![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sin's new boy toy has a friend. Said friend isn't my type. Too much Pedro even for Hermosa and nowhere near enough random prettiness for me. That said. He was WASTED on Friday night and that is never attractive (unless you're wasted too, in which case all cats are gray in the dark).
Sin beeped me on Friday as I sat wretchedly in late afternoon traffic crawling south on the 405. I was decidedly *not* happy. Traffic, period and a horrible boss do not a good day make. But it was amazingly gorgeous, 82 degrees and clear as a bell, in SoCal.
So. Baby girl wanted to hit the beach.
"Fuck this, it's too pretty to go home," Sin chirped into my ear.
I agreed.
Sin scooped me up at my place and we met some of the kids down at Patrick Molloy's.
I got to meet Sin's new 'friend' and his bud.
In the beginning it was fine.
It was great.
It was whatever.
I was glad to see the gang and chatting with the quietly drunk guy sharing your table was not a stretch, but as the night wore on and on and on and three Capt's and Coke later I'm still not buzzed was not the best.
Stalker McHatboy said I had a beautiful smile and white teeth. Good. A little disconcerting, but good. He said I was pretty. Good. He said I was beautiful. Very good. Then he said it all again. And again. And again. And just in case I didn't get it the first gazillion times, he said it again.
And then he started following me. On my heels for like two hours. Never more than two steps away.
I never hit on him that way. It wasn't me. I was being my normal charming self but nothing fabulously over the top or even remotely come hither-ish.
So, I had to leave at like 11pm. He was *that* annoying. He even almost got into a fight with Intern Two because we were chatting. Thankfully Intern Two wasn't drunk and kept his temper. I don't think I could have handled watching Stalker McHatboy getting his head beaten into the bar.
On top of all of that the fourth Captain and Coke slammed into me like a freight train and I was *finally* pleasantly drunk. Hurrah! Too bad I didn't get to enjoy it. I had to face The 'Rent, Get Your Own, and Pigskin with shiny eyes and rum on my breath. They laughed at my extreme chipper chatter and sent me to bed.
Ah. Well. Maybe next Friday.
Seymour Sigmond is planning a Happy Hour at Sharkeez. We're kicking it off old school style. Anyone ready to celebrate should swing by, it promises to be a rocking good time.
Sin beeped me on Friday as I sat wretchedly in late afternoon traffic crawling south on the 405. I was decidedly *not* happy. Traffic, period and a horrible boss do not a good day make. But it was amazingly gorgeous, 82 degrees and clear as a bell, in SoCal.
So. Baby girl wanted to hit the beach.
"Fuck this, it's too pretty to go home," Sin chirped into my ear.
I agreed.
Sin scooped me up at my place and we met some of the kids down at Patrick Molloy's.
I got to meet Sin's new 'friend' and his bud.
In the beginning it was fine.
It was great.
It was whatever.
I was glad to see the gang and chatting with the quietly drunk guy sharing your table was not a stretch, but as the night wore on and on and on and three Capt's and Coke later I'm still not buzzed was not the best.
Stalker McHatboy said I had a beautiful smile and white teeth. Good. A little disconcerting, but good. He said I was pretty. Good. He said I was beautiful. Very good. Then he said it all again. And again. And again. And just in case I didn't get it the first gazillion times, he said it again.
And then he started following me. On my heels for like two hours. Never more than two steps away.
I never hit on him that way. It wasn't me. I was being my normal charming self but nothing fabulously over the top or even remotely come hither-ish.
So, I had to leave at like 11pm. He was *that* annoying. He even almost got into a fight with Intern Two because we were chatting. Thankfully Intern Two wasn't drunk and kept his temper. I don't think I could have handled watching Stalker McHatboy getting his head beaten into the bar.
On top of all of that the fourth Captain and Coke slammed into me like a freight train and I was *finally* pleasantly drunk. Hurrah! Too bad I didn't get to enjoy it. I had to face The 'Rent, Get Your Own, and Pigskin with shiny eyes and rum on my breath. They laughed at my extreme chipper chatter and sent me to bed.
Ah. Well. Maybe next Friday.
Seymour Sigmond is planning a Happy Hour at Sharkeez. We're kicking it off old school style. Anyone ready to celebrate should swing by, it promises to be a rocking good time.
