So many men, so little time

Okay, so in my last post (which, I know, was about a billion days ago), I mentioned briefly how busy I was breaking men's hearts while simultaneously eating the food they buy me. And I have been busy, it true.

However, I am ashamed of the way I have neglected my blog and YOU, my faithful readers...all three of you. But, I'm going to catch you all up to speed in the next few days. I promise, promise, promise.

Firstly, let me elaborate on weekend before last:
On Friday, my lovely cousin called me and told me she had snagged me a ticket to one of the hottest parties of the season. I couldn't get a ticket myself, because they were sold about 4 months in advance (or something like that), but she, being the amazing woman that she is, produced one out of thin air - AND for FREE!!!

So, I rushed to get myself together, it was cocktail attire, so unfortunately I coudn't go in jeans. Now, this was one of those parties where there are mostly just married couples, but there's lots of free booze. And you know how the old saying goes, where there's free booze, there's Queeniii!

I was planning on having a pretty good time despite there being a shortage of men. After the party, the girls and I decided we'd all head up to the hottest new nightclub in town that just happened to be in the same hotel the party was. What fun! Honest, tipsy, boyless fun!

So, we go to the party. We eat, we drink, we gamble for charity. After we played the Black Jack tables to our hearts' content, we mosied on over to the main bar. Now, let me reiterate that this is a party with mostly married couples.

So, we're at the bar, and I'm already pretty happy, and I'm not paying attention and I accidently cut in line. Nobody likes a cutter. I turn around to apologize for my inconsiderate behavior, and behind me stand two beautiful, beautiful men. I'm almost speechless, but I pull it together, reminding myself that they're probably here with someone. I apologize and flirt just a little. They flirt back. I ask who they're with. They say no one. I ask how they got invited. They responded, but I wasn't listening. My girls come over. I introduce everyone. Everyone starts having a lot of fun. We decide it's time to go up to the hip club upstairs.

Up we go.

I should just cut to the chase. The hottest one of the duo becomes my make-out partner.

I know you're all very proud.

We decide to leave the hotel and check out hottest boy's downtown loft. We go.

I realize as we're in the car on the way to hottest boy's loft, I've lost my keys. All of them. My only copy to EVERYTHING!!! crap.

But, what could I do? Go back and ruin the whole night?? NO! I was not going to ruin a night of fun with my girls and two really, really, really hot guys!

What can I say, I'm a matyr.

We get to hottest guy's loft. It's ginormous. With a deck, a pool table, a half court basketball thing, a big screen, etc. I asked several times if hottest guy was a drug dealer. He said no, but he was an Eagle Scout. I furrowed my brow at this repeatedly.

In addition to hottest boy's ridiculous loft, he had two garages with 4 cars. A BMW, a circa 1970s Land Cruiser, a circa 1990s Land Cruiser, and some sort of classic American convertable. He still claims he's not a drug dealer.

Anywho - long story longer, hottest boy was smitten with me, couldn't get enough of me, wanted me to call him the next day. I did. Two days later we went out. But, I'll talk more about that later.

Fortunately, the hotel and the hott nightclub are right next door to my house, so after our night of fun, I got my stuff out of my friend's hotel room and walked my pathetic, drunken little butt home.

Because I didn't have my keys, I had to hang out with the security guard for about 30 minutes and wait for the not-very-courteous-courtesy officer to unlock my apartment for a violating $25.

I walk inside my apartment. Taraji has been alone for a very, very long time now. It was a disaster. He had gotten ahold of my hot pink feather boa and torn it to shreds. He also knocked some things over, pulled some things out of their place, and generally made about as big a mess as dogly possible. The good news is, however, that he didn't pee on the carpet. What joy.

The next day, I had to spend all the daylight hours fixing the mess I had made the night before.

And then I had a date. With another man.

More about that later!!