Living Wicked

TMIThursday: A Little Extra SAUCE w/ Her French … Kiss.

Jan 27, 2010 Completely Hypothetical and Generally Specific, TMI Thursday's, Yum... or Lack There Of., bitch

Hello my gluttons for TMIThursday punishment!

As always — check out Ms. Lilu for making this recurring day of nastyness that we all kind-of look forward to possible. She rocks, in case you didn’t know.

Today we have a guest TMIT’er. (I am thinking I want to have guest TMIT’s for a few weeks … so if you have a TMIT story to share on my blog … email me @ wickedcourtni@gmail.com) She is a fellow-ess PQNation Blogger … known as “Rise Again” on our site … but to me she is my Alanaface.

I love her. And her blogs. When she gets around to gracing us with her blogpresence anyway.

Show her some love. She is the bestest.

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I am the Puke Queen.

It doesn’t matter if it’s because I’m pregnant, drinking, eating something off the Chinese buffet or trying to cough back up the overload of carbs I ate for lunch, I puke. Anytime, anywhere, and the amazing thing is that it embarrasses me to NO end to throw up in front of other people.

It’s like a joke now to anyone who knows me.

Unfortunately, sometimes that shit happens at a really inopportune time, like, say, a first date. I mean, hypothetically.

This story is so typical, it’s ridonculous.

J and I started chatting online in September of 2008. Conflicting schedules prevented a real meet and greet until almost November, but when we finally found a day I suggested karaoke.

Now, don’t get it twisted. I can sing. It seems, however, that being able to sing doesn’t necessarily translate well to being able to sing karaoke on a first date. When you’re drunk. Also, nervous.

Solution to all life problems?

Wait for it…

Alcohol!

(I see you are paying attention. Good, we won’t have to go over this later.)

We started at a sports bar, general first date chit chat with lots of beer (read: cider. read: not SMRT) and some pool. I was nervous like Lady Gaga in a room of asexual androids. My first real date since separating from my husband.

It kind of felt dirty.

By the time we got to the karaoke bar, I was pretty lit, but J said he’d never had a Jagerbomb and I’m just so fuckin’ sorry but that’s like, a travesty.

What a waste! That shit didn’t even come in two separate glasses, but was premixed in a plasticmuthafuckincup.

Followed by another cider.

Do you sense a trend of drinks with too much sugar here?

I sensed it. I sensed it all the way up my sweet little esophagus.

So, I excused myself.

And then I got called to sing.

And then what?

I didn’t have a tooth brush. Or mouth wash. Or any of those nifty little breath strips that he always carries around. (Of which I am now VERY aware and use them often in just these types of situations. Well, and before morning sex. I digress.)

What I did have was a dude that I was totally into, who made a move, like, I dunno, two hours ago, sitting next to me in the booth. He RODE THE SCHOOLBUS WITH ME FOR FUCK’S SAKE! What guy will do that anymore?!

So what did I do?

Yeah, go ahead and puke in your mouth a little…it’s all the rage.

I let him stick his tongue so far down my throat it’s a wonder I didn’t lay it all out on the table right there.

And I don’t care. Yeah, I let him kiss me with puke mouth. Say somethin’, bitch.

There you have it. Feel free to share your own related or completely NON related TMIT’s.

Happy Thursday!

Tags: alcohol, french kiss, karaoke, sing