Making It Happen

This will be the title of my next, first, and only book about anything. Good morning to all of you Flexers, Big Sandwich with a rare post to paint a picture of my Saturday night that had to be perfectly executed in order to bring you this nugget of gold. Sir requested I tell the story as though I am the crocodile hunter, via a text from HMW, I will decline such request as it would take away from the storytelling experience. (side note: this story has absolutely nothing to do with anything about sports or bacon, just simply an anecdote my friends can get a good laugh at.)

Saturday evening starts out like clockwork; a text from Jacob calling me a fag and asking me if I will be boozing it up tonite. I call him a hooker and tell him I'm coming over. I pick up a 12 of Miller Lite bottles (side note: I'm boycotting In-Bud or An-Bev because fuck that Belgian monopoly. Later I'm told from Ben that Miller is owned by a South African Brewery, to which I tell him that I'm more African than Belgian; I did win the B-Flex Urban Dictionary Bee!) I show up to Jacob's just in time to watch my Cubs lose 4-1 to the Ass-tros , time to drink that one off I say, as Ben walks in the door from work.

Jacob notices that I haven't shaved tonite and says it looks good and that I should grow it out. Ben promptly calls Jacob and I homosexuals. We discuss important issues of the day such as: the patch of back hair on the lead singer of Lamb of God, how the "What What in my butt" song is an actual song and not made up by Butters of South Park, and how Jacob's friends with the "big knock knock's" are meeting up with us tonite. We leave the house around 10'ish, I am about 6 beers in and feeling ready to go.

We show up at our regular watering hole, The Regal Beagle, and plant ourselves in the last 3 stools left at the outside bar. An hour goes by with us making fun of EVERYONE at the bar, watching bad MMA on Spike, drinking very fast and smoking mentholated cigarettes. I leave to go to the bathroom and come back to find Ben chatting it up with an older woman who is now in my seat. Without hesitation I tell her to get off my stool; she says I can sit on her lap, to which I reply you can sit on my lap. Jacob ends up giving up his stool and now begins my evening with a cougar.

After musical chairs, I realize that Ben might have been laying some groundwork with our cougar friend and now I was sitting in-between them. I turn to him and whispered "I'm sorry dude, did I fuck that up?" [And Pause. This where it gets hazy, I probably was almost a 12 pack in at that point, and being that today is Thursday and this happened Saturday night some stuff fades in and out which will make the story even better. Un-Pause.] Ben say's it's cool; I normally wouldn't give it a second thought but Ben has already bagged a cougar and she proceeded to steal this Illini sweatshirt from him.

She grabs my leg and says "I'm a cougar" followed by "I'm old enough to be your mother". She's drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade which immediately let's me know she's harmless, has bad taste, and wow they still make that stuff?! She proceeds to tell me she's 40 something, has two kids, one who is 26, and she is an ER nurse. Blurry, blurry, blurry, I live in Shipman, blurry, I have a boyfriend. We were not engaged in conversation the entire evening, when I would be talking to friends or waiting for a beer I would notice her being approached by many of Alton/Godfrey's finest male suitors who on more than one occasion would try to swoon our cougar with the always money "You wanna fuck?" I tell her she is a bad cougar and that she should be hitting these assholes up for free drinks.

I throw in some radio stories, she tells me I'm sweet, blurry, blurry, we're making-out. "You are a VERY good kisser" she tells me, followed by the whole old-enough to be your mother line, which is weirding her out, but not me because I'm drunk. (side note: I swear the entire time we were there, which was a good four hours, I only counted maybe 4 drinks total for her.) I give her the whole "age is nothing but a number" line and the "it's the weekend, let's just have fun". Blurry, blurry, making-out, making-out, making-out, blurry, blurry. Let me just say, for a woman her age she was not bad looking or out of shape, which brings us to LAST CALL!

I look around to find all of my friends gone, and me telling her I'd walk her to her car. Next thing we're in the parking lot giving each other a tongue bath, looking back, I bet we we disgusted every single person at the bar. I ask her if she wants to come to my place and she says yes. No sooner we get in the door and clothes start coming off and.......... that is all you pervs are gonna get. She mentioned earlier in the night that she works out, and I believe her. I don't remember, or know, when she left but it was perfect: no last names, no phone number exchange or morning-after awkwardness.

Thus concludes my evening with a cougar, I hope you've enjoyed. I honestly didn't even want to go out that night so I guess I owe a little bit to Jacob and Ben for getting me out of the house. Here is my equation for success: alcoholic friends + don't shave + Miller Lite + mentholated cigarettes + don't be a massive tool + be me = cougar hook-up. Got that? Thanks to Pink Ass Ben for snapping some pics from that night, this is the only one I've seen and now you've seen it too.

My friends are jerks.