4 beers, 6 rum shots, a mike’s hard, a half Marnier shot, a whiskey shot, and an ounce.

“I had a thought.” Tom says looking happy and bleary eyed. I’m not sure but I think he’s hitting on us.

“What is it?” My girlfriend giggles.

“Well, you,” he points at my girlfriend, “you’re cool.” He laughs. “And you, I love you man.”

“Hah!”I say wishing I could think of something cooler to say. Too bad I’m awkward and I’m asian therefore melt into a puddle of incomprehensible goo every time a buff black guy says something to me. I forgot to mention that Tom is buff and black.

“The unspeakable thing…” Tom slurs. I’m pretty sure he’s hitting on us.

“Huh?” Me and my girlfriend say in unison.

“No, no, sorry guys this is so wrong. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t…” I would bet an 8 inch donkey he’s hitting on us.

“No, tell us,” I say. “We’re all friends here,” I say getting a sinking feeling in my stomach. I hold three fingers up at my girlfriend and shrug my shoulders. She doesn’t figure out what I’m trying to communicate.

“Well…” Tom begins.

“WAIT! SHIT!! I Mean, nevermind.” I blurt. I’m not sure why I shouted at that moment, but in my altered state of mind it made sense.

It also made sense to run into the bathroom and start looking through my contacts list. I stop at the number of a cute girl in my class. I punch the number and let it ring twice before sense kicks in and I realize I’m calling a girl I barely know at 2AM. I hang up. It also strikes me as ironic that I’m trying to get out of a potential threesome by calling someone I’d like to have a threesome with. After wondering whether the girl in class is loud during sex or just kind of lies there, I steel myself and go back out to the kitchen where Tom and my girlfriend are still talking.

“Sit down man, I need to have a serious talk.”

“Umm, sure…” My girlfriend nods at me and pats the seat. I sit.

“Alright. So I was thinkin, I was thinking… alright. Well, you’re cool,” he points at my girlfriend. “And…you’re cool,” points at me. “I was thinking…you guys…how about, us three…have a little…have a…a…uhh…some sexy time…”

The words hand for a minute before I almost say, ‘well maybe spin the bottle.’ In my mind the arithmetic and probability rationalizing 2 guys and 1 girl spin the bottle made perfect sense although even then I felt I’d carried a 1 wrong or messed up a decimal place (or 20). Luckily for me my girlfriend’s tolerance is better than my one-shot-blackout self’s and she manages a more sensible, “Uhh, I don’t know about that, I have another friend coming in 10 minutes.”

Five drinks later we walk him back to his frat and watch him trip badly about 3 times. Each time at a flight of steps.

There. Happy now Pems?

Speaking of…

Speaking of awkward near-sexual experiences, are you gay? Are you interested in defending yourself? Believe in gun rights? Are you a jackass who likes to laugh at ‘mos? Direct yourself to The Pink Pistols. Is it just me or does their logo look like a vulva?

Speaking of femme and violence, I’m sorely disappointed that no woman in a movie has ever carried a gun decorated by Antonio Riello.

Speaking of girlification of objects, I would love to buy and use nothing but these Band-Aids with Swarovski crystals in them.

Speaking of utter wastes of money, have you ever tried to get with a girl by talking about how deeply you feel a piece of music? Ever failed? Well whether its Shostakovich or Chingy, next time you won’t.