i was young and stupid once, like most twenty-something single girls. i was also fairly marinated with the devil’s juice during that time of my life. that’s what happens when you hate your job and feel certain it is a situation only made better when you carry a constant buzz. looking back on this perpetual drunken haze i used to stumble around in, i can say that not only does your liver tend to suffer, but, so does that little piece of you that helps you say the word, “NO.”
once upon a time, i had a brief, ridiculous fling with an older dude. what? he was hot. very charming personality with a set of washboard abs makes it hard for one to continue to avoid such a creature’s advances for too long, ya know. one day, the older dude decided he couldn’t keep up with this constant drink-a-thon i insisted on participating in, and…he dumped me. no surprise there. this is an important piece of information to know, because it leads to how i get to know the dirty old man, who we’ll call hillbilly.
my friend jane and i would frequent the same bars over and over in our small, suburban hellhole of a town. one night, after just two drinks, in walks my hot older dude who had just dumped me a week before, and one of his hillbilly looking friends, who, i might add, was one of the shortest grown men i had ever seen that wasn’t a documented “little” person. so, what do i do? that’s right, i get so drunk that i somehow manage to convince my ex-lover to give me a ride home. however, once we get out to his car, he insists that his short, hillbilly friend take me home instead. i can’t remember the reason why, but i’m pretty sure it was so i wouldn’t try to shack up with ex-dude. i was pawned off on old, short, corvette, mid-life crisis havin’ hillbilly. grrreat.
i get into hillbilly’s car and, while the world is spinning around me, i manage to direct him straight to my parents’ house, which is where i resided right after college when it was impossible to live on my own. before i get out of the car, i apparently tell hillbilly i’d be happy to hang out with him the next night. i don’t remember this until i wake up the next morning with my head in the toilet trying to piece together how i got home, where my car was, and what day it was. being the sweet, southern girl i am, i couldn’t back out on hillbilly, so i called jane and told her to be at our bar at around 4:30…i had a plan. i was going to get hillbilly to take me there, i was going to hang out with jane, and she would take me home. easy, right? of course not. it never is.
instead, hillbilly picks me up at my house (in his redneck-mobile corvette) and tells me he’s taking me to the bar, yet he gets on the interstate and heads toward alabama, a place i would never voluntarily go. i’m baffled as to why we are not anywhere near the bar. he says, “we’re going to meet up with some of my friends later in the town i live in (which is almost in alabama).” awesome, so glad i knew this before i got in the car, jackass. anyway, he hands me a beer. he was nice enough to ice down a 12-pack before picking me up. as we’re driving, and i’m pounding beer as fast as i can to try and blur my life as quickly as possible, hillbilly tells me he has a fun surprise for me. i’m terrified at what this could be.
we pull off the interstate and into…an airfield. yeah, with planes and shit. apparently, hillbilly is a pilot, and he has his own little plane. aw, how cute. he’s going to show me how much money he has! except that entails me getting into the plane and letting him fly me around for an entire hour!!!!! i hardly know this guy! and, i’m in a plane with him. a small one. and we are drinking beer. and i feel like i might just jump out so this “date” can be over with. luckily, we landed safely, even after he let me take the control for a solid minute.
back inside the ‘vette of love, we head off to a gas station where all hillbilly’s friends are waiting on us. they’re my age. hillbilly is in his mid-40s. why on earth are twenty-somethings friends with this guy?! they inform me that the plan for the night is to drive two hours south of where we are to a country dance club to see a band play. i freaking hate country music. and, i hate anyplace south of where i currently am. in fact, i hate anywhere that isn’t my house at this point. i just want to go hommmmme! i sit in the ‘vette for two hours, still drinking beers and smoking cigarettes like it’s my job. longest. car. ride. ever. hillbilly just wants to talk to me. we really have nothing to talk about because he is an old, dirty man with a plane, and i’m a twenty-three year old chick who can’t afford rent.
we finally get to this terrible club. all i remember is that the word ‘lizard’ was in the name of it. or, was it ‘frog?’ either way, it was some kind of creepy crawly, which is what hillbilly was to me. things are fuzzy while we’re at the club, but i do remember my 5’7 frame (with heels, so really, 5’9 or so) had to slow dance with hillbilly, who is probably 5’2. i’m sure he loved that his head was just even with my breasticles. looooved it. he keeps trying to reach up and kiss me, and i am fortunately so drunk, i can barely keep my balance, so holding me still is like trying to pin a pig in a pen. luckily for me, this band finally stopped playing, and i was going to be able to head home! yes! right?! nooooo, not quite.
i’m at the mercy of hillbilly because i am hammered, and i have no car, or money, and i’m two hours from home. he decides we should shack up at one of his young friends’ aunt’s house for the night with the rest of the crew. i didn’t really have a say in it. awesome. we get to the house, and everyone is sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags. i think this is a good thing. hillbilly can’t try to round any bases with me in a room full of people! i’m in the clear! that is, until hillbilly’s friend informs us that, “since you guys are the only couple, you can have the bedroom. see you in the morning!” eff. eff. eff. EFF!
i hesitantly go into the room with hillbilly. i’m disgusted at the thought that i will have to sleep in the same bed as this guy. even trying to type this, i’m choking back the vomit that seems to have formed in my throat. hillbilly strips down to his boxers…ugh. i keep all my clothes on. well, i take my shoes off; the heels are killing me. he tries very hard to get me to undress, but i will not do it. he finally gives up and i’m able to go to sleep after a few slaps of his fresh hands trying to feel me up. i wake in the morning to find his morning wood pressed against my leg. he’s breathing heavily in my ear as if i’m going to just wake up and do him. instead, i quickly hop out of the bed and let him know i have got to go home right this second! hillbilly needs to “freshen up” before we make the two hour drive back to civilization.
this is where i vow to possibly never drink again, but most definitely, to never talk to men more than ten years my senior: hillbilly comes out of the bathroom with his lurking boner and says, “are you sure you don’t want to take your clothes off? i’ve got the best c*ck in the world.”
BARF. i actually had to swallow some of the last night’s dinner before i could laugh in his face for such a terrible last ditch effort to get some poon. i politely declined, and he finally directed me to the car. two hours later, after a very deafening ride, i was home. i slept all day and had nightmares about hillbilly’s comment, on top of the night in general. he called and called the next day, and i just ignored him until he finally stopped…three months later.
let this be a lesson to anyone like myself. stay away from dirty, old men with planes. and corvettes. but, especially planes.
very nice to meet schnoo. 