Turds in the Punch Bowl (A Story of No Ordinary Friendship) (16 page)

Tryst is a hot-spot for strippers who try to hide their true identity behind bottles of vodka. The dance floor is open to the terrace outside, which overlooks a magnificent waterfall. It’s a great place to sit and watch the gold diggers on parade without catching one of their diseases. The music is a mix of rock and rap. The energy is high and I knew T-Jax wouldn’t get bored. It’s the kind of place that has a dress code, and we almost didn’t get in due to my date’s awful attire and outdated sneakers. I slipped the bouncer a twenty and asked him not to make a scene of it. He was happy to walk us in after that.

“Whoa!” T-Jax exclaimed like a spot-on impersonation of Keanu Reeves. “Look at that waterfall! I’m so swimming in that before the night is through!”

Neither Joe nor myself took him seriously. Rather, we led him to the bar and began to feed him drink after drink in hopes that he would get drunk enough to miss our sly departure. To no avail. T-Jax’s inebriation made him cling to me like a child. I drug him around all night as he hung on my leg, arm or waist; whatever he could grab onto each time I tried to slip away.

“I can’t shake him, Joe,” I whispered as the night came to a close.

“Let me try,” Joe offered. “Hey T-Jax, let’s check out that waterfall!”

We walked out onto the terrace to view the man-made lake and cascading waterfall. It wasn’t a pool. There was no swimming in this water. It was for viewing purposes only. But this didn’t stop T-Jax. We hadn’t been on the terrace for more than a minute before he had disrobed and climbed onto the railing.

“Watch my stuff,” he ordered and then dove head first into the water.

The music stopped and security surrounded us on all sides. They took T-Jax’s clothes and started yelling at him to come out of the water. He laughed at them and swam toward the waterfall instead. He mocked them by doing the backstroke and singing. I was mortified. A bouncer walked over and asked if I knew him. I nodded no and put on my best “innocent face.”

“I saw you with him earlier,” the bouncer said to Joe. “You’re friend is getting arrested tonight, I suggest you come with us and answer some questions.”

Joe shooed me off, but I followed. We walked down to the lower terrace where two police officers were already waiting for T-Jax to emerge from the water. They were patient considering he swam around for twenty minutes or so before his arms got tired. Realizing there was no way to avoid arrest, he finally swam to them and asked for a towel. That’s when he saw me.

“Jen!” he called over. “Jen!”

Security moved toward me and Joe held them off. “Run, Monkey! Just go. I’ll cover for you. Go home, I’ll meet you there.”

I ran as fast as my little heels would let me. I went home. I did not pass go. I did not collect two hundred dollars. When I arrived, I sat on the couch in silence and waited for Joe. An hour later, he walked through the door sans T-Jax.

“Well, we did it,” he announced.

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say he won’t be back any time soon,” he smiled a devilish grin.

“Do tell,” I insisted.

“After you left, I heard them asking T-Jax his name. He told them Jeremiah. When they asked for his last name, he said Bullfrog.”

“That’s actually hilarious,” I laughed aloud.

“Yeah, well I realized I didn’t even know his real name so there was nothing I could do to help him. But…I
could
help my Monkey!”

“How so?” I inquired, a little too excited to hear the rest.

“I saw his jeans sitting on a barstool, so I snuck over and rummaged through his pockets. I found his wallet and took it. Since he wasn’t going to give them his real name, I figured he wouldn’t want them to find it on his driver’s license. Then I slid out the emergency exit and dropped it in a flower pot on my way out. He’ll be in jail all weekend.”

“Good job, Captain Cock-block,” I praised and held up my hand for a high-five.

“Sleep well, Monkey,” he said as he gave me some skin.

(Sleestack Steve had no eyelashes, thus earning him the name of a wide-eyed reptilian humanoid from Land of the Lost. Sleestack is also known as Salamander Steve, Stalker Steve, Salesman Steve, Cam Cameraman and EPT. Steve was your classic salesman of all things bullshit with a clingy personality and an obsession with my Facebook page. The Salamander and EPT monikers derived from his pale complexion that turned pink when the sun touched him. Cam was short for cameraman, which was one of his ten professions.)

