Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday's fairytale: The Princess and The Penis
That picture describes a relationship I had with one of my best friends ever. Pure ridiculousness, ingenuity, and a love of all things redneck. I loved every minute of it.
Last night I hung out with one of the greatest men to ever pass through my life.
I think I was about 22 when we met. He was 29ish. We met because we both worked in the same hell hole. It made the movie Office Space look like the most functional company invented.
The job description was computer tech. The actual job consisted of : listening to people bitch about things whilst learning how to email your friends simultaneously about the bag of dicks you were currently conversing with. Good times.
I didn't get around to actually meeting him until I'd broken up with my boyfriend. Because Houston (his actual name) was a problem. A very good-looking problem.
Girls pretty much threw their panties at him where ever he went, he was that good-looking. He was tall, about 6'3, and looked like Chris Noth, a.k.a, Mr. Big from SATC. He was walking, talking sex.
I'd talked to Houston a few times, mostly just random sarcasm passing between us. We'd usually laugh about the same type of random fuckery, sometimes we'd exchange zings, but most of all, we both had a mutual hatred for work.
One day, our boss decided to leave early. As soon as he clocked out, and headed for the doorway, I was logging out of my computer, throwing my headset into a drawer, and searching for the nearest exit.
Our boss looked like Homer Simpson. He looked dumb, but wasn't.
Once, I decided to use the 'period' excuse because I just didn't feel like working. Plus, I liked making guys uncomfortable for no particular reason.
I sauntered into his office, said "I have to go home. I just got my period."
He raised one eyebrow, and gave a long, drawn out 'ooookay'.
I walked out of the office, grabbed my purse and keys, when he walked over to my desk.
He said "You know, Sal, this is the third time you've gotten your period this month.."
I looked at him, nodded, and said "Having ovaries is a bitch."
When I stood up, I saw Houston looking at me. "So, uh, where are you going?" he asked me with a grin on his face, "You still have about seven hours and thirty minutes of work left."
I slowly walked over to his desk, put my hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down in his chair. I sat on his desk, got really close to him, and said "Mind your fucking business, jack, or come with me."
He threw his headset down, unplugged (not shut down, but fucking ripped the cords out of the wall) his computer, and we headed out.
As we walked out of the building, I started laughing. I immediately felt happy as soon as I walked out of that building. He looked at me, and we both ran to his truck.
The rest of our relationship went like that.
We would come to work late, leave early, and spend the rest of our time drinking beer, shooting guns, filming random acts of stupidity, or a combination of the above.
Houston would've been a badass boyfriend, if I had been into him that way. Hard as it is to believe, I just wasn't. He was hot, he was funny, smart, and could fix anything. He played guitar, he was going to school, he was the complete and total package, but I wasn't interested in anything below the waist with him.
Since we spent so much time together, people assumed we were a couple. I used to laugh about it, because after awhile, I knew Houston. And being his girlfriend was the last thing I would wish on any girl.
He was a womanizer. He was into lots of girls. And he treated all of them great. But no one woman ever really got all of him.
Around Christmas, when I was still trying to work things out with the ex, Houston had fallen in love (as much as someone like him could fall in love, anyway) with a beautiful chinese woman. She was badass. I even loved her a little.
Deep down, part of me thought that he would stop fucking around with his little side pieces of ass, but he didn't. He kept all that extra sugar, but mostly devoted himself to Jan.
After December, she was leaving to go back to China. Houston claimed he was okay with this, as he told me about yet another conquest on the horizon. Rika. Pronounced reek-a. Like stink-a.
He can make you love, he can get you high
He will bring you down then he'll make you cry
Somethin' keeps him movin' but no one seems to know
What it is that makes him go.
After Jan left, Houston got really down. Sad in the pants, mostly. He told me about it, so being his best friend, I decided that I would help him out. And by help him out, I dragged him to bars, got him drunk, and sent him home with random women.
None of that seemed to help.
He'd usually call me the next day, and tell me about it. How he'd pretend to pass out because little Houston got stage fright.
Finally, I had enough of this. I was tired of Houston being sad. I was tired of him not following through and banging the shit out of some women, and then telling me all about it.
I wanted my badass friend back.
That night, I decided we would go out to our usual hangout. A few beers into the night, I told him some funny stories, he put the sads away, and put the drunks on.
The next time he went to get us more beers, I decided to pull out my ace.
I called Rika.
I left her a message saying that Houston really wanted to hang out with her, and that I'd call her when we got back to his house.
After Houston and I closed the bar down in style, we went back to his house.
I had a talk with him. Mostly to the tune of "you need to call Rika, because she will fuck you".
He hemmed and hawed, and I got tired of him putting it off, so I grabbed his phone, dialed her number, and told her that Houston wanted her to come over.
She was down.
That night forever went down in history with me and him, because of two reasons.
1. It was about 20 degrees outside, aka, cold as fuck.
2. We were standing outside, so we could watch for her (he lived in an apartment complex.) We both expected it to take at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes.
It took two. Literally, two minutes.
When we saw her little Honda, she was taking corners and bumps like she was a Nascar driver.
That was pretty funny, but the best part was that her car was covered in ice. Covered. In. Ice.
Except for a tiny little place she'd scraped off. It looked like this:
When I saw that, I looked at him and said "You're gonna have a good night, because this chick is crazy."
Then, I left.
Dirty Rika lived up to her name.