Why do I bother going Downtown when I know it sucks?

Hit up Henry’s last night for their “rockabilly” night. Band was decent, but there wasn’t too much in the way of eye candy in the bar. The few cute guys were super young and already coupled up. Some guy started talking to me, but I ditched him after a few minutes.  Around midnight I noticed this tall drink of water walk in by himself. He was wearing kind of a stupid shirt, but whatever. He made eye contact a few times, so I made my way over to a table close to where he was standing, and then the friend of the guy who had been flirting with me earlier starts hitting on me. Geez. So I said I had to go to the bathroom, and as I walked by cute guy mouthed, “Save me!” at him. When I came back from the bathroom I walked over to him and said, “So are you gonna talk to me or what?” He said, “What did you say a few minutes ago?” Uh-oh. European accent. Only a visitor in our fair city. Oh well, I’ve never screwed a foreigner before, so there’s that. He was Hungarian and his name was Peter (don’t know how you spell that in Hungarian). We ended up going to his hotel to get it on. Things were going well until…he couldn’t get it up. Good lord, this night is a total bust. I guess he finally managed to get a partial or something because he finished. I, as usual, did not. He walked me downstairs and smoked a cig with me. While we were smoking a cab dropped some people off, so I grabbed it and went home. Woke up super hung over – I realized I started drinking at 6:30 when I met the girls for dinner, and kept drinking at a slow but steady pace until we left the bar at 1:00. You’d think I would know better by now.

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