10:32AM I wake up, with a massive hangover, an unquenchable thirst, a sore throat and lungs from smoking a pack and a half last night and the smell of cheap perfume on the clothes I slept in.
10:46AM I turn on the radio in my kitchen and look through the fridge. First I look for Gatorade, then for juice, then water before I realize that tap water is all I have in my rundown shit-shack of an apartment. Oh yeah, no clean glasses either so I stick my head under the faucet, next to the pot that hasn’t been washed in two months, some pile of organic matter, and almost every other dish I own.
10:48AM I stop drinking water and start to listen to the pounding in my head. I also vaguely start to tune in to what has been on the radio. It’s the annoying disk jockey on the radio talking about how no man wants to be alone tonight, and if he were alone he would buy a whore. I think to myself, “You’re an asshole, but probably right. I need to get laid tonight.”
11:33AM I get out of the shower-dripping wet. I shave, brush, rinse, pluck, trim and generally groom myself for ‘the big night.’
12:45PM I find my little black book, which is actually just a pile of bar napkins, and pages ripped out of notebooks, every girl that has ever given me her phone number. They start with girls from high school, then a few from frat parties I attended freshman year, and end with the drunk girl I met at Anacones Inn. 47 in all. I start down the list, with the easiest girl fist. The ones that I get a hold of and remembered who I was shot down my proposition for cheap, feel-good sex. Even the Long Island girls said no.
1:45 PM By the time I finish calling all the numbers, I feel emasculated, neutered, and like either my stamina, endurance or penis size is inadequate to get laid by the same chick twice. I find my bong and a half drank bottle of Jack Daniels. I do a few shots and a few bowls before I decide that it’s just my strategy that needs improvement, not me.
4:29 PM I go to Parkside Candies, and ask for package of candy that will most help me get some action tonight. The girl behind the counter laughs at me and says that it wont work, but that the True Love Package, consisting a variety of different heart shaped candies was my best bet.
4:55 PM I go to the florist, because if the media has taught me anything, women like candies, flowers and diamonds, but I don’t have enough money for the girl’s best friend. I repeat my question this time to the middle aged woman at the florist, Edith I think her name was. She too laughed at me and proclaimed that when she was in college, kids weren’t as promiscuous, and that this sort of casual sex is why we have so many unwanted children and diseases, and something about Jesus. I pay for the bouquet and drive away.
6:21 PM I realize that it doesn’t look good for me so I go to the porn store, pick up a copy of “Gang Bang X” and “She Cums A Lot.” I go home to jerk off. I realize that my “baby concentrate” as I call it, has gotten all over my couch, coffee table and now my dog is licking it up.
7:30 PM I check my messages, hoping that one of the girls I called realized that, she too wants cheap, dirty, casual sex that will last all night. The only message I get is from one of the girls’ father, threatening to kick my ass if I don’t leave his daughter alone.
7:45 PM Booze and its inhibition lowering effects are my only chance tonight. I go to the local slum liquor store and ask for a bottle of wine. All that they have is Franzia. I buy two boxes, one white one red, just in case.
8:36 PM Stranger sex is the best I can hope for at this point. I decide to go to the bar early hopping to avoid having to leave with the 4:00AM hairy, bucktooth skank that no one else wanted. I decide to go to an Elmwood Avenue bar, in hope of finding a girl from Buff State that doesn’t know me, but wants to get freaky.
3:31 AM Five bars, and countless, ‘sleep-with-me’ rejections later I get the hint. If I want it, I’m gonna have to pay for it. I check my fund situation. Down to my last $24.50. This is going to be rough.
3:55 AM Start to drive through the red light district. I find a homeless looking blond that approaches the passenger window. I let her in. She tells me $25 for the hour. I tell her I only have $24.50. She asks to see it. I oblige. She grabs the money and runs. I run after her, but my smoker’s lung lets her get away. I find a dollar she dropped.
4:43 AM I remember once five years ago, leaving a bar near Rodney and Fillmore and being propositioned by a group of women for $1 blow jobs. I drive there fast, hoping that they haven’t all been taken by now. I get there, and there is one obese woman, with a disturbing face, and one breast missing. I ask her if she will blow me for $1. She says yes.
5:20 AM I come after a minute, she gets out of the car, and I drive home. I love Valentine’s Day.
