joetheshirt

Normally I like to write about fun stuff.  Like poker and drinking and getting laid.  Todays post is more about the lack of all three.  Or put another way, not enough of the first two and none of the third.  Some time ago I had a party.  A poker party.  No Limit Hold’em with a few thousand on the table.  Lot’s of whiskey and beer and drunk women.  My kind of night.  An old college girlfriend had come for a visit.  Elle.  To be truthful she came to get laid.  YES!  She had just gotten out of a bad ten year marriage, dumped the kids off at her parents an decided she was going spend a little time with her old booty call buddy.  Nothing like desperate, haven’t had it in a long time and I want to get back at my ex husband sex.  Works for me.So it was Friday night and the game was in high gear.  People drinking, smoking (and I don’t just mean cigarettes either) and losing more money to your pal the “Shirt” than you can shake a bottle of Jack Daniels at.  There was a knock at the door.  Who should it be as I was checking out my old F-buddies form but my current F-buddy.  The “Russian.”  I had planned this shin-dig weeks before Elle told me she wanted to visit and had forgotten I’d invited the Russian.  CRAP!  The Russian, as I like to call her, is a hot little piece of divorced ass.  Also a wicked poker player with attitude to spare and curses like an Odesan sailor.  I’m not entirely sure I spelled “Odesan” correctly.  Probably not.  She also drinks like I do so I knew I was in for a long night as both of these women felt a right to yours truly.  The truth?  The Russian knew that Elle was going to be at my place that week and rather than avoid a potentially uncomfortable situation decided it was better to just show up and get drunk.  My buddy Monty was in stitches.  About an hour or so later the “Shirt”, that being me, was losing his.  Tough to pay attention to poker when you are hosting the game, making sure your loaded buddies don’t destroy your house, two women you plan on boinking are both in the room, and your pretty close to F.U.B.A.R.  If you don’t know what that means then you probably shouldn’t be reading this blog.  At this point in my life my apartment was on the first floor and faced an alley.  Sounds seedy but it was and is a very nice neighborhood in West Hollywood.  Malls, movie theaters, restaurants, parks and of course a lot of bars near by.  What I like to refer to as “stumbling distance.”  A lot of people would use the alley as a shortcut rather than go around the block to go to their cars.  I tended to keep my windows blinds opened at night for the breeze and anyone passing by could look in.  Including the five foot ten, red haired, green eyed lovely thing with legs that went straight up all the way to heaven.  She heard the noise of the party, looked in, said hello and asked if she could join the fun.  She had just gotten out of work on the next block, was on her way to her car to go home but had heard the commotion and wanted to know if she could join the fun.  How could I say no?  The fact that it was my ex-wife Lisa doesn’t bother anyone does it?  I know.  I know.  If I had the sense that God had given a retarded dog I would have told her that it wasn’t a good time.  What can I tell you?  The Shirt’s got a soft side.  So now I was down more than my rent, car payment and all of my other monthly bills combined.  I was drunk as a skunk, higher than a kite and hornier than a toad.  My buddy Monty was about to die from oxygen deficiency from the intense GUT laughing he was experiencing but I was trying to hold my cool.  Hold my cool?  What am I the Fonz.?  We actually managed to run out of booze.  Let me put that another way.  I RAN OUT OF BOOZE!  That does not happen in my house.  My philosophy has always been:  Better too much than not enough.  And yet there I was.  We sent out the soberest two people in the place, what they were doing at my place is beyond me, to get more provisions.  They did.  We consumed.  So now I’ve got an ex-girlfriend, a current girlfriend and an- ex wife loaded and stoned in my home as the game is breaking up.  Lisa and the Russian were way to messed up to go home, Elle had no place else to go, it as my place and my friends were on the way to the local emergency rooms to get their intestines placed back in from the guffaws.  It was now four in the morning and I was alone with the three of them.  I will not B.S. you with some story of the greatest four way of my life.  That would be a lie and the Shirt likes to keep it real.  Or as Chris Rock would say “Real Dumb!”  This is how it all worked out.  The Russian claimed my bed in the name of the Soviet Socialist Republic.  Or she might as well had for all I cared.  She didn’t want me anywhere near her.  Elle had claimed the sofa.  She had also gotten a phone call earlier, that she didn’t tell me about, that a guy that she was dating wanted to go exclusive with her and she wouldn’t have felt right having sex with me.  The ex-wife?  She claimed the one and only sleeping bag and demanded that I cuddle her till she fell asleep.  Huh?  The Shirt?  Slept on bare ass hard wood floors while not getting laid by three very confusing women.  No pillow or blanket by the way.  Told you I had a soft spot.The next morning I was the first to wake from the comfort and warmth of the floor.  I put on a gigantic pot of “Bustello” coffee.  Best coffee in the world, I don’t care what anyone says and no they are not paying me.  Before I knew it I was in my kitchen, making breakfast for three women I had already had sex with, if not recently, while they drank my coffee and spoke of me as if I were not even in the room.  Laughing.  Giggling.  Pointing.  Holding out both index fingers in front of their faces and chortling.  And all I could think of was “How did this happen.”  Hey.  I can’t win every time. Later. Joe The Shirt.  

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