Chick at a Party: Your shirt is beautiful
Me: Thank you
(a few minutes of me being silent later)
Chick: Do you do a lot of heroin?
Me: Excuse me?
I guess my attitude was particularly heroinesque but really I was just tired and drunk and stoned. I don't remember much of the party after this and I was pretty dedicated to not doing so as evidenced by my dedication to smoking and drinking silently instead of talking to the girl I was sitting next to. To be fair to both of us, she does a lot of heroin and bitches about her girl friend a lot.
New York flashed by in a haze of pot smoke, a couple liters of vodka and the vain hope that by obliterating my obsessive thoughts I could cut loose, speak intelligently and take the party by storm. Epic fail. Now I'm writing a mediocre blog post about it where the most interesting part will be when I mention that I had to masturbate three times when I got home to relieve my frustration and save myself from what felt like immanent organ failure (don't ask).
see? wasn't that interesting and a little clever? I told Adam about it when I got back and he seemed genuinely concerned for my health which was nice, made me feel a little loved.
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