Sleestack was a mistake from the gate. To begin, his name was Steve, the same as my ex-husband’s, and so I gave him a nickname. I was forthcoming when I told him that I could never call him Steve. I had too many negative attachments to the name and wanted to give Sleestack a clean slate to start with. Additionally, I didn’t like his last name either, so I expressed my reservations about ever marrying him. He didn’t really stand a chance from the word go.

Aside from the name dilemma, he was too short, too pale, had a funny nose, buck teeth and serious body image issues. He also had mental problems. He was desperate, clingy, obsessed, delusional and a stage five Me Monster. One might wonder how I ended up with such a train wreck. I often ponder this when I feel like beating myself up over my poor decisions; which isn’t really necessary because Joe does a pretty good job of doing it for me. The truth is this was a classic case of vagina goggles. I had been sold on Salesman Steve’s sales pitch for love because the one thing he had going for him was his giant penis. By the time I noticed his long list of deal-breakers, I was already ogling over the shiny monument inside his pants.

I had initially thought he was sort of cute. Too short, but cute, like a puppy dog. I took him home to Joe to introduce my new pet. Though cordial and conversational, I could tell Joe didn’t like him. Sleestack wasted no time interrupting every story Joe told to thank us for not giving him a horrible nickname. “Wow,” he said, “I’m glad I got a normal name. You guys are harsh!” To the best of his knowledge, he was just Cam. He was very sadly mistaken and his comments annoyed Joe so much it warranted giving him more than one nickname as retribution.

Sleestack drank five glasses of water in the first ten minutes of their introduction. Salamanders need to stay moist and hydrated. When he excused himself to the restroom, I quickly solicited Joe’s opinion.

“So, what do you think?”

Joe looked at me with a deadpan face and said, “He has no eyelashes. You’re dating a Sleestack.”

“What the hell is a Sleestack?” I asked.

“From Land of the Lost. Sleestacks live in the Lost City and they don’t have eyelashes. Look ‘em up, Monkey.” He paused and then continued, “You’re not sleeping with him are you?”

“Kinda,” I admitted. Joe gave me a discerning parental look and I felt I needed to defend myself. “What? He has a big dick!”

“Well, you know what that means.” I waited for his answer. “Big dick means big balls.”

Joe was right. The next time I had sex with Sleestack, I noticed the unusually large testicles hanging between his legs. Joe had a way of making see things clearer no matter how unconventional his methods. I also vowed never to look into Sleestack’s eyes again for fear he may read my mind or turn me to stone. In fact, I refrained from looking at his face altogether after that. If I did, all I could focus on was his pink-rimmed eyeballs that were susceptible to dust and other particles due to their lack of protection. At that point, I was really just dating a penis. I disregarded the rest of him. The man attached to the penis was of no use to me anymore. I needed out, but I wanted to take my new toy with me. I felt I deserved a parting gift and a penis was far better than any MMA tee shirt or belt buckle I had received in the past.

My exit wasn’t so simple. I didn’t end up with a penis in hand and in fact had to file a restraining order. Sleestack was a stalker. He was filled with delusions of grandeur that we were to be married and have babies. The thought of children with tails and unblinking eyes didn’t appeal to me so I politely declined. Then he cried. A lot. So much so I thought he might dry up. He would’ve given his right arm to get me back; which wouldn’t have been a big deal since he could probably regenerate his limbs anyway. After two months of dealing with his pathetic pleading, I consulted Joe.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Joe asked after hearing the entire story.

“Please.”

“Alright, but it won’t be pretty.”

“I know, Joe. Just do your thing.”

A few days later Joe told me that Sleestack wouldn’t be bothering me anymore. He had given the level nine let-down speech and basically told him to beat it. “Jen’s suffering from a chronic illness and only has months to live,” he told him. “She doesn’t tell anyone, but her dying wish is to find the biggest penis. You were just a test and you didn’t pass. She thanks you for your time and wanted me to give you this parting gift.”

I asked Joe what he gave him and he said it was the phone number to an eyelash extension parlor just down the hill from Sleestack’s home. Joe had done a good job. I was proud of my best friend for handling my dirty work once again. Though I have since required him to remove the death wish from his speech. It took months to stop receiving Get Well Soon cards and flowers in the mail.

(T-Rev’s name was Trevor. We called him T-Rev for short.)

