If You're Gonna Lose, Lose Big

By Broseph © 2010

I don't know why I'm writing this down. I am an idiot, and the fact that I find this kind of stuff funny is probably why. Although, this makes me look terrible. Don't go telling everyone (the women), as the following is evidence of what a degenerate fuck up I am.

Gwen invited me to her going away deal; Facebook event, dinner at eight, bars after. She’s going back to Vermont, to start her law career. She came over after her bar exam on Wednesday but there was no fucking, just drinking. I figured I'd get my fill of those boobs in Dallas so I wasn't worried.

As Saturday approached, I considered blowing her off. The thought of having to meet her friends, drive, and hang-out seemed like it wasn't worth the money. Instead of handling it responsibly, as in calling or writing her, I did nothing about it all week. I probably would have been better off not going.

At five on Saturday, I wrote a lame Facebook letter saying I wouldn't make dinner at 8pm but I would find her, eventually. It was a real dick-move letter, not really saying anything.

I was an hour late on purpose. Sushi isn't my forte, in fact I hate sushi, and I wanted to avoid that pretentious fancy going away dinner shit. Instead, I went to a dive bar. I started drinking cheap whiskey and beer by myself while waiting for her dinner thing to end. I eventually shot her a text and she responded that they would wait for me at the restaurant.

Dallas has a lot of street preachers. I started smoking pot out of my cigarette bat as I walked. A preacher talked to me and I talked back. I've always said I would be one of those guys if I was a hard core Christian. Those guys are chaos. We went back and forth for an hour and half. I was enjoying it.

Three of them switched on and off, like they were tag-teaming me or something. They were showing off their knowledge of the Bible and I was showing off my knowledge of religious questions that have no answers. We both listened. My phone kept going off but I didn't look at the texts.

Eventually I'd had enough. I looked at my phone and the party people had been waiting for me at the restaurant. They waited outside too, trying to get a hold of me. I of course did not respond. They grew sick of waiting for me and went to a bar, the Doublewide, which I have no idea about, so I went back to the dive for more whiskey. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

I started drinking at the counter and some chick pulled up next to me. I raised my glass and said “Here's to you.”

“What?” said her dude, who I didn't even notice.

“Here’s to you too,” I said and drank the rest.

He was an ass and I was an ass, and we just stared at each other. I thought I might hit him. I don't know what got into me. The glass slipped out of my hand and spilled on the bar, getting both of them wet from the ice. They were pissed so I tore out of there. Time to find Gwen.

I started asking people on the street, “Where the hell is the Doublewide?”

No one knew, or didn't tell me. I smoked more pot and was tempted to talk to the preachers again. Eventually two gay dudes told me how to get to the Doublewide and I finally made it. All told, I was about three hours late or something.

I told Gwen I was late due to talking to God’s army. She gave me shit for talking to the preachers, who she despised. She said I was the problem.

“If you didn’t talk to them, they’d go away.”

I disagreed; as long as we came to drink, those fucks would be there. I ordered beer and whiskey and chatted with her friends. They were all lawyer types. The girls were all pretty and I kept staring at them. Gwen would catch me sometimes.

Gwen talked forever; she never stopped. How can one person talk so much without stopping? She was not being nice. Gwen’s friends were hotter than her and I started laying game on one.

Gwen kept it up. First gave me shit about being late, then about my life. She started laying into me about how I wasn't reaching my full potential as a mail clerk, and that I was getting too old to be living near a college campus. I got pissed.

I argued at first, but then decided it wasn't worth it. I was losing. The preacher people had taken all the spirit out of my arguing and the practice hadn't helped me win. Plus, she’s a lawyer so it made it worse.

We walked to the next bar. Ever since I quit smoking cigs I've had a tough time at bars. One saving grace is my one-hitter, and as we walked I lit up. Like an idiot, I accidentally dropped the one-hitter and it clanged loudly when it hit the street. All the lawyer types heard it and saw it. One was pissed, saying he could lose his license, and all kinds of other bullshit.

“Relax,” I told him. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Everyone, including Gwen, started laying into me for putting them at risk.

“What the fuck?” I said. “You wouldn't have even known about it if I hadn't dropped it! You’re making a big deal about nothing.”

I had gotten to the point where I didn't give a fuck, and I said some other sarcastic shit.

After we walked some more, some of Gwen’s friends went to her privately and then they were gone. They didn't feel safe being around me she said. I caused her friends to leave on her going away party.

The next bar was worse. I quietly drank more whiskey as the law people talked. I began to hate them. I was quite drunk at that point. It was loud and crowded and everyone screamed at each other in order to talk. I hate that. I left without saying anything. I went for a walk, smoked more pot, and talked to people on the street. I don't know what I was saying.

I met a girl and offered her weed, which she accepted. She was not that hot but wore a skirt, and I liked the way it made her ass look. She talked a lot too but I didn't care.

Eventually Gwen texted me saying that they were going home. It was her and her friend, the one I had been laying game on. I was walking and talking with the random chick when they found me on the street. Gwen was pissed I was with some other chick. She said the next day that I had invited her to come up stairs with us to smoke more herb. I don’t remember it, but I believe it.

