I agreed to meet her for drinks at our usual spot, and immediately regretted it. This girl was the type of friend you despise, but often find yourself in the company of nonetheless. I could tell she was already a few drinks deep by the time I got there, due to the empty shot glasses sitting in front of her. It’s pretty hard to tell when she’s drunk, it really is. Without those damn glasses on the bar, I would have guessed she was still working on her first one. I know better now though. Maybe because in all the years I’ve known her, I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her sober. It took me all those years to figure that out though.
But then again, I was no better. She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl you could stand to be around long without liquor in your belly. Fortunately she already had a drink waiting for me, which I graciously accepted. This girl, she’ll buy the whole damn bar shots and cry about how much money she spent the next day. That’s just the kind of girl she was though.

“Lets dance,” she shouted in my ear, pulling me to the dance floor without giving me time to reply. She’d always do shit like that. Push and pull me all over the damn place. It drove me nuts, it really fucking did. But I followed her to the dance floor anyway. I mean, I didn’t really have much of a choice with her dragging me and all.

It wasn’t long before a few guys came over to us, trying to rub their junk on our asses or thighs. I’m a pretty girl. I know that. The only effort I put into attracting men is showing up. It’s depressing as hell though. No one wants to be friends with the pretty girl. Guys just want to fuck her and girls just hate her because too many guys want to fuck her. It’s a lonely life. It really is.

This girl, she didn’t want anything to do with those guys or what was going on in their pants. The second they opened their mouths to introduce themselves, she suddenly needed to go outside for a cigarette. She let me know this by grabbing my arm and hauling me out the back door before the poor guys could finish a sentence. It was embarrassing as hell to be dragged around like that. Like I didn’t have the ability to make my own decision about whether or not I wanted to dance with them. Not that I enjoy feeling a stranger’s semi-hard cock humping my back, I really don’t. But I would have liked to at least have had the option to turn him down in my own way. Besides, dancing like that isn’t always so terrible.

I tried not to let it bug me though. I knew this girl would be buying my next drink at the bar outside. If she wasn’t so damn stupid about her money, I probably would have ended our companionship years ago. Not that I couldn’t afford my own drinks, but I wouldn’t spend the amount of money in bars over a month’s time that she’d spend in a single night. That’s just the kind of girl she was though. There’s really no reason to consume more than two or three drinks to get a good buzz on. But some people just take drinking too damn far and don’t stop until they’re shitting themselves or puking under a barstool. It’s disgusting.

“Look, your boyfriend’s here!” This girl, she said it loud enough to let everyone standing at the bar know I had a thing for the damn bartender. I wanted to break an empty beer bottle over her head and stab her in the throat with it. The vision of her gasping for air and desperately trying to pluck shards of glass from her bloody neck brought a sick smile to my face. I must have been a damn serial killer in a past life ‘cuz the thought of some people experiencing a slow, painful death excites the shit out of me.

“Hey! How are you?” He greeted us politely, thankfully ignoring this girl’s adolescent comment. I beamed, frozen by his smile and rendered speechless as my comrade ordered us another round of drinks. It was pathetic. Don’t get me wrong, the bartender and I had a dozen exhilarating conversations in the past. I can usually talk to guys about nothing for hours, however, the second I start to develop feelings for them I might as well cut off my own damn tongue. I get trapped in a prison of silence. In my head I was throwing myself against the prison walls, desperately trying to escape. What I would have done for even a single word to leave my lips. But it was useless. He tossed me a concerned glance, probably thrown off by my sudden awkwardness. Before I had time to recover, my opportunity passed and he moved on to the next patron.

To be honest, the bartender was probably the only reason I still bothered with those Friday night rendezvous. As much as I loved all of those free drinks, it was his smile that battled the voices telling me to stay home. See, this girl and I were what you would call ‘regulars’ at that shit hole, which at my age is fucking pathetic. Going to the same bar, weekend after weekend. Especially when you live in a place like New York where bars and clubs are on every other goddamn corner. It’s fucking depressing seeing the same people all the damn time.

I had fallen into a daze, and this girl, she blew smoke in my face to get my attention. I cringed, trying not to inhale. Cigarette smokers fucking disgust me. They always smell like shit. Even when they try to cover it up with perfume or something, they just end up smelling like a flower-scented pile of shit. And they’re never considerate of the non-smokers around them. Now I had to spend the rest of the night with ashtray hair because this girl needed me to pay attention to her. You’d think she would have just stuck to dragging me around like her fucking rag doll.

“Let’s go talk to those two guys.” And there it was again. I was being pushed and pulled, like I couldn’t fucking walk on my own. I sighed and gave the bartender an exhausted glace as my chance to chat with him dissolved.

This girl, she approached these two dopey looking guys who hardly looked old enough to be in the bar. Her standards for who she talked to killed me. They never made sense. I mean, the guys who tried to feel us up on the dance floor weren’t exactly a catch, but at least they were interested. Instead of talking to them, however, she’d rather force conversation on the two schmucks sitting in the corner. That’s just the kind of girl she was though.

“Do you have a light?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. This girl, she was going to smoke another cigarette just to start a conversation with those shady dopes. She sat down at the table with them and introduced herself in a way I’m sure sounded suave in her head. Out loud, however, it sounded desperate and borderline psychotic. I could tell immediately they weren’t attracted, but this girl, she can’t pick up on social cues for shit. But then again if she could, she’d have figured out a long time ago what a waste of life I thought she was, and I wouldn’t have gotten free drinks every Friday night. I had no choice but to sit down and hope they kept it brief.