Joe and I decided to hit the town one night in search of our Mr. and Mrs. Right. I had a feeling he was out there and waiting for me to arrive. We drove across town to the Red Rock Casino. Their new nightclub was opening that night and the place was sure to be filled with locals since it was off the Strip. I had an affinity for imports (men from out of state) and thought I would try my hand at meeting someone I could have sex with more often. I was tired of being a weekend lover.

We arrived too early. There is a magic hour in Vegas for the full nightclub experience and we clearly missed the mark. The place was dead and the fat girls were hanging around the dance floor waiting to get dibs on the first hot guy that entered the joint. Joe was in luck. After an hour of diverting the gunt twins (Gunt is a blended word referring to the lower abdominal area of a female’s anatomy. When her gut and vagina could both benefit from a diet, it’s called a gunt), we found ourselves outside near the tiki torches and lap pool. Joe had a good view of the door to evaluate each potential mate as she walked in the club. I had an eye on the bar to see what the men were drinking.

Joe crashed and burned a few times with his typical insert-foot-in-mouth approach. Apparently a man who is recently divorced from a stripper who left him for a bouncer isn’t a good opener. We tried a few others, but the blood always rushed to his cheeks, made him feel faint and resulted in rapid speech. It was like speed dating with a lobster. I suggested we take a breather and sit down at one of the cabanas. That’s when I saw him.

“Oh my God, Joe. Look!”

“What? Where?”

“9 o’clock, at the bar. Polo shirt and cigar. I want him.”

Joe turned to witness my newly found crush. He was tall, dark hair and devastatingly handsome. He looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine ad. I was sold. I was willing to buy the clothes to get the man. He was standing at the bar, sipping a cognac and smoking a stogie. He looked too young to pull off the cigar so I figured he probably played golf with an older crowd and picked it up from them. The polo shirt gave it away.

“Go get him for me,” I whispered.

“What?” I had never asked Joe to lasso in a man for me. I was completely capable of landing my men, it was discarding them that I had trouble with. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.” He looked more nervous than me.

“Don’t get all shaky knees on me, Joe. He’s not blonde and he doesn’t have tits. You can breathe. Just go over and tell him you have someone who would like to meet him.”

It took him a few minutes to compose himself and muster up the courage to talk to a complete stranger, but Joe did mosey over to the bar and strike up a conversation. This also gave me the opportunity to measure T-Rev’s height before I met him; just in case he was standing on a stool behind the bar or something. It wasn’t long before Joe was pointing over at me and waving. I felt like an ass sitting there sipping on my straw and kicking my feet around. No wonder I usually make my own introductions. I waved back and smiled. Moments later, T-Rev, his side-kick and Joe were headed my way. I stood up to greet them.

“Trevor, this is Monkey. Monkey, this is Trevor.”

T-Rev and I instantly connected. He was goofy and his side-kick was short and eager like Joe. They made for a great team and we suggested they go make some rounds together while we got to know each other better. The conversation was entertaining and we were flirting like crazy. I wanted to hump him, but I thought it best to be a lady and play this one cool. He definitely had potential to be my Mr. Right. As the night came to an end, Trevor asked if Joe and I wanted to meet him and his wingman for a day at the pool the following afternoon. I readily accepted the invitation upon Joe’s behalf and made plans to spend more time in T-Rev’s company. I was smitten.

The next day, the four of us found ourselves enjoying drinks and laughs in the middle of the Red Rock pool. The sun was blazing and the water was perfect. We were wading around in a circle, telling jokes and being dumb, in a cute, flirty kind of way. At one point, Joe took center stage and went on a comical rant. A few other pool patrons joined our circle and listened in. Everyone was in stitches. The crowd was growing and Joe’s story was taking on a life of its own. There was no stopping him. A few cute girls gathered nearby and I was positive Joe was getting laid later. He was on fire and I was taking Trevor home. We were in like Flynn again.

But then he did it. Joe did what he does best. He went one step beyond an acceptable filter for a regular crowd. “And that’s nothing compared to the three piercing I’ve got in my penis!”

As the words left his mouth, I cringed and watched his fans slowly disperse. The cute girls snarled at each other with disgust and turned their backs to leave. The couples dismissed Joe immediately and went back to their daybeds. T-Rev and his wingman froze solid and slinked backward uncomfortably.