Alright, here it goes. Here is what ended the fling with my mullet sporting, retired, 80′s, pro-wrestler boyfriend of sorts aka my Donut replacement.
First off, I must say, I officially broke it off with Brutus a few weeks prior to “the incident”. Secondly, he wasn’t really a wrestler.
He was an owner of a bar we shall call, “The Lit Fart”. The title is as fittingly tasteless as he is, I assure you.
My oldest, dear friend, Kitten, came up with this description upon first sight. I shall honor her bold description and shall call him,
“Brutus The Bar Owner Beefcake”, Brutus for short.
I however, did NOT have the same judgement of Brutus as Kitten did in the beginning. I thought Brutus was a hot, beefy, stud muffin!
I told him so via text and email. In which he pretty much ignored. Along with all the nudie photos of myself I sent him and mostly, everything I ever said.
The last night Brutus spoke to me was the Saturday prior to Halloween.
I had spent the day dressing in a sexy wig and traditional slutty costume. I took my kids to Halloween events that evening.
Also, I drank, A LOT.
Don’t judge me too harshly, YET.
It gets much worse.
I had Mackey with me as (surprised) designed driver. We came back to the house, bathed the kids and put them to bed.
Then, Mackey went home.
I still looked HOT!
I decided my night was just beginning!
I mean, come on! Why waste such a fabulous costume after all!?
So, I did what any respectable, conservative, mother of two would do.
I left the kids with grandma.
Then, I drove my buzzed, glitter shoe wearing, rippled, fake-tan ass over to the Lit Fart without a heads up to Brutus.
I knew Brutus was throwing a big Halloween event so I did something, up until that evening, I had never done before.
I showed up unannounced and intoxicated (up until the point I restricted myself to two cocktails in the presence of Brutus).
Also, I paid at the door and started a tab, something Brutus never allowed me to do. After all, he opens up the bar to all the girls who suck him off.
His staff didn’t recognize me due to the wig and costume. Once inside, I headed to the bar, grabbed a hard liquor cocktail and hit the dance floor.
About an hour into my slutty dancing, I received an email.
GUESS WHO it was!!!
He told me I should come down.
I responded by saying that I was already there.
Brutus told me to come find him, I did as instructed.
When we saw me he gave me a big smile. Right before dragging me into the back room for five, horrible minutes of one-sided pleasure. You know, the usual.
I finished him off. Then, went to the bathroom in an attempt to remove the red lipstick stain from all over my face.
It was impossible.
I was shit faced by now, anyway.
When I came out of the shitter, Brutus informed me that he had a friend in from out-of-town and would be leaving for the evening. Such a gentleman that guy, he opened the bar up for me before left.
That’s where my memory ends.
Flash forward: Sunday morning. Mackey arrived to pick up my son for the day. I had about ten minutes until I had to leave for work. I got up, showered, dressed, only to realize I didn’t have my car. Bits and pieces of the night started flooding into my brain.
I looked at my phone.
I had a text message from a strange number.
“Are you OK?” The text read.
“Yes. Who is this?” I responded.
“I drove you home last night. Falcon.”
Suddenly, I remembered something about getting out of Falcon’s car in the early AM, wig in hand, before stumbling into the house. Something about scarfing down a corn dog in the bath tub then passing out.
I ate a fucking corn dog?
Damn, drunken munchies!
Mackey drove me to work that day. He told me he would stop by the Lit Fart on his way home to see if my car was still there.
Mackey sent me a text shortly after.
My car was still there.
My car had four flat tires.
I worked the day from hell.
After, Mackey came back to pick me up and drove me to The Lit Fart to retrieve my car.
On the way, I texted Falcon. I asked him if he had my missing car keys. He said he did and would meet us there.
We all arrived at The Lit Fart roughly around the same time.
Together, the three of us, inspected my tires. Luckily were deflated, not flattened.
I thought that was pretty odd.
Falcon did not. He noted my confusion.
“You don’t remember what happened last night, do ya?” Falcon asked me.
I shook my head.
“Oh, wow. You came out here and got into your car to leave. One of them little girls from inside came out after you. She tried to stop you from driving drunk.” He explained.
“Oh, no.” I said. My guts started to turn. Already this was sounding BAD. What the fuck did I do?
“She climbed into your passenger side. You were calling her all sorts of names.”
“She reached into your ignition and took your keys.”
“You punched her in the eye.I saw her this morning, she’s got quite the shiner.”
A million thoughts were banging around in my foggy, hung over head. Guilt, embarrassment, fear, you name it.
What was I going to say to Brutus? Not only that, how was I going to apologize for this? I’ve done some fucked up shit before but I had never hit a girl, especially when she was trying to help me.
I am the biggest, drunken asshole that ever lived.
Then Falcon started again:
“After you socked her she tried to run away from you. You chased her around this parking lot. That’s when the boys working the bar came out and deflated your tires. I thought it would be best if I gave you a lift home.”
I retract that previous statement. I am now, the biggest, drunken asshole that ever lived.
It took Brutus two days to respond to my emails. When he finally did, he let me know I was no longer welcome to the bar, which I had already assumed.
Falcon and I kept in contact that following week. I found out he had also been working at the bar that night, he was the bouncer. I couldn’t, for the life of me figure out why took pity on me, why he hadn’t had me arrested.
Until he asked me out on a date a few days later.
After the “Get yourself some help and don’t come back”, “You fucked with my business” and “My server doesn’t want any apology from you and neither do I.” email from Brutus, Falcon was ever so kind as to find out the server I assaulted’s name.
He texted it to me. Her name was Ruby.
I had to make amends with Ruby in some form. I felt horrible!
I bought Ruby a card and wrote:
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. Thank you for helping me. I drank too much and am deeply ashamed of my actions.”
I included a gift.
A lavishly wrapped MAC gift set. It was a “Smokey Eye” shadow pallet.
I figured this way both eyes could match.
No! That’s not REALLY WHY! I’m not THAT bad.
Pepper was kind enough to drop it off to Ruby for me. She took it to the Lit Fart the following Friday. I accompanied her. Then, like any self-hating, guilt ridden, psychopath, I hid sluggishly in the passenger seat of her car.
I’m a coward.
I never heard from Ruby again.
Falcon said she liked the gift.
In retrospect, this really wasn’t even my fault.
I mean, Brutus should have a sign posted somewhere that reads,
“The Lit Fart, where you can beat off our owner but you can’t beat our servers!”
How else are Dumb Sluts going to know the rules?
I sent Brutus an email saying just that!
Can you believe it, He never did respond.
I haven’t had an alcoholic beverage since.