Friends Shouldn’t Let Friends Beer Goggle

When I initially decided to tackle this subject, I had a specific story in mind. But something happened last night that I can’t NOT share with you. So today you get a 2-for-1 deal. First things first…

Last night, my friend Stacy and I went to a party. We were both long overdue for a girls’ night out. We knew many of the people there {it was a going away party for a friend}, but there were a few new faces, including two young, nice-looking guys.

At some point, Stacy struck up a conversation with them. They were both cute and somewhat flirtatious. We discovered that they were 19 years old. Oohhh dear.

As I mentioned, we’d had a few drinks and were feeling pretty good, not to mention looking pretty good. We had both dressed up, but everyone else at the party was in jeans. As the night wore on, we found ourselves hanging out more and more with “Chip” and “Chad.” Chip was shorter with a very cute face and always smiling. Chad was tall and goofy and funny, also with a very cute face.

Initially, Stacy had all of their attention, at least partly because… Well, to be honest, they were both admitted boob guys and Stacy’s got me beat in that department. Because they knew we were quite a bit older than they were, they kept saying we could teach them things. How very, very tempting… I jokingly said that Stacy should let Chad motorboat her since he’d likely never been near boobs that big before. She surprisingly obliged {much to Chad’s delight}. Chip whipped his phone out to capture this epic moment, which neither of them are likely to forget anytime soon. Stacy had applied body glitter to her cleavage, so when Chad finally emerged from his journey into her decollatage, his face was covered with the glitter. Possibly my favorite moment of the night.

But gradually, Chad decided I was his date. He kept standing behind me, wrapping his arms around me {did I mention that I LOVE when guys do that?}, and pulling me to him. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass. His hands mischievously kept wandering to my chest, but he announced that I had changed him to a butt man. Score one for the booty! They both kept asking if we could go to a hotel room.

Long story short, nothing happened with these young scamps, aside from some groping and lots of laughing. We were all just having a really good time. Not beer goggling in the traditional sense of the word, but definitely not something either of us would have done sober. Or, at least, I don’t think we would’ve.

I suppose I should mention that Stacy is married. No, she doesn’t run around on her husband, but she is occasionally flirtatious {no harm in that, right?}. On this particular night, she was not happy with hubby and was basically blowing off steam. Hey, it happens.

I also want to mention that Stacy told a bunch of people at the party that when she spreads her legs, diamonds pour out, the sun shines on it, and sometimes there’s a rainbow. Not because it has anything to do with this story, but because it was too awesome not to repeat. Love you, girl.

Now, back to my original tale. Shortly before my divorce was final {as in, less than a month} and a week before my 40th birthday, I went to a party with my friends. As with the Halloween party I mentioned previously, this was a couple of hours from home, so I didn’t know most of the people there.

I’m not usually terribly outgoing when I go to these parties. At that time, I was still pretty new to this whole scene and often just stayed close to my friends. At this party, however, I was in rare form. Maybe it was the giddiness of my divorce FINALLY being over soon, maybe it was because I was about to turn 40, or maybe it was just time for me to cut loose and enjoy myself. Whatever it was, I was ready to mingle.

I was telling random guys that they should buy me drinks since I wouldn’t get to see them on my birthday. Hilarious, since I wouldn’t have seen them anyway, but whatever. Needless to say, I received quite a few free drinks that night, including one from the DJ. I’m normally more of an occasional/social drinker. I might have three or four drinks over the course of the night, and I very, VERY rarely drink enough to get more than a buzz. But this night? I was feeling no pain.

At one point, I noticed a guy who {in my drunken mind} looked just like Cedric the Entertainer, whom I love. I started talking to him, not bothering to remember his real name when he said it, and kept calling him Cedric. He didn’t seem to mind. My friends finally decided it was time for us to leave, so I gave Cedric my number, made him promise to call me, and stumbled out.

A few days later, he called me. He seemed like a really nice guy, and he lived near where the party had been. He wanted to take me out for a belated birthday dinner, so we agreed to meet halfway a few weeks later. He had gotten a motel room {probably wishful thinking on his part}, but I had no intention of staying over.

I got to his room, expecting to walk in and find Cedric the Entertainer.

Yes, please!

Yes, please!

What I walked in and found was more like Fat Albert.

ummm...

ummm…

He was sitting on the side of the bed and didn’t even get up when I walked in. He was easily twice as big as my previously drunken mind had remembered. Now, I’m not opposed to dating a bigger guy. I’m truly not {I’ll get into that later}. But his boobs were bigger than mine {and I’m a double D}. That just ain’t sexy. We talked for a few minutes before leaving for dinner.

After dinner, we went for a walk in the park, and he was bragging the whole time about his expensive cars and his expensive jewelry, and I was tuning out more and more. I really can’t stand bragging. It’s so obnoxious. Honestly, if he’d had a better personality, I might have been able to overlook his size. But I’ve known guys like that before and it’s really a turnoff. We eventually said our goodbyes and I headed home.

My friends are usually pretty good about steering me away from poor judgements. But I admit, I’ve had a few lapses that I’m not proud of. It happens. But you live and you learn and you move on. Preferably with a guy who’s not young enough to be my son or a guy whose bra size puts mine to shame.

Next up: Weiner

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