Best of Craigslist: "I have your dress, you have my monkey pajamas"
Lexington - I have your dress, you have my monkey pajamas - w4w
Technically, this ad is not for me; it is for my housemate. But my housemate is kind of drunk, and laying in bed, and upset, so I am writing it for her. I'm really nice.
Let's set the scene:
It's Friday night at the Lexington. It's part dollar-margarita hour, and Tanya is working hard to deliver booze to everyone. MGMT's "Electric Feel" has played no less than three times, and chairs and tables are strewn in all the wrong places. A dog is at the bar, leaning up with its paws and looking about attentively, as if to be served a drink (it does not receive one, however).
You're a short-haired, dyed-blonde femme in ebony heels and a silky black and white dress, belted at the waist. You have long, dangling black earrings, a cascading series of stones that looks relatively stylish and upper-class. You are also *really* trashed -- at one point, you interrupt me in conversation with my housemate (as I'm pulling up pictures of Marie Fredriksson, from Roxette, to show my housemate so that I can explain to her that my childhood favourite band has caused me to be into dykey chicks) to say that you need to get by. No sweat. In fact, I'd been eyeing you for a while, and I compliment you on your hair, because it really did look quite good.
"Thanks," you smile, and as you walk off to the bathroom, you let slip, "..you're really cute."
The rest is preserved after the jump, since Craigslist all too often deletes things of beauty.
"Rrowr," I think to myself, and I watch you walk off. Well, no sweat - a chance, complimentary encounter. No big deal, but nice. To my surprise, you come back, in a minute or so. You stumble lightly, looking around confused and awkward. "Are you looking for someone?" I inquire, leaning in toward you.
"Oh, uh.. I'm looking for someone who's not my friend. They're not here. They're over there," you explain to me, and I realize you are positively -plastered-. You hide it well -- you're obviously a bit intoxicated, just from looking at you, but it's the kind of thing that one thinks isn't that big a deal, because you're handling it well. But you're -not- handling it well; you're merely handling it to the point where you look only a *little* tipsy, but in reality you are positively tore up from the floor up.
"Well, I'm not your friend," I offer casually, and shrug, "but if I can help you at all, I'd be happy to." This is flirtatious, and smooth -- you respond well to it.
"I'll be back," you smile, and meander off to allegedly find your not friend friend who's not here but is over there. Well, okay. I turn back to talk to my housemate, and she and I continue our conversation from earlier. I show her Marie Fredriksson; she concurs. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes pass, and she steps outside to smoke. I'm not really into smoke, so I hang out inside, making friends with some other people, including a nice queer girl named Denise. I talk to her for a little while, and then there you come again! With my housemate! You wander off to sit down, and she comes with you, but eventually comes over to me and pulls me away from the polite foreign man who's talking to me as I explain, with a whip-cracking motion, the kind of women that I am attracted to (he's somewhat confused).
"You need to come over her. Like, now," my housemate explains to me. I mumble an apology to the group I was socializing with, and come over to where you're sitting down. "Here. This is zhaira," my housemate explains to you, and introduces you to me. Except she doesn't use your name, because we don't know it (more on this exciting tidbit later!). You stare blankly at me, and eventually shortly stand up, sliding your hand over one of my (exquisite) tits and then my waist as you do so. I find this somewhat suggestive. "You two should totally makeout," explains my roommate, "it'd be hot." She says this, apparently, because you were making out with -her- outside, and the two of you barely had exchanged a few words. You simply -stare- at me. "Uh.. no?" she offers, in the awkward silence.
"I already have one!" you insist imperiously, and it's my turn to be completely confused. You lean in and whisper something to my housemate, the gist of which I am still unfamiliar with.
"Uh, not hot if it's two femmes?" she asks, bemused. You slide your hand along my waist and caress me, and then, as if to complicate things further, you turn on her swiftly.
"No! I already have a femme! Just.. just hold on!" you stammer demandingly. I look around, awkward and confused, because the last thing I knew I was talking to someone else, and then my tits got grabbed and now there is yelling.
"You already have one? You have a girlfriend?" my roommate tries to understand, and you get even further frustrated.
"I already _HAVE_ one! Wait! Just _WAIT!_" you exclaim, exasperated. She and I exchange looks, and you turn, angrily, to storm off into the crowd. Wait, indeed. What just happened?