Don’t get me wrong, I can be social as hell when I have a few drinks in me. I’ll talk to pretty much anyone. It doesn’t have to be someone I’m attracted to or even someone I plan on giving my real name to. I simply enjoy intelligent conversation, and I don’t think it’s necessary to only converse with people I want to sleep with. Tell that to this girl though, and I’m wrong. My opinion was always wrong. I’d even say something like ‘I thought the whole reason for having an opinion is so you can’t be wrong,” and she’d tell me that was wrong also. Fucking moron. That’s just the kind of girl she was though.

It was amusing as hell to watch her throw herself at these guys, putting her personality on steroids. But as the conversation bored me, my eyes wandered over to the bartender and I caught him staring in my direction. He was sexy in a dorky way that reeked of innocence and inexperience. Just my type. He had this short dirty blonde hair that was begging to be yanked on. It complimented his Irish complexion nicely. I thought his ears stuck out just a bit too much, but they were barely noticeable once I was locked on his hypnotic blue eyes.

As I sat there, engulfed in a fantasy of the bartender and I giving in to temptation right there on the bar, he threw me a mischievous smile that sent my desire into overdrive. That’s what I do when I’m into a guy though. I can’t get them out of my head, and depict them in my mind as nothing less than perfect. In every made up scenario, they always know the right thing to say or do. He always has a nine-inch cock, and never needs directions in the bedroom. It isn’t until I start getting to know the real guy that my bubble bursts. There’s always that specific moment I realize he doesn’t match my image of him, when he says the wrong thing or takes me to the wrong restaurant. I throw myself into a turmoil of disappointment and regret for a week, and then it’s on to the next one. An endless cycle. I knew somewhere deep in the back of my mind that the bartender would eventually turn up the same results. But in the moments I didn’t know him all that well, I could lose myself in my head for hours as I imagined him being exactly the kind of man I wanted. These were the rare moments I found happiness.

“I’m gona give these guys a ride home. You can walk right?” I was snapped out of my daze with the quick realization that our girl’s night out was over. She only gave me a ride home when the guy pool from that evening came up short. That’s just the kind of girl she was though.

I shrugged her off with obvious disapproval and watched them all leave as I wondered to myself who was more at risk, this girl driving home two strangers or the guys stupid enough to get in a car with someone eight drinks deep behind the wheel. But it wasn’t my business. As I sat there, alone and deserted I quickly began to feel sorry for myself. This wasn’t the night I had hoped for, and as expected I began to wish I hadn’t shown up at all.

As I headed to the bar ten minutes later, finally able to enjoy the freedom of using my feet without the help of an outside force, I began to create a mental list of every occasion I had been left behind at a bar by this girl. The numbers were up there, and in almost every scenario she left me for a guy she knew less than a week. That’s just the kind of girl she was though.

The bartender brought me another beer without having to ask. When I started to hand him my cash, he waved it away. “It’s on me.” I smiled and quietly thanked him. “Where’s your friend?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Left with some guys, as usual.” We both laughed, as this was often the case towards the end of the night.

“Walking home again?” I nodded and smiled. It was so hard to be myself around him, it really fucking was. “I get off in twenty minutes, if you want to have a drink with me before you go.” My heart stuttered, and my cheeks grew hot. Of course I agreed.

That one drink turned into three, and before I had time to catch my breath we had locked ourselves in the men’s bathroom. The bartender’s lips were soft and gentle on mine. Sweet, but not at all the rough passion I had fantasized about only an hour earlier. I kissed him harder and lightly bit his lip to demonstrate that I was not interested in holding anything back. He didn’t like that, but that just made me want him even more. I shoved the bartender playfully against the wall. He didn’t like that either. I didn’t stop though. I couldn’t stop. We kept kissing and I fumbled with the button on his jeans, eager to see what I was working with. Definitely not nine inches. He abruptly pushed me away from him.

“Ow! Stop biting my lip, will ya?” Bubble burst.

I mumbled something about having to go, and abruptly left him in the bathroom with his boxers around his ankles. The bartender shouted after me with deep regret in his voice, but I was out the door before he could pull his pants up. He shouldn’t have brought me into that bathroom. Instead of worrying about his tiny cock, he should have offered me a goddamn ride home. Everything I had imagined him to be was gone in an instant, and I left the bar dripping in disappointment. Like I had expected, the bartender ended up being another whiny bitch who couldn’t handle a little bit of roughness. Once again I found myself wishing I had just stayed home.

I couldn’t help but blame my chum for my predicament as I hit the pavement in my five-inch heels and began the long trek home. All of her goddamn witty comments and inability to put a friend before a cock left me bitter. The process of walking home would take me longer than the amount of time I spent in that damn bar, and knowing that just angered me. I promised myself, never again. But who was I kidding? Where the hell else was I gona go next weekend?

It was barely five minutes into my journey home, and my association with this girl was getting me really fucking depressed. Overwhelmed by my feelings of loneliness, I allowed a single tear to roll down my cheek. What kind of person asks a friend to meet up with them and leaves with a guy twenty minutes later? And what kind of friend does that almost every weekend? But this girl, see she wasn’t a friend. Not a friend at all. And as I sped my walk up to nearly a trot, I promised myself I would never meet up with that goddamn girl again.