Last Friday I had a blast with my girls--minus the one who majorly violated girl code--but that's a whole other rant for a different day. We met up at one of our favorite bars in Hollywood to do our typical ... drink, eat and giggle the night away.
It must have been somewhere around midnight when I checked Facebook (upon fact checking through my sent phone messages it was actually 1:48 a.m.) and I noticed in my feed that it was a friend's birthday and he was out celebrating. I shot him a quick text message "happy birthday" and thought that would be the end of it. Well I was wrong.
He invited me over for a 1:1 after party and I thought to myself "What the hell? We've rolled around in the sheets many times before, I've been drinking and the only place that's going to serve free alcohol after 2 a.m. is at a single guy's house who wants to get in your pants for his birthday. Right?"
The thing about Beverly Hills Larry is that sex is notable, but only every other time. I guess our jaunt last October makes up for the failure this time. But that's still not the story I'm getting at.
When I woke the next day in his condo to the sound of him using the toilet, then bathroom sink, then the shower for what seemed like forever, I was in great need of peeing out the many drinks I sucked down the night before. So I did what any grown woman who is half hungover and half still drunk would do. And that is not knock on the bathroom door or barge in.
Instead I went to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl out of the kitchen sink, pissed it in standing in the middle of the kitchen, spilled half on the floor, rinsed the dish, used a ton of napkins to clean up my dog-like mess, buried the napkins in the bottom of the trash--and I was still able to get dressed and ready to leave before he'd even exited the shower.
Happy birthday. I pissed on your floor. I'll be leaving now! Until next time ...