Jones

The week goes by swimmingly. I had fun last weekend getting trashed and making a fool of myself. Hell, that is why I am here, to entertain the masses. Or just myself.  


I anticipated Friday's lunch hour when I was going to see the hottie (Shane) again. Small text messages were send back and forth between last week and the past week. This time I didn't have to bribe him into taking me to lunch, he actually asked me. Without sounding super desperate I say "Okay sounds good." 


Jumping up and down like a horny schoolgirl. 


So Friday finally rolls around and 11:55 a.m. I head out the door into the humid heat of the summer. In a dress, that may not have been the best outfit for walking a block in the muggy weather. I tried to look my best without out doing myself. It worked I suppose.  


We got into the hamburger joint and actually eat our lunches and have a decent conversation. He wanted his shirt back from our last night out, so I walked down to my car to get it for him once we were done eating. While saying our good-byes we lightly hug and our lips linger close before closing the space in between them. His soft lips push against mine before I hear people coming out behind us. He tells me to call him that maybe we could see each other later. 


I get back to work, giddy making sure I had no food left in my cleavage. 


Slowly the time passes...
After work I drive. Same familiar route. To the strip club. Again. Sober.
Which should have been a HUGE red flag. Who spends most of their time at the strip club? He did, or so it seemed, since all the dancers (or so they called themselves this) knew him well. Maybe a tad too well. Strange, right? 
Most of the time I am oblivious of the red flags, even when they kick me from behind. Red flags swayed and swished in my face, I refused to acknowledge their existence. 
Ignorance is bliss, but it's also benightedness. But what-fucking-ever. 


I walked into the club, hoping that other guys didn't think I worked there because of my high heels and tight dress. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. This time was just like the last time I saw Shane. I sat and beer after beer was brought to us, no hesitation, I started chugging. 


To lose my inhibitions, because that's when I am at my best. 
I lost count on how many beers I downed at the same time he reached for his roll of dollar bills for yet another round. 
Several differences this time from the last. One was that no underwear was shown. Not mine, not his. 


No clothes came off of me. 


Not so much as a kiss even. 


Which was starting to weird me the fuck out. See...red fucking flags, staring me the fuck down. I looked away. I make an excuse for him, because I am that dim sometimes. 


He tells me that he has "family" coming from out of town so he has to leave after a little bit. Which was fine with me. Shit. I am not going to be some clingy ass woman. Go on motherfucker. 


I let him walk me to my car when it was time. 


This is where I proceed to fuck shit up. 


You see we were talking about my ex for some odd reason. Just a few sentences about him, that was all. Talking and talking I call Shane "Jones" my ex. Oops. 
What? It slipped out. Swear. 


HOLY SHIT BALLS. I fucked that up. 


Which is such a fucking shame.  


Of course being a child that he is he started to walk away. I start kicking myself. How the fuck does that happen? OMG. My ex is hot, yeah ok, but he is such a dickhead. Plus he hasn't called me in a while. So I am over it. Done. Fuck that noise. Knowwhatimsayin? No? Well fuck you too then. 
I started driving away, pissed at myself. I felt like such an asshole. FUCK!


Desperation finally surfaces, I break and call him immediately. This is where he yells at me, blathering in my ear, giving me all kinds of excuses just to get out of this. 
Whatever "this" was. Fucking dick.   


I tell him that it really meant nothing, because in all honesty it really didn't mean shit to me. Jones who?


I get home and he is still there yelling obscenities at me via the phone. 


At this point I want to bash his face in for being irrational and cocky. I clock it off as him being in a drunk delirium. He tells me that he never wants to talk to me again. I am like "Really dude, are you fucking serious? It was a fucking tiny ass mistake." to which he replies "Yeah."  Then tells me he has to go and not to call him anymore that he was deleting my number from his phone. Then he hangs up. 


I go outside and chain smoke a few cigarettes and call my friend to give her my shitty news.


I called my friend Amy because she lived close, and I needed someone to get me out of my serious funk. I needed to not be alone, for my shame would have manifested. That is never any good.  


She came to my rescue and whisks me off to Hamburger Works for round 2. 


