Another Blowjob? Uh Yeah, You’re Cut Off…

Posted: May 24, 2011 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay people, here’s how things go. I try and let people gauge their own drunkenness and wrangle themselves accordingly. There are times however, when this just doesn’t work.

Occasionally people have either had an extremely bad week or just have no concept of their own drunkenness and things can quickly spiral out of control. And sometimes, through no fault of their own, people mistake professionals for amateurs and even the best of us is cut off.

Here are a couple examples:

#1) I Think I Blew It

When I was 18, I was lucky enough to have a fake ID. I used to drink at a little dive down the street from the dive where I bartended. Everyone thought I was old enough because I was always in late, and they knew I was a bartender down the road.

One night, I was in there with a few friends and we were drinking blow jobs. (These and screaming orgasms are probably the reason I cannot drink cream-based cocktails any longer.) We were having the time of our lives. And although we throwing them back at a pretty good pace, we were nowhere near cut-off stage.

We did have one little problem: We happened to have the funniest guy in the world sitting with us. Now I know what you’re thinking…how could that be a bad thing?

Well, we were drinking like it was our job. And for any blowjob virgins out there — and of course I mean the drink, ya perverts — I will set the scene for you. Blowjobs can either be a mix of Kahlua and Bailey’s or Stoli and Tia Maria. It’s made in a shotglass and topped with whipped cream. The fun part comes when you have to drink it by picking the glass up with your mouth. It’s a “look mom, no hands” kinda thing.

So we’ve downed a few of them, and our lovely bartender comes over and drops off yet another round. I am laughing so hard I wanna die and for a moment commonsense abandons me. Giggly and stupid, we all bend over our shots and pick them up.

Cristal, my unbelievably funny friend, doesn’t pick up his shot mouth first. Instead, he does this flicking move with his tongue and licks every bit of whipped cream off the glass in 1.5 seconds without spilling a drop. I don’t know why, but it was the funniest thing I have ever seen.

My roommate — who we will call Skank for this exercise — laughed so hard that vodka came out of her nose. I laughed so hard that the shot glass became a deadly projectile, smacking my favorite bartender right in the chest.

He gave me a look that was not a look of love by any stretch of the imagination. I apologized my ass off but to no avail. When it came time to order another round of shots I let someone else do the ordering.

A smart move would have been to order something totally different that did not require you pick it up with your mouth. Unfortunately, we were not in “smart-move mode.” One of my friends who we called G-Money (for more than one reason) ordered another round of blowjobs. And the bartender looked directly at me and said, “Another blowjob? Uh yeah, you’re cut off.”

So that’s it ladies and gents. The one and only time the divebardiva has EVER been cut off.

Oddly enough, there were plenty of other times when it was well deserved, and I wasn’t refused more alcohol. This time, however, I did maim the bartender so I understood where he was coming from. I drank water the rest of the night and I’m pretty sure it was for the best.

Sidenote: There was one other time when a bartender tried to refuse me a 13th shot of tequila. However, he had previously shot toilet paper all over me — and someone subsequently started me on fire — so I think he felt obligated when I demanded it. I did walk directly to the bathroom and throw it up, but I made my point. Miss Toxic has a hilarious post on this called Your Lack of Foresight Is Not My Problem. You can search for it above.

#2) Leaving Las Vegas

Now this is a little tale about my recent birthday trip to Vegas and my sexy-ass friend Pretty. Now Pretty can hold her booze like all of my girls can. She’s a professional on many levels.

My birthday weekend I had a mystery drink with some strangers at a club, and the next day I was in bed for 24 hours. I even missed the boobie show that we paid $100 a ticket. And I was still in no shape to function the next morning which was the day we were set to leave Vegas.

All of my other peeps had gone on their way back to their respective homes in whatever state they had come from. The three left were myself, Pretty and Homorita. I decided to stay in bed until the last possible minute as our check out was at 2 pm. We had to leave for the aero puerto at 7 as our flight was at 9.

At brunch, Pretty and Homorita downed 3 Bloody’s a piece. When they came up to the room to get me, they were already two happy folk lookin for a good time. We packed up our stuff, left it with a cute bellboy and headed out for the afternoon.

As I stated before, I was still a bit green. The best remedy for that, my two compadres explained to me, was to get back on the horse.

We stopped at the store for beer and a few souvenirs. Although I was still in shit shape, I pushed on. I decided after we wandered around Freemont a bit that a cute little Irish bar with outside seating was going to be the ticket. I ordered some soup and a wine spritzer because when I’m ill switching up my drinking plan is always the ticket.

Pretty and Homorita ordered more bloody’s and beers to go with them. We sat and laughed and ate and drank as is always the way with me and my peeps.

Our waitress was the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. I don’t quite recall how it came up (Pretty) but someone ordered Irish Car Bomb shots (Pretty). The waitress said she loved them…so someone (Pretty) ordered one for her too.

Well, we decided to stay at that cute little bar with the cute waitress (and eventually cute bartender) and drink many wines, beers and a few shots.

It came time for Homorita to depart, and we did not want to let him go. There wasn’t a later flight for him (we checked), and soon he was on his way. We eventually headed back to the hotel to be closer to our luggage and waited for the call from Homorita confirming that he did, in fact, make it on the plane. Southwest is notorious for not letting intoxicated folk on the plane. (People in Bahston go to the bahr!)

I excused myself and went to the bathroom leaving Pretty at the bar where we had been partaking in some video poker. This is how it played out upon my return…

Asian Pit Boss: You can have non-alcoholic beverage…

Pretty: But I donwanna non-alcoholic beverage…

A.P.B.: You can have non-alcoholic beverage…

Pretty: BUT I donwanna non-alcoholic beverage…

A.P.B.: You can have non-alcoholic beverage!

Pretty: BUT I donwanna non-alcoholic beverage!

She was getting nowhere with our pit boss, and although I have NEVER seen anyone actually get cut off in Vegas, that was clearly what was happening here. It was actually perfect timing because we needed to go pick up our things and head to the airport.

We grabbed our bags laughing the whole time and grabbed a cab out front. Once we got to the airport I wanted to do a little test to make sure that we were going to be able to get on our flight. So I sent Pretty to the bar to grab us some wine while I got sandwiches. The bartender didn’t even blink; Pretty just smiled at him and he made us those cocktails lickety split.

So in closing, there are two things about this story that you should take away from today’s post…

1. Don’t spit blow jobs at the bartender.

2. The recipe for getting cut off in Vegas is as follows:

  • Three Bloody Mary’s
  • Two Irish Car Bombs
  • anddddd Eight Bud Lights!

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Comments
  1. Pretty says:

    Hhahaa! P.s. those were not regular 12 oz. bud lights they were the 16 oz. aluminum bottles! I don’t know why that makes me feel better about the story…but it does 🙂

    • divebardiva says:

      Yeah…that makes me feel better about it too. Actually I feel great about the whole damn thing…I have never laughed so hard at an exchange between two people in my life. That Asian pit boss found us exhausting 🙂

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