Friday Night (Amstel) Lights

So I woke up at 10 am Saturday morning.

In a bed that wasn't mine own.

And I wasn't wearing any pants.

I jumped up and turned over to find Litsa, my ultimate savior and soul sister, asleep next to me. Of all the beds to wake up in, I can only thank my lucky stars that I wasn't next to some strange clergyman feeling oddly violated.

The last thing I remember is using the restroom with Colin's boyfriend, Jon, around 1 am. Prior to that, a bald man in a suit bought me a drank, much in the style of T-Pain.

Wait, does this sound like a bad Lifetime movie? No, I don't think it was. Though blacking out-- wait, no WHITING OUT*-- was uncharacteristic, I don't think he raised the roofie. Recounting my evening, I had about 9 dranks. 9! And I don't play football and I'm a dainty lady.

So, I woke up to find that my pants were in a pile on the floor and they were soaking wet. Why? Litsa and I don't know. What she was able to tell me was this:

1. We left the bar around 1:30, where the bald man told her not to let me leave, as I was the prettiest girl there. She then asked him if we were related-- which wouldn't be surprising given my week.

2. Apparently, instead of being put in a cab home (as we should have been), a friend took us to another bar, where he bought us two Amstel lights and sat us down while he hung out with a group of his friends. Yep-- we were "those girls." Now, when I discovered this, I knew I must have been out of my mind-- an Amstel... light?! Not only do I not drink beer, I do not believe in light beer as a concept. I asked Litsa if I actually consumed said "beverage," and she said yes. This is when I should have been given smelling salts.

3. There was a box of instant macaroni and cheese on her dresser. We had purchased this around 3 am at a bodega. Why, I do not know. We can only be thankful we did not attempt to cook this macaroni and cheese.

4. As I walk around her apt, searching in vain for my wallet, I notice my right calf and left hip are swollen and sore. Apparently, I fell.... several times.

5. Luckily, I have my house keys and cell phone. I look in my phone and see several text messages from a tall man I'd met earlier, asking me where I was. Apparently, I had texted him and we were scheduled to meet up.
Who am I?

Litsa then tells me I called him in the cab on the way to her house-- what did I say? Mystery number 37 of the night.

I offer to buy Litsa brunch, and discover that my entire wallet is missing. Debit card, metrocard, license. Shoot me now.

I finally make it home, after dealing with Bank of America (well, when you're on 125th street, it's Bank of African America) about a new card, and see the following text message from Litsa: "Mystery #50 of the night.... blood on my tv."

Did we kill a man just to watch him die?

I have no idea what the hell went on.

I then get a call on Saturday evening from a Turkish man named Onur who doesn't speak much English. He wants to hang out with me.

Um..... help?

I also get a text message from a unidentified number:
"Sorry about last night and for calling so late."
I write back: "It's okay, who is this?"
The sender replies: "Dan."

Dan is someone I kissed about 2.5 weeks ago at a club on the Lower East Side. What he said to me at 1:45 am Friday night is, of course, another unknown.

In an attempt to take Saturday night slowly and soberly, I prepare to head home early from a club. Who do I pass on my way out but my EX BOYFRIEND, who I haven't seen in 7 months. He is an Israeli, vegan, investment banker who did a semester at a black college.

Needless to say, I'm a hot mess. It's 9:30 am and I'm blogging because I am unable to sleep.

And my Australian lover hasn't emailed me back. It's been 4 days. He works as a web designer, so we all know he's on the computer/internet all the live-long day!
Apparently, SoTru got a little too truthful in her last email.

If anyone wants to hug me, I would greatly appreciate it. I need a tender touch.



*that's what SoTru's calling it now-- I'm boycotting the association of blackness with bad things. Besides, it's like someone covered up the last three hours of my night, much in the way White Out covers penmanship errors.