October
12
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Two Marriage Proposals & a Concussion, Part 3: Snap Out of it!
Back on the prowl, D and I were at Roscoe’s for that weekly routine of men really letting their hair hang down, “Drag Race.” We were there to support two of the “girls,” friends of ours. After the show, D and I split up to mingle for a bit. Sufficiently buzzed, I was off to bag a boy. No sooner had I chopped my way through the crowd did I run into one…Literally. My drink hit the floor when his shoulder hit mine as we passed each other.
“Thanks, asshole,” I mumbled, irritated.
“Crowded,” he responded, clearly drunk. “Sorry.”
He began to make his way through the crowd. I grabbed his arm.
“Uh, ya,” I patronized. “But you knocked into me and made me drop my drink.”
I pointed to the floor and the bottom of my slacks, which had absorbed most of the impact. He glanced.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Can I buy you another drink?”
“That’s better,” I concurred.
He then placed his hand on my lower back as he led me to the bar. He asked me what I wanted. I didn’t want to be a total bitch, so I ordered cheap.
“Just a Michelob Ultra” I stated to the bartender.” Thank you.”
After he handed me the bottle, I was about to head off, but he stopped me.
“Ditching me so soon?”
“Sorry?” I questioned, turning back toward him.
“It’s not everyday I have the honor of accidentally spilling a drink on someone as sexy as you.”
I thought it was a cute approach.
“Oh, please. You know you did it on purpose.” I jested with a smirk.
“Well,” he replied, playing along. “I am a sucker for red heads.”
We walked over to a couple of stools and continued our conversation. I learned his name was Brent, 31, average build, dark hair, brown eyes, a grade school teacher, and adorable. As the night wore on, I became more and more attracted to him. Sarcastic, attractive, and can deal with kids. Sounds like a winner to me. The bar began to close, so we headed over to Nookie’s, an all night diner down the street to grab some coffee and carry on the great conversation and mutual flirtation.
The next thing I remember is being in his dark bedroom. As we ripped each other’s clothes off, we made out heavily. I pushed him down on the bed and placed a condom on him. After riding him for a spell, we went to switch positions. I went to lean over in order to lay on my stomach. I reached my arm out to brace myself but unable to see in his pitch black room, my hand missed the bed as we were apparently already on the edge. I collapsed, hitting my forehead on his end table and fell to the floor.
“I’m ok,” I uttered, humiliated. Brent snickered a little. “Yeah,” I joked. “I’m sure that was real hot.”
He pulled me back onto the bed and began kissing me. It was then, I began to feel something warm drip down my face. I wiped my cheek and looked at my hand.
“Oh, my God,” I said shocked. “I think I cracked my head open.”
Brent quickly turned on the lamp. Yup, I was bleeding alright. I ran into the bathroom, embarrassed and worried.
Luckily, it was a small cut, so I as able to clean it up and stop the bleeding. When I came out of the bathroom, Brent was no longer in the bedroom. I wandered out the livingroom to find him in the kitchen throwing up in the sink. He saw me walk in.
“Sorry,” he pleaded. “The sight of blood makes me queasy.”
Clearly, that was the end of that sack session. After making sure I was alright, we went to sleep.
The next morning while at work, I was attempting to type in reservations on my computer, but my typing skills were off. I was hitting wrong keys and I couldn’t see the screen clearly. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Later in the day, my boss walked in to ask me a question. As I answered her, she interrupted.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned. I assumed she was referring to the shiner on my forehead.
“You’re slurring.”
“Am I?”
That’s interesting. I hadn’t even noticed.
She asked how I hurt my head and after explaining, she came to the conclusion that I had symptoms of a concussion. Nice. She sent me to the doctor, as if I wasn’t already mortified enough, I had to explain my sex-related injury to another person. In the end, I wrote off the incident as God/a higher power/whatever you choose to call it trying to get my attention for feeling sorry for myself after my last break-up and sleeping around so much.
I took it as God saying, “Snap out of it!” as he smacked the back of my head into the end table.
“You’re worth more than this. Give yourself a little credit.”
I got the message.
The Fire Down Below 