Monday, October 4

tales of bottle labels

Peeling beer bottle labels has always been a necessary thing. Like I obsessivly do it without thinking, and by the time I've polished off a Canadian or Keith's (beers of choice, mua) I have the label in my hand.

If you peel one off whole it means you are getting good sex.
If you can get the top label, that's a ticket for good head.

Just trust me, it usually works. Ha.

So last night I am explaining this to the boys at the bar, giggling as I pull at my labels. I also compulsivly put the pulled off labels into my pockets, so when I wake up I can actually remember how much I drank.

At the bar last night was boy M. The crush is a pretty intense one on the Paige scale of crushes, but he is flirting with some girl and so I am being entertained by boy B who tells me that I will be the lucky recipiant of his fully intact beer label.

M and girl leave the bar.

When I am drunk and see crushes leave, I lose judgement. I'd say I become vindictive, but it's usually just myself being slutty to prove that I don't care about the crush as much as I really do.

When I finally got up this morning, boy B's beer label is on my bed stand with his number on it.

Cute idea, but mrah... I just wanted to use him for the night. B was not a long-term prospect. Also, he he broke the cardinal fucking-rule of random drunken hook-ups, which is DO NOT STAY THE NIGHT. But that's a whole other story...