I lean in to her ear, "Aaaaawk-ward," I chortle to her, delighted by the sheer discomfort of the situation. My housemate insists this makes us even for when I snuck up behind her in the kitchen and terrified her, but I think she's grasping at straws. "That was hilarious," I explain, and she nods. We both shrug -- who knows what happened? You, meanwhile, have made your way over to the relatively Hollywood-butch girl _I_ was talking to, and are in conversation with her. When you finally leave her -- to go outside, or to the bathroom, AGAIN, or some other task, I make my way back over amidst my housemate's sheepish apologies to me. "Hey, sorry about that," I smile.
"It's cool," she says, and we strike up conversation again. I relay the story to her up to this point, so that we can both kind of enjoy it. "Yeah, she just leaned in my ear and told me to buy her a drink," she wrinkles her brows together across her forehead as we discuss you. "I mean, like, why'm I gonna buy you a drink? I just met you, you know?" she shrugs her shoulders, and I nod my head to her.
"I think she's really trashed," I explain, "she's just hiding it pretty well."
"Yeah?" we both turn to watch you, now engaged with two different girls, presumably trying to sweet-talk them into getting you a Corona. We talk and make friends, socializing and laughing, and my housemate comes up.
"That girl's wasted," I explain to her, and she tilts her head to the side. "No, really! She's just hiding it. This is some hilarious, crazy shit," I laugh, as Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' comes on and girls zombie dance through the bar (who selected that one?! niiiiiiiice). After a while, my housemate decides you're just too hot to pass up (it's true, you *are* really, really hot), and makes her way back over to you. Predictably, as we watch, you seem to sweet-talk her into buying you another drink, and she comes back to our section of bar to do so. She leaves with a beer for you, some shot, and a Corona for herself, but as she wanders around she can't find you. I eventually point you out on the far end of the bar, and she makes her way over there to give you the glass she bought for you. Instead, I watch you reach into her entirely full load of glasses and bottles, pluck the Corona from her arms by the top, and begin immediately drinking from it. I know this is hers, and find it hilarious.
I watch you drink from it, exchange a few words with her, and then immediately turn your back on her to continue talking to the other people you were sitting with. She makes her way back over to me with a single glass of beer that she doesn't want, expressing as much in words, "I don't know what to do with this!" she laments, and I just shrug.
"You shouldn't have bought her that," I explain, but it's a fair bit too little, too late, and I earn a frown. You continue to weave in and out of the girls, going outside, coming back, and the girl I'm hanging out and talking to seems continually concerned for your well-being, as if you're going to stumble home drunk and get raped or mugged or something. "It's not worth it," I warn her, "that's just trouble waiting to happen. Don't," and she heeds my advice.
I continue to spend the night with my friends, and when about 1:10am rolls around, we decide it's time to make it down to Taqueria Cancun and get a burrito before they close. On our way out, we pass by my housemate, and I say good evening to her, laying my hand on her shoulder, "Don't take her home!" I warn her about you, "it's not going to end well!" I can see she's talking to some other girl, and I know this maybe ruins her chances, but I have to be sure.
"Duh, I won't," she tells me, and with that I leave with my new friend to get some food and then a ride home. We eat, hang out, and she drove me home, dropping me a block from my house. After we part ways, I walk up to my corner, and I see this girl in what appears to be a loose top and some pajamas trying to frantically wave down the car I came in on. Weird. I ignore her, because, like, hel-loo, some homeless girl is waving at a car, right? Best not to pay attention.
It's only after the car leaves and I start to get a better look, than do I realize *it's you*, you're just in a different outfit, and are panicked and lost looking. "Fuck..!" you exclaim, hissing between your teeth, and you take off running down the road, away from me.
This is all pretty weird. I just figure, I'll mind my own business, head home, and call it a night. As soon as I get in, my housemate is sulking, and she pounces on me, "Where is she?!" she exclaims, running out the door.
"You invited her in! I _TOLD_ you not to bring her home!" I exclaim, flabbergasted. I _KNEW_ that girl was you!
"She's *really* hot!" she explains, and, again, I feel the urge to tell you it's totally true. You are really hot... but you're also bonkers, I guess, and somehow you managed to, while making out with my housemate, swipe her red monkey pajamas pants, slip them on, and run out into the street.
I don't know if you made it home. But I do know I have your dress, which you left on a chair in her bedroom; she's not very femme, but _I_ am, and I'm totally going to wear it if you don't come back for it.
Please, do, come back for it -- because my housemate never listens to me, and now it's cost her her monkey pajamas, and she's all sulky and pouty in bed.
But if you don't. I'm totally wearing your dress and using it to get laid.
