Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Rise of the Slutty Alter Ego

Before you guys decide to excommunicate me from the blogger-sphere as punishment for my long absence, let me just explain myself: I had exams! Realllllllly hard exams that demanded every fibre of my brain to concentrate on Medea's wiley ways and whether Tess was an innocent virgin or a sly seductress... It was a hellish month.
But now I'm freeeeeeee! As opposed to making obsessive and neurotic lists, I'm spending my days counting my teeth with my tongue, learning the Evita soundtrack and cooking microwave meals without freaking out that the machine was going to explode, amongst other things...
Unfortunately, Humbug and I broke up a few days ago. It was a long time coming and I don't think that anybody on the planet was even remotely surprised when I told them about my decision. Even 5 minutes before I met him I wasn't sure that I was making the right choice, but it is for the best (I'm more telling myself this than telling you...!)
Anyways, the point is that I have recently accumulated Single Status - I am back to being Convent Gal and last night I was on the prowl for a devilishly handsome Manwhore who I could use to rebound with.
Naturally, however, this is not what happened.
I feel that I must first make clear how drunk I was. My liver, Hubert (yes, I named my liver) is even now still reeling from the number of shots, double-Malibu-and-lemonade and other drinks that I consumed last night. I was a complete drunk skunk.
As a result, the Beer Goggles kicked in and the 24-year-old-ferret-man-with-a-creepy-goatee-who-should-not-even-have-been-at-the-club-and-ew-he-was-so-repulsive looked like Chaning Tatum to me. So, one minute we are grinding on the dancefloor (as per usual, this is the only dance move I can actually do. And I enjoy it because I like to pretend that my life is Dirty Dancing and that I'm Baby and that the [albeit repulsive] man behind me is Patrick Suasez) and the next minute we are playing tonsil tennis. Only, tennis is generally acknowledged to be a fun two-player game. This snogging was like being forced to choke on a cucumber stick that was wiggling in my mouth.
So then I became a glum chum and started wondering whether I had given up too easily on Humbug, who is such a pro at kissing that he could literally win a gold medal at the Olympics, Even thinking about it now makes my mouth water like huminahuminahumina-aahh.
But, alas, I decided to snap out of this gloomy mood and to move on to bigger and better things. In other words, the drunk Slutty Alter Ego started kicking in and she was chasing after those boys like a cop chasing a criminal in a classic car-chase: they had no escape.
Not that they were trying to escape, mind you - I had a few boys plying me with drinks. And this is when Boy Number Two happened.
Ok, in my defence HE WAS AMERICAN. You don't understand. An American accent is the one thing that can turn me on faster than a lightbulb. As soon as I heard the words "Oh, I'm just visiting from Seattle" I knew that this boy, Joey, had to be mine. So, naturally, I pounced on him. 'Pounced' is a fun verb which is so unbelievably appropriate in this context that I'm practically crying with shame as I type this. Joey was leaving to go to another club and I sprang upright and attacked his face with my mouth.
Now, this bit is going to sound a tad weird but...His tongue was like a PENIS. I know that's not possible, and I've never had personal contact with a penis so I may be wrong, but his tongue was so...wide!? And he was wiggling that around in my mouth like it was a weapon. So after 7 seconds of that I pushed him away (drunk Grammar Gal is so sassy) and went back to the bar, feeling bloody exasperated as to the lack of talent in the Pool of Potential Kissing Partners, aka the club.
Then up sauntered Boy Number Three. I cannot really tell you much about him - I remember he was tall and looked kinda young, but by this stage I was desperate for someone who would show me that some boys can kiss! And, oh, Boy Number Three, you did not disappoint. Obviously, he wasn't as good as Humbug. But he was 'hella fine' (look at me using youth lingo!)
So, yeah. That was it! The Girlfriend Grammar Gal is dead, long live Single Pringle Grammar Gal.
Having said that, I don't want another repeat of last night any time soon - the idea of kissing a randomer sounds appealing at first but, gals, it's a jungle out there! Boys are literally sex-crazed apes and I'm not sure that snogging randomers is the best escape route for my glumness about Humbug.
Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal xxx