One beer later.
I agree to go to another bar. Because misery needed drunk as a companion. Off we go to another bar for some more drinks. You can never have too many drinks when you are hating yourself for making a tiny, itty bitty ass mistake. I even sent him a text saying sorry around 9 p.m. 
No response. 


So I called Jones. 
I know, I know...it was a shit move. Jones never answered so not like it mattered anyway. See...DICK! 


Many, many drinks later I may have been swaying to and fro as we walked around the tiny bar, I was still in denial about Shane never talking to me ever again. 


Sometime around midnight.... 
My phone rings.
I did not recognize the number but decided it might be a friend calling to hang out with my inebriated ass. 
No such luck. 
Guess who it is?......
No it's not Shane.
It's not the dancers either. 
It's his wife. 
'His' being Shane. 
WHAT?!! Yeah, his wife of many years, his baby momma, his motherfuckin WIFE!! Calling me to talk about her lovely husband and his extra curricular activities. 
Here we fucking go.  
We talk for a good 20 minutes. She tells me their whole life story. 
Was I disappointed? Sure, but I was mostly LIVID because he fucking lied. Like a piece of shit. 


Surprisingly, as drunk as I was I kept my composure, I did not yell, nor did I call her a bitch. Amy walked over to me somewhere in between my conversation with the cheaters wife to see where the fuck I disappeared to and hears bits and pieces of the conversation I was having. She had her  eyes wide open mouthing "what the motherfucking fuck" as I stand my ground and tell Shane's wife of how I met him and the lies he told me.


20 wonderful, informing minutes of recounting my stripping experiences with Mrs. Shane, I am done. 
When we hang up I feel like total shit. I also feel some relief, knowing I wasn't the only asshole that night. 
Sure I called him Jones, but he fucking LIED and kissed me! Meanwhile his wife, mother of his 20 children was at home thinking her husband was out hanging with the boys. 
What a fucking idiot. 
So that was that. No more Shane.
So much for my ex being the only dickhead I know right now, Shane just upped the game.  
Amy takes my sorry ass to the bar where we have another drink with a side of water. Because I am close to being that drunk. 


I'm standing there in this bar confused as all hell because WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? 
Was I dreaming? Please tell me I will wake up from this shit? 
I started getting drunk emotions, I felt tears stinging my eyes. I stand at the bar looking like a lost soul, beaten at her own game.  


A man starts talking to me. Hitting on me is what my friend tells me. I'm not interested, but keep up the conversation for the sake of a distraction. I ask him his name because I like to know who I am talking to even though I will forget his name within the next few seconds. 
Shane is his name. 
REALLY DUDE? THAT HAS TO BE YOUR NAME RIGHT FUCKING NOW? 
I lose my shit, and walk away. 


The Next Morning.
My head is pounding and I am sweating. Again. I know I have to stop waking up like this every Saturday morning.  
Somewhere far away I hear my phone ringing. 
"Shit" I manage as I roll off my bed towards my ringing phone. It's 8:05 a.m. I look at the caller ID and realize its Dickhead calling. Not my ex, THE dickhead of the month. Shane.
I go to answer and it hangs up. 
Fuck that noise. I am NOT calling that piece of shit back.
I go about my day (mostly hungover, probably still drunk) wondering how the hell I didn't realize his marriage was still intact and he was indeed not single like he told me. 


Sunday morning.
9:07 a.m.
(Phone ringing somewhere in the background) 
Shit. What the fuck people let me sleep in for fucks sake! 
I do not recognize the number so I answer. 
It's dickhead's friends wife this time. 
What.The.Fuck! 
Really? REALLY?! NO, mother-fucking REALLY!!!!
She tells me that Mrs. Shane called her and told her that Shane told her that the only reason that he had my number is because I was trying to hook up with her husband. AHAHAHAHA. 
No. 
I had to explain to her that her husband was not my type, and that no I was not trying to hook up with him. She thanked me for my time and told me she was never going to call again. She just needed to know if it was true or if Dickhead was trying everything in his power to not get his ass kicked by his wife. 
Seriously? All this bullshit for that man? No fucking thank you. 


He can keep his pink jello penis. 


Little cheating bitch.