They had to tell her to go away and I argued with them -- I think. Both of the girls gave me the silent treatment on the way up the elevator. I opened a beer which I later spilled. Boxes were everywhere. All of her lamps were packed away. The girls sat and talked in the dark. The fucking jib-jabber was never ending with these two.

I was bored and wanted to screw, but Gwen’s friend was talking to her and there was little sign it was stopping. I was starring at their boobs and I got the idea of maybe trying some threesome action. It's a tough bridge to cross, and I had no idea where to start. I decided to just start making out with Gwen and hoped that would work.

I guess I should say that I tried to make out with Gwen. She was like, “What the fuck are you doing!” I think I said, “Hey, there's enough for everybody.” But, she pushed me off. She said I stunk. I told her whiskey makes me say anything I want. I tried again: “Well you two can make out I guess and I'll just watch” I said.

How about that. I couldn't believe I was actually saying this type of shit. They both kinda started laughing. It was more like that surprised, disgusted laugh people give when they are shocked. I told them both I was drunk, which for some reason seemed like I was telling them something they didn't know. This ended their conversation.

I crashed on the couch, feeling like an idiot, and started to think that if I hadn't screwed up repeatedly, then I might have had a legit shot at a threesome. I imagined going to sushi, listening intently, being perfect, and then getting two vaginas as a reward. I hadn't thought of any of that before.

I pretty much blacked out at that point and think the other girl left. Gwen said she had to carry me to bed, well, more like drag me to bed. I don't remember anything. I was in my clothes still when I woke up and forgot where I was.

I discovered that I had yakked in my sleep, all over her bed. Seriously. It was brown and dry. It was on my clothes too. Gwen was still asleep when I decided to try and sneak out, but she woke up and was pissed. She said she would have to throw out her bed spread. I apologized as I pretended to get water to cover the fact I almost bolted.

I had forgotten about a lot of the stuff I did the night before, but she reminded me. I asked her if I could buy her breakfast as an apology move and she accepted. During breakfast I realized things would never be the same between us, which was evident in how she talked to me. It's amazing how the same woman who drank my cum at one point has now decided to be a pretentious “better than me” person.

She returned to the “you’re not living up to your potential” line and she took the “I know everything” position. Women have the amazing ability to judge you and back up their position. Plus, she was a lawyer which made it worse. I am such a screw up so I can't blame her.

Telling myself I had no reason defend who I am, I just ate my eggs. I kept imagining her bent over moaning and that helped me not yell or flip-out. Based on my actions I couldn't really talk.

Every woman I've been in a relationship with has taken that turn for the worst. It’s like when you’re on the road, leaving a great city. It sucks; leaving. I’m watching the scenery change, knowing I probably won’t see that part of the world again.

Eventually, women decide I'm a fuck up, or perhaps discover it, and I can sense the shift. It's everything, in their eyes, their voice; they just don't like me anymore.

After breakfast Gwen and I parted ways. My car was still there, but I had gotten a ticket. I don't know if I'll see her again, I doubt it. I am a screw up.


Broseph is a prophet from Tampa, Florida.

Justin Masterson

By Broseph © 2009

Btreoch and I decide to hit up a Monday afternoon spring training game, Bosox vs. Blue Jays, at a beach town about an hour away. I call in sick to work and make my way over to pick him up. On the way out, he requests an ATM stop at his local branch and I oblige. Eventually, he makes his way back, sits down and asks, "Hey, you see that tool bag in the silver Hummer, with all the UCF stickers? Guess how much money he has in his checking account?"

I guessed about $12,000.

"Try $16,547."

"How do you know that?"

He pulls out the guys ATM receipt. Turns out the guy carelessly left it behind. Or maybe he does that all the time to purposely impress other bank members. Either way, he unknowingly did me a favor.

I asked Btreoch if he thought about telling the guy, or perhaps throwing it out.

"Normally," he said, "I would have but the guy was taking way too long, had no sense of urgency, and was wasting my time. He annoyed me, so I grabbed it."

I asked for the receipt, and after examining it, I put it in my pocket.

We made our way to the stadium and arrived to find a mass of fans for a sold out game. We were able to purchase "standing room only tickets." A new fucking concept to me, these tickets allowed us to sit in unoccupied seats or stand along the rails. It being a sold out venue, we were soon booted from our prime seats near 3rd. We ventured around, eventually standing in the sun on the left field line.

The game was interesting enough, but I needed more excitement. I noticed two young ladies standing on the rail near us, decked out in Bosox regalia and holding a bottle of sun screen. About my age, they were attractive and fit the profile of girls I would normally bone sober. I was wearing my Rays cap, but I didn't let that stop me from trying my luck.

I approached one and asked if I could use their lotion. "I called in sick to work to see the game today," I told the overly tan blond one, "and it would look bad if I came in tomorrow all sunburn."

They were totally cool with it. The brunette smiled and said "Yeah, sure, of course!"

Her friend requested I take off my hat and glasses, and I began applying a little bit too much sun screen to my face and neck. I made some small talk, confirming they were actual Massachusetts Bosox girls and not wannabe whores.

