Don’t Drink the Pomegranite Martini

Flea Market guy came back from out of town last week. We spent the weekend together. Mostly on the couch because I wasn’t feeling 100% and he was tired from traveling. It worked out perfect. We made it through the week. Him working. Me working and dealing with my kiddo’s flu issues. So this past weekend rolled around and we decided that we’d have a few drinks. We didn’t have any plans laid out until Sunday.

I worked for my sister some on Saturday. When I got finished working, Flea Market guy and I took some of the leftover food from the event I worked and drove it down to homelessville. There’s a little section of downtown under a bridge where the homeless set up camp. It’s right across from the mission. So Flea Market guy helped me hand out food to the homeless.

Giving food and necessities to homeless people is one of my many past times. I absolutely love the fact that he enjoys going with me versus being one of those “they should get a job” kind of people. I know people have their opinions on the homeless as do I. Mine are unwavering and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t agree with my propensity for giving. So we did that together. We’ve done it one other time before this past weekend and it really made him feel good. Which I think says a lot about his character.

And we are pretty much over the honeymoon phase of things and aren’t really trying to impress each other anymore so I’m convinced this activity is something he genuinely likes doing with me. Afterward, it was kind of late so we went back to his place to have some drinks and watch television.

We never really watch TV though. We usually just sit on the couch facing each other and talk. So Saturday, we did that with drinks. Flea Market Guy played bartender and made me a pomegranate martini. I didn’t like the pom mix so he added more vodka to it. It was still not right. So he added some pineapple juice to it. That made it perfect. I’m not sure how many shots were in one of the drinks. Maybe three or four. I only watched him make the first one. The following two or three I stayed in the living room while he made them.

And then I drank them. Fast.

Despite the fact that I had worked around food all night, I had neglected to eat. So I got drunk. Real drunk. Real fast.

Things that happened after I blacked out:

  1. I told Flea Market Guy I loved him
  2. I also told him, “I need you to pay more attention to my p*ssy….with your face.”
  3. I sat in the bathroom for an hour throwing up while saying number 1 & 2 with my face in the toilet.

I woke up at 5am all tucked in and comfy in his bed. He was asleep on the couch. I drank a bottle of water and took some headache medicine. I went to sleep for 2 more hours. Woke up drank another bottle of water with some vitamin powder and more headache medicine and slept for a couple more hours.

When I woke up, Flea Market Guy told me about the overindulgent love and sex talk I had with him. I was mortified. And shocked that he was still speaking to me. Apparently, he thought it was hilarious. I told him that I loved him as much sober as I did drunk even though we still aren’t officially official, he still calls me his friend, but I love my friends so it’s fine, right? And then he talked smack about the needs of my pussy for the rest of the day in between going to a play and dinner with his family (which was really fun).

So, yes, Flea Market Guy is still very much in the picture. We see each other quite a few times a week. Like I said a second ago, we aren’t exclusive or “officially” anything, but that’s mostly because that ball is in his court. If he doesn’t want to call me his girlfriend, I don’t really care right now. I’m not going to be the woman who makes a big deal out of nothing. He pretty much spends all his free time with me so I guess a label isn’t a necessity.  So, for now, I’m still enjoying the ride.

 

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