So, you guys, I finally saw Gym Boy out at the bars!  It was the night before New Year’s Eve.  I had just the right mix of weed and alcohol where I was on top of my game.  By this, I only mean that I could still stand when I asked to buy Gym Boy a drink.

He said he’ll have a vodka tonic.  I asked him what kind of vodka.  He said it didn’t matter.

I used to feel the same way when I ordered a drink.  I never named my vodka.  For the most part, unless the bar is using really crappy vodka, I can’t taste the difference.  In fact, I used to hate buying Reuben’s drinks when it was my turn to buy a round because the bitch would always ask for Ketel One or Grey Goose.

But Reuben once said something that sticks with me to this day.  He said, Cassandra, what if your future husband is checking you out and sees that you drink cheap vodka? I’m not sure what the brand of vodka says about me or how good I am in the sack.  And sometimes in these matters Reuben is flat out pretentious and insufferable.  But something about his metaphor of drinking brand name vodka to attract a brand name husband makes sense.  I’m worth it.

So I insisted that Gym Boy name his vodka.  If this thing works out and he becomes my future husband I want to know that the first drink I bought for him wasn’t a cheap well drink.  It makes for a better story, too, don’t you think?

He seemed a little puzzled by my insistence.  He said, fine, yeah, whatever.  Skyy works.

It is settled then.  Our first child shall be named Skyy, in honor of this night.  Middle name… Tonic.

Skyy Tonic Gorgeous.  Ooh I get the shivers!

Afterwards, out on the back patio, he introduced me to his friends.  One of them was an escort-slash-porn-star.  I LOVE porn.  I asked this guy what kind of porn scenes he did.

He said, mostly D.P.

I was puzzled.  I said, D.P.???

As in, Domestic Partnership scenes?

What kind of porn is that?

Everyone laughed.

He said, Deep Penetration.

I was a bit embarrassed, but overall still pleased with myself for securing the first round of laughs.  I decide to shoot for one more.

So you must get pretty “Deep Cleaned” for that, eh? I asked him, with my fingers doing the quotation marks for emphasis.

This time nobody laughed.  *Awkward*

I swear, I can’t win with this crowd.  Cassandra always gets her heels in her mouth.  But I got Gym Boy’s number!  I remember going to sleep on New Year’s Eve so excited about the upcoming new year because I now have his number.  Our first kid will be named Skyy Tonic Gorgeous.  Awww….

Well, earlier last week I made the marinated-then-baked-then-deep-fried-spareribs I mentioned in an earlier post.  After a day of cooking, I was just stoned enough where I had the balls to text Gym Boy.  I asked him if he had any interest in coming over for deep fried spareribs.

This new year is starting out like shit, pure shit!  I’m sorry it has been a while since I last posted but I’m not loving life right now.  There was a temporary work assignment that I was really hoping to get but never got called for.  I also wrote an article that I thought had strong potentials and submitted to various publications for consideration.  Again, nothing.

And when I asked Gym Boy if he wanted to have some spareribs with me, he said he had to go to a funeral.

What kind of a response is that?

Not even a yes or no answer.  No thank you for the invitation.  No proposal for a future spare rib date.

I’ve decided I hate Gym Boy.

I will abort our first child just to spite him.  Goodbye, Skyy Tonic Gorgeous.  May stem cell research put your fetus to good use.

Oh, and one last thing, Mister Gym Boy.

I got your brand name liquor alright…

HEMLOCK!

Tags: followup