Trashley Chronical Number 10,239 (First for You Guys, Strap In Motha Fuckas)
On a cold stormy night, Ashley set out for a nice evening with her good girlfriend whom she always seems to get in trouble with. But tonight was going to be different you see… Ashley had done a tremendous amount of growth over the last few years and knew that dinner was a perfect casual way to enjoy a couple drinks without losing her clothing. Surely she wouldn’t be able to black out at a $20 a plate, New American/ French fusion restaurant… Right?
Well after two $38 bottles of Cabernet and 4 Coronado Orange Wits, it was time for Ashley to make it home and start a fight with her boyfriend. There was no need to waste her unnecesary shitshow of a drink fest on just a couple cry sessions at the bar with her bestie. No, she needed to end it with a bang. And that was exactly what she did.
Ironic I chose that choice of wording.
In comes Stumblelina just before the clock struck midnight. Her hair a mess and her wet dog smelling better than she, when she cast her sights on her unsuspecting, loving, innocent, super tolerable and understanding man, like shocking actually. He’s kind of a saint really, he just gets her you know?
She casts her sights on her unsuspecting man and decides… tonight is the night he wakes out of his slumber and has sloppy drunk sex with her. Oh he’