Whore-nado

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Apple Picker, Bar, Dating, Friends, San Juan Diaries, Shew, Straights Leave a Comment

There are certain facts to life. Some of mine: Utah is place of birth, New York is home, Puerto Rico is currently a miscellaneous adventure. After a short five weeks on the Enchanted Island it was no longer possible to resist the call of play time, unlimited brunch and real home.

With a few keystrokes and rushed plans I was back on a plane to the city. My Straights let me takeover their sofa, though I only ended up using it a single night; Friday if you’d like to be specific. We planned on a simple happy hour as the Straights were jet-lagged from their trip to China and I was burnt from the week.

Arriving in top form [tipsy], I enjoyed a first class upgrade thanks to my one and only PR friend, Boston. I know, who ends up in Puerto Rico and finds a person from Boston to befriend. Go figure. Anyway, a simple wine bar turned into an all-night rager. So, so many bars. I can’t even remember them all, or some portions of the evening to be honest. We were removed from one bar and turned away from at least two during our escapades. Apparently there is a point where you can be too drunk…in the eyes of others.

Saturday brunch meant pulling a hangover together and doing it one more time. The twist, Shew joined us at brunch. If you’ve been reading any old posts or know the history, Shew used to make me think I was insane. However, I received validation as he finally admitted he used to intentionally go after guys I was interested in an effort to bed them. Vindication comes from knowing I was right all along and it actually makes it all better. Not that I’ve been fixating on it the past few years, but you always wonder about unfinished business.

No trip home would be acceptable without a booty call. Though it wasn’t Late Night, as you might assume, it was Apple Picker. I’ve left him out of here and maybe we can talk about him at some point, but it seem like a frivolous use of words today. Not only did my drunk ass walk from Chelsea to HK to meet him, it seemed like a good idea even though my twisted ankle disagrees, but I just whore-nadoed his apartment. Realizing such the next morning as socks were under the bed, shirt and sweater in the living room, pants on a lamp, etc. Totally worth every second.

After all this gallivanting what sucked, besides leaving, was the trip home. Again upgraded to first class thanks to Boston, the hangover was so intense I was unable to take advantage of the unlimited free drinks. Damn you liver! Oh well, there’s always the next unplanned escapade.