March 17, 2013
ST. PATRICK’S DAY
Everyone is Irish today here in Southie!
Yeah I’m in Boston. Thursday I decided to leave town and come into Boston and not tell anyone. I’ve been getting calls and txts and so I had to shut my phone off. I just realized though that, knowing Pete and/or my parents, they probably reported me missing by now. So I guess I’ll go home after the parade.
I took $300 from Sharly without her permission, but I left a note saying that I had to leave for a little while and I’d pay her back. I took it from the back room, she was going to make a bank trip on Friday. So about 2:00 on Thursday, I swiped the cash and caught a train into Boston. I was fortunate that there was a vacancy at a hostel. Well there wasn’t really a vacancy but I kind of begged a little and they put a cot into one of the dorm rooms, which may or may not be against fire codes, but there are fire code violations everywhere during the Irish holiday, unintentionally of course. Everyone is too drunk, too enthusiastic, and/or too Irish to notice.
So anyway I really wanted to see the Dropkick Murphys and I was at this bar Thursday night and I met a woman who actually had tickets. She was 38 and married. She and her husband were in town from Arkansas and he was freakin’ miserable. I said I want to go and he said he didn’t care. She asked me what I would do to earn the ticket. In my head I was thinking, ‘are you seriously asking me that question??’ But I was drunk so I said whatever you want because I don’t have the money for it. This was a lie, but I wanted to spare as much money as possible. More money meant more green beer and whiskey. And yeah Grimm was a bad boy and went back to this couple’s hotel room, with both of them, and I fucked her while her husband was in the same room with us watching news about the St. Patrick’s Day festivities in Boston and mumbling, “I ain’t going back out there until our stay is up and it’s time to go home.” She’d respond shit like, “shut up, you’re ruining the mood,” then she’d say to me, “just keep doing what you’re doing honey.” It was very strange. But all for the Dropkick Murphys! To make it a complete Boston St. Patrick’s Day experience.
Anyway, I had to meet her there so I could get the ticket, she wouldn’t just give it to me. So once inside, I ditched her as soon as I could once I was in the mosh pit. She couldn’t stick around because it was too much for her, so she had to squeeze herself out. It would have been cool to go today at the House of Blues, but this one was Friday at TD Garden and I was just glad to be able to go.
Then yesterday I participated in the pub crawl. Don’t even ask me about what the fuck I did or where the fuck I went because I’m completely blacked out. My black out begins somewhere at the concert. And I’m waking up now in a strange place, I don’t know where I am, but it looks like an apartment. I don’t know if I’ll be blacking out today. I check myself and I wasn’t ripped off of any money or drugs, though I’m only in my jeans, with no shirt, shoes, or socks. I’m freezing and I don’t know where the rest of my clothes are. I think I should just find my shit and get the fuck out because I need to make my way to find a good spot for the parade. It doesn’t start until 1, but people are already going to find spots by now and it’s not even 8am yet.
I’m on the floor in I guess a living room, feeling sick as hell though, I don’t know if I can even go to the parade. It looks like there’s vomit on my jeans. Wait…these are not my fucking jeans. wtf.
Some guy comes into the room and says “oh good you’re up, how are you feeling honey?” Then he just went into the kitchen I guess.
Honey??!!!? What the fuck did I do last night?
Ok, when I’m drunk I get horny pretty easily. When I’m high, depending upon the drug, I’m an easy sexual conquest. I might be too out of it to notice if it’s a guy who’s trying to get it on with me. That is until a dick makes itself known. But kissing a guy and being groped by a guy, sometimes I’m too out of my mind to realize it, because when your eyes are closed, a tongue is just a tongue, and someone rubbing your balls still feels good. This doesn’t make me gay or even bisexual. This makes me a drunken slut, kind of like what Pete said, I guess. Anyway, sober, it’s a different thing. There are more specific things that make me horny.
My name is Wall Grimm, and this is my list of things that make me horny.
WALL GRIMM’s LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY
women, NOT MEN, Emma, all my friends that are girls, and….
Let’s clarify, I will make the list, and NONE of it has anything to do with men, like when I say eyes, I mean a woman’s eyes. ETC. I digress.
WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN
women, NOT MEN, Emma, all my friends that are girls, eyes, legs, tits, all body parts…
Ok this is too obvious. Let me try again.
WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN AND HAPPEN TO BE THINGS THAT ARE NOT THE OBVIOUS
intelligence, humor, music, girls who read lots of books, creativity, vulnerability, uniqueness, girls who dress differently than everyone else, girls who cook me pasta dinners, girls who love that I’m Sicilian, girls who are both outdoorsy and like to take care of me in the home, spontaneity…
Ok these are attributes, one more time with unusual things, then I’m done.
WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN AND HAPPEN TO BE THINGS THAT ARE NOT THE OBVIOUS NOR ARE THEY ATTRIBUTES, BUT RATHER THEY ARE UNUSUAL THINGS
blow jobs in the alley, spontaneous sex, sex with strangers, not knowing a person’s name when we begin to kiss, the beach, sweat, rain, the smell of a good marinara sauce, the shower, campfires, chocolate, getting squished up close to a stranger on the subway because there’s no room (remember this is still all pertaining to women only), inconspicuously getting a glimpse up a short skirt, low-cut shirts or shirts that give me an idea of the size and shape of a women’s tits, high heel shoes, red lipstick…
And I can’t go on because I’m too hung over, and horny and hung over don’t mix so well. I’m going to go puke my fucking brains out, figure out what I did last night, then hopefully make it to the parade in time, hoping the parade won’t kill me.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! My friends say, “Erin Go Braless” but that’s disrespectful to Ireland, so I’ll say, Erin Go Brach!
previous Grimm 66: Grimm’s Weekend Mistake #2 & Philosophy of News, The Little Spy, & Another Wall http://wp.me/p41c99-aG
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