Posted by: canaryinacoalmine | October 9, 2005

Show me the money

“She’s a tramp and a wretched person. I don’t care if I ever speak to her again.”

Saturday afternoon I let it fly. Such language. From yours truly?

INDEED.

The table had become silent when I let it fly out of my mouth. One big swoop of the tongue and I verbally smacked the living daylights out of her.

“Hey listen to her tell the story of how we met. This was the first girl I met when I got to Houston.”

I was standing at a table in the middle of a sports bar talking to the ball players roommate and his ex-ball player friend. And they wanted to hear the story of his game. The spotlight came down.

(When I am asked what happened between the roommate and myself, I refer to this story.)

“It was September 11 and I had just put one of my friends in a cab when I saw these two tall attractive guys standing alone. (hubba hubba) We started talking and learned they had just arrived in town. B. was telling me he just signed with the Rockets. (BLAH BLAH BLAH – naturally I didn’t believe him at the time). As the night progressed we started doing shots (brilliant right?) and left the bar with them. We went back to the Hilton with them so they could prove their story was true. (What was I doing going to their hotel room in the first place?) We were all getting sleepy (or something like it) and decided to lie down. That’s when the room turned into a D rated porn video. J. and him (nodding to B.P.R.) were having sex in the bed next to us. (?) (!) (?) When they were done. J. went into the bathroom to put on her pants.

To B.P.R. “You’re what 6’4” / 6’5’?”
B.P.R. “6’5”

“And she’s 5’4” . She said she “accidentally “put on the wrong jeans (cough bull shit) She came out of the bathroom and shyly said,

“Jess let’s go.”

Nothing was happening between B. and I so we left. (not a moment to soon). J. and I got home at 4:30 a.m. and went to bed. Around 8 or 9 she crept into my room and said,

“I’ve done something terrible.”

She stole $2,500.00 dollars from B.P.R.
She took it right out of his pants (and thought she could get away with it). By now B.P.R. had realized the money was gone. So I called one of my friends. He flew over, picked the money up, and returned it.

A month goes by and B.P.R. wants some more of what he got. They’re texting back and forth and realize they are at the same bar. (Mean while I am asleep in bed.) She goes home with him again (dumb ass for taking home a thief). When they get back to his place they realize B. had put the dead bolt on and wouldn’t wake up. They take the elevator down to the lobby and call management to bring them the dead bolt key. Management comes down brings the key, gets on the elevator and leaves. J. and B.P.R. get on the elevator and the elevator gets stuck.”

“We were somewhere between the 16 and 17th floor.”

“Firemen come and have to pry open the elevator doors.”

“I’m claustrophobic. It took them an hour and a half. I was freaking out.”

“By now, they are sober, it’s 4:00 in the morning and an act of God was trying to stop them both. Oh no. SHE STILL SLEEPS WITH HIM and HE NEVER CALLS HER AGAIN.”

Ex-ballplayer friend: “Man you’ve got game.”

As I was leaving to go to the Astro’s game B.P.R. grabbed my arm and said, “Meet up with me after you go to the game”

I nearly laughed in his face.

What’s the saying? Hate the game not the player.

I’m opting out of both.

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Responses

  1. Fascinating story. Very Greek Tragedyesque. Am curious as to who these guys are.

  2. Tramp and wretched person seems to sum it up…great story!

  3. P.S. Congrats on your ‘Stros.

  4. Asses abound.

  5. Wow…

  6. Nice… It’s always good to hear there are still money-grubbing beyotches out there.


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