So Much Drama In The...err...PHX
My attempt to culture myself in a drunken haze has been eliminated due to weather. It has been raining since sometime last night and IF the weather forecaster person is correct, it isn't going to stop until sometime late sunday; i.e., just enough time to ruin my plans to rub elbows with art type people whom will be equally alcoholically inclined.
But, the nature called mother (bitterly adding FUCKER at this point) has dictated that I know am forced to find something else to fill my friday night void. The task I face currently, is finding a comfortable medium that the Poet and Gaius Cassius can agree on. Titty bar heaven is out of the question as the Poet refuses to spend his hard earned dollars on anything of a sexual nature (although he is NEVER opposed to getting it for free). Gaius is not a fan of, nor can take the smoke filled dens of ill refute that the Poet is fond of. Our last joint venture to the infamous GCS resulted in the Poet having to dodge a woman, whom looked like she had been recently released from a burn unit, while she drunkenly groped him, slurring akwardly about needing a place to 'sleep it off' and hiding her face when he tried to rebuff her advances. This traumitizing encounter entered an immediate veto of traversing to this locale. The self-proclaimed 'metroxexual' club has also been removed from the list based on Gaius dressing habits. He simply doesn't have the sort of atire required to not only gain entrance to the location, but to also gain entrance to the undergarments of any female in attendace.
My options at this point?
A T.G.I. Fridays type establishment or a pool hall, both of which promise to be devoid of the fairer sex that propels me forth into the cold, wet night. I suppose I could opt out and stay in...BUT...even non-fair versions of the opposite sex are starting to look good at this point.
Why, you may ask, dearest of diaries?
Well it seems that all three (3) women that have set up sexual relations with yours truly decided to ALL freak out on the same day (that day being yesterday). The 'x' freaked because she was told I was serously dating the one that was short. This forced her to make the conclusion that I had been lying to her. Based on the fragile nature of her psyche, I had to do a tremenous amount of damage control. Which in and of itself is just retarded, because the information she recieved was from a third party source, not partial to the most crucial piece of information; the truth. Once explanations were dispensed, she calmed down, but this of course is a wonderful example of foreshadowing of future events to come.
The one that short freaked because I am not spending time with her. This has caused her to become butt-hurt and melancholy. In addition this has re-affirmed my previous observations that she is now emotionally attached, making the process of telling her it's time to ease things off all the more difficult.
And even though the stripper was dealt with rather easily, the added drama of having her heaped on top of the other two was just plain frustrating.
There is a morale to this story, but all be damned if I can recall what it is. Other than the fact that when not one, but two of the most trusted and intelligent people you know shoot down plans that you think are full proof fun with statements of, "Dude, that is the worst fucking idea I have ever heard", you should probably listen.
But when only one out of two advises you that, "you need to give your labido a rest, otherwise you'll never move forward" this leaves room for negotiation. I suppose I could go on with life without sexual gratification from a female partner, but geez, what the fuck is the fun in all that?
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