About a minute in, I showed the difficulty I was having fully applying the sun screen. They were giggling at me. I smiled back, asking, "You know, I always have trouble putting this stuff on without a mirror, could you help me?"

After more giggling and a slight hesitation, the brunette smiled and obliged by rubbing the areas right below my eyes, moving down to my cheek. Then the blond saw some missed spots on my neck, and she joined in. I couldn't believe how well this was all going. I was watching baseball, drinking beer, and being rubbed on by two out of towners.

People around us started to notice the fun I was having, including Btreoch. Waiting in the wings up to this point, he approached with some beer cups we emptied earlier.

"You Boston girls like dark beer?"

After the sunscreen application and some more small talk, we went to the concourse. Much to the girls surprise, we went past the concession stands to an large white tent.

To the untrained eye, the beer situation at this particular stadium borders on pathetic. Standard concessions, $5 beers, choices only Bud and Bud Light drafts, but a hidden gem existed. The initial scouting we did before proved worth it, as we found a back, sort of out of the way tent that sold some darker brews for $5.50. After our first purchase, we discovered a flaw in it's distribution system. One station for beer, one for money/cups. Empty containers in hand, we simply bypassed the money takers.

We were able to reuse our cups to get free beers during busy periods. The Bosox girls were not wise to this. We took their cups on the guise of recycling, making it look like we bought multiple rounds of beers over the next hour. The two of us ended up looking like real money spenders.

After more beer we found out that the blond one was married to a Bosox pitcher, Justin Masterson. She was tall and sunburn, fitting the profile of a out of town trophy wife. Her friend the brunette mentioned the blond was a players wife, which surprised me as they were both about my age. I remember the blond said his name like he was a product, not a person. The brunette was crunchy, with a long brown skirt, and an orange tank top that housed orange sized bosoms. She also wore those big, sort of retro glasses which was crowned by her shoulder length hair. I was interested in her immensely as she seemed the most likely to want to join in marijuana smoking, making out and eventual fucking. Coupled with her free wielding sun lotion capacity, I decided to try for further contact.

The game was getting on. The blond mentioned they had to go see her hurler husband, who had just pitched three innings. I decided to try my luck once again, and gave the brunette my phone number. I remembered I had that ATM receipt so I quickly wrote my name and number on it, gave it to her, wished them well, and got another free beer.

Btreoch and I were convinced she wouldn't call. They were moving on after the game and not prime suspects for shots of tequila at the Mexican place down the street. But after about a half hour my phone rings with a weird area code and I nearly jump over the rail with excitement to answer.

A female voice says, "Hey, is this Broseph?"

"Yeah."

"What's goin on?"

It was her.

"Did you know you gave me your bank receipt?" she replied. "Your account number is on it."

I smiled a bit, knowing it wasn't mine, and said "Well, I think its just the partial account number, there are some X's and stuff, it's all good."

I quickly changed the subject and asked "What are you doing now?" I tried to keep from laughing. Btreoch is silent but his eyes conveyed excitement that I was making headway.

Long story short, she agrees to meet up for drinks, but only for a little while (yeah right). We go to the Mexican place and Btreoch orders a round of double tequila shots. We eat dinner and have more drinks. Btreoch has a girl, so he hangs for a bit and takes the car home. The blond one never showed as she went to receive some post game fucking probably. Alone at last, brunette girl and I cab to her beach hotel in Dunedin where we smoke several joints by the water and talk about how much we both love Bob Dylan. The sun sets and we begin making out, eventually getting naked, running around and jumping in the water. Thankfully I had a few rubbers in my bag, along with a towel and a water bottle. We fuck all night... on the beach, the water and on a bed. I end up sleeping in the team hotel while the blond one is down the hall probably wondering why her friend never returned her 15 phone calls throughout the night.

I made it clear during the all night love making session that I would need a ride in the morning. This seemed like the best time to breech this subject as she was being very agreeable to my requests and moaning a lot. In the morning the brunette takes the Masterson car keys and drives me back an hour plus to my house. Half way through I ask to drive and she obliges. The whole time I thought about stopping to buy a lottery ticket because my luck was unstoppable, but decided to keep driving. A little bored, I started to caress her leg and smiled at her. Much to my surprise, this led to more frisky behavior while driving and eventual roadhead, which I thought was a nice gesture. I thought I was going to be late to work but luckily made it back with just enough time to change and motor in on time.

When we parted ways, I asked her where she was going after this. She went to Ft Myers, where she was staying for the week with her friends and the Bosox, and then back to Mass. I told her I would see her on Facebook or whatever.

The next day Btreoch asked me if I though about how much dick this girl probably got rammed with hanging around minor league baseball players all the time. I really hadn't. I rest my hopes on the fact that I caught her early in her trip and that I covered up for 75% of the time.

In retrospect, I find it hilarious she called me telling me she had my bank slip. She could have easily just called and not mentioned it. The fact she mentioned it slays me as I probably make 16,000 a year after expenses. I wish I could find that tool bag in the silver hummer just to thank him. Brunette girl, come see me in Tampa next time your in town.


Broseph is student and musician from Tampa, FL. He's also a contributor to Coventry Music Blog.