Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sexy Saturdays: Slutty Saturday
I am so excited that the stunning Poppy of Funny or Snot agreed to post today! I don't remember a world without Poppy. Seriously. I don't remember if we met on Twitter or on the blog or if she read my blog first or I read hers first.
Frankly, blogosphere just simply can't exist without her. I love this little lady. She's like the big sister I wish I had, cool and pretty, but not stuck up in the least. And? She's a fellow Oregonian, so that's gotta do something for the cool factor amIright? Plus? She's hysterical.
Go read her blog and follow her on the Twitters and see for yourself!
Thanks for having me Andy, this is my very first guest post on someone’s personal blog. To be fair, I have been asked before, but I usually come up with some excuse because I’m lazy and only post a few times a week on my own blog. I fell in love with Andy the moment I saw her debut as a stripper and she offered to give me a free lap dance if I participated. (Editor's note: I so did. Shall I wear my lucite heels?)
Onward to Sexy Saturday.
The story I’m about to share happened on the last night of a backpacking trip through Europe that I took with a friend that I’ve known since grade school that I graduated college with in the fall of 1995.
We didn’t spend the entire trip being chased by The Big Dick, we got a little savvier as the trip progressed and did our fair share of chasing. At 22, we never seemed to have any trouble finding young male tour guides anywhere we visited. In Venice, a quick over the clothes feel up by the gondolier was all that was required for a free ride through the canals. Of course, that was a bait and switch. On my part. Sorry, Laura.
We were back in Paris and beyond tired, but couldn’t waste our last night in the city. We ended up at a small, darkish pub with a band. We had enough beer to turn from tired to giddy, before approached by two locals. One hot, one not. Sorry, Laura.
We chatted as much as possible between sets of the band because it was loud and I don’t speak French and he didn’t speak much English, but he was cute so there was a lot of hair flipping and pretend laughing going on.
Oh, and the hair. I’m just going to jump to the punch line here and let you know I fucked Fabio.
And now he shall be referred to as Fabio because I don’t actually remember his name. Well I kind of remember it, but I have no idea how to spell it.
Fabio actually got up and sang a Stones song with the band at one point. I had requested Highway to Hell, but he wasn’t familiar with ACDC apparently. It was still sexy.
My friend was getting tired and I don’t blame her because Fabio’s friend really was troll like in appearance and when you’re speaking the language of love, it matters. So for the first time in our entire adventure together, not only did we separate I was about to be separated from my red hot passport belt.
So it turns out Fabio lived about an hour outside the city and in which direction I could not tell you. So this could also be filed under Stupid Shit I’ve Done Saturday as well as Sexy Saturday.
So now I’m with Fabio in his apartment somewhere in France. He introduced me to his roommates and they spoke English as well as he did. In my mind the French exchange between them and the ensuing laughter was “What a fine American piece of ass” instead of “I thought you just got rid of the clap, are you trying to pick it up again?”
We proceeded to Fabio’s room with whatever the French-English translation of “Would you like to see my CD collection?” was back in the day and he shook me all night long. The French have a well earned reputation because it was one hot night. and morning. I almost forgot I had a flight to catch that day.
This fact did not escape my friend who woke up wondering where I was as this was before everyone had a cell phone. I probably should have tried to figure out what hotel we were staying at and attempted to call her and let her know that I was indeed alive and planning on making it back in time to go home, but that would have required effort. I’m not sure if irresponsible trumps whore in this situation, but I didn’t care.
A “sorry Laura” didn’t quite cut it this time when I did the ultimate walk of shame with my bra in my pocket on an hour long train ride from Istilldontknowwhere to make it back just in time to grab my backpack to head to the airport.
I did learn on the train ride home though that the French aren’t that picky when I had no less than four guys try to pick me up. It must have been my Something About Mary hair compliments of Fabio.
Tags sexy saturdays
- Chicks who do it for me
- Lose Weight Fast with the Heartbreak Diet!
- Margaritas, Weed, and Slut Signals
- epic existential post just in time for that arbitrary changing of the calendar which I so love
- Public Service Announcement
- Horrifying Shit on Pinterest: Slut Shaming E-Cards
- Animal Monster Bird Squawk Dinosaur Creature
- My Doctors Always Suck, otherwise entitled Why I Hate Kaiser
- Sexy Saturdays: Slutty Saturday
- fishcunts and cum dumpsters