I spent the next month or so of the summer in a daze of micro-insanity. I was so frequently drunk that I was compared to Joan Rivers and my libido swelled to monumental proportions. I couldn't pass a moment of existence without stressing out about my next True Love. I desperately searched for him at work; perhaps he is the cute boy who brashly left the curtain to his fitting room open just enough for me to glimpse saucy bits of flesh here and there; at the grocery store, are you the man standing beside me as I contemplate which peaches look the most delectable? Or finally are you the most handsome man at the pool who we watch show off on the diving board and then by chance find ourselves positioned in such a way on the side of the pool that I am able to catch a glimpse of your tender vittles up the leg of your shorts? Nope. He isn't any of these men. He is the thirty+ man with the leather cap. God that hat was stupid.

I had decided to accompany my dear friend to our favorite out of village gay cruising night, and for some strange reason I had resolved myself to a evening of sobriety. That didn't last long. Sober me is apparently much more approachable than my usual drunken counterpart, and the courteous liquor pig inside of me simply cannot refuse a liquid gift from a cute, or even semi-cute potential True Love. Good old "Leather Hat" proved really generous with the liquid gifts and also had a devious flask of whiskey, which he was more than willing to let me sip from. I happened to be wearing a slutty tank top, tits all the way out, and he focused the assault of his unconventional seduction with a storm of praise for my chest tattoo. However, instead of just letting me know how nice he felt it was, he insisted on repeating over and over that that he had envisioned the exact same design for himself (little did he know that what he was seeing was the tragic outcome of getting horrible tattoos at an early age). So finally after we have come to the conclusion that the tattoo on my chest was derived completely apart from his personal vision I got drunk and we had a little more substantial conversation. Suddenly out of nowhere, this horrible young man, let's call him the "good-for-nothing turd" (he was a racial minority and everything else I can come up with seems racist), who had intentionally insulted me earlier in the evening, tries to intercept "Leather Hat's" attentions. He soon sees that LH is still more interested in me and tries to introduce the idea of a threesome, but does so by trying to make a metaphor linking the deer tattooed on my chest to a lamb meaning that I am advertising myself as a slut-pig-bottom and should be glad to get fucked by both of them. This was really the straw that broke the camel's back, by now I had really had enough. That hat was dumb anyways, so I tell the "good-for-nothing turd" that I would rather he just died and to "Leather Hat" I say good night and give him some suggestive cheek kisses.

Luckily for my ego I'm kind of a mega babe, and "Leather Hat" decided to follow me. At this point I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I had won this miniature competition and I felt like I really accomplished something. "Leather hat" decided to accompany me to another party, but before hand he must get his bag that was no longer easily accessible because the coat-check girl has hopped ship. "Leather Hat" then hopped the counter and retrieved his bag, but on the way back to my side discovered Coat-check girl's secret pretzel stash. He proceeded to stuff himself with his plunder, while I impatiently waited on the other side apparently looking as delectable and tempting as the enormous bag of pretzels in his hands. He told me that he was really tempted to kiss me at particular moment, just before stuffing himself with another handful of salted treats. Drunken coy little me neglects to think about the consequences of a mouth full of pretzels, and tells monsieur to go for it. Leather hat mounts the coat check desk and lays a particularly filthy French one on me, generously transferring his partially masticated plunder from his mouth to mine. The night really plummeted from there, next stop pretentious "art show" where I got a tray of coffee liquor shots dumped all over me and ending off at McDonald's where I sobered up but still let him give me one final chicken nugget and cigarette flavored smooch goodbye. I gave old "Leather Hat" my number, but not surprisingly he never used it. So all I have to remember of that dear fellow is the particular salty mush associated with his kiss. Adieu to you fair "Leather Hat".

AMW