hot lawyer dude and the one who I slept over) LIVE ON MY FUCKING BLOCK!!! What the fuck is it with the Village and all of the people who could make Shannon feel uncomfortable all in the same neighborhood??!? Including London boy’s best friend/ex-gfriend, she lives 3 blocks away. Why does my neighborhood have to have fucking drama?!?!?! I walk west and could potentially run into London boy’s ex. Walk south, and I run into the guy who I fled his apt because I was so embarrassed, but who I actually liked and would have loved to have a SOBER convo over dinner. And slightly north of him is the lawyer. East is my Chinese food place for when the drama leaves me hung over and unable to fend for myself.

I think this post has established it, my life is truly a train wreck. Socially, professionally, romantically, and add another –lly. I use my intellect, charm, looks, boobs, and ballsy personality to get to an almost-achieving-perfection state, and then (usually because of booze), I fuck it up. I constantly complain/rant/blog how I want perfection, how I want to be on top of my game/do everything right have a great career, boyfriend, friends…yet, I manage to fuck it up. Right when I am on the verge of greatness….I don’t go far enough or go too far and instead fall off of that metaphorical peak of perfection. Is that what navigating your 20’s is about, knowing how to get to the top but, figuring out how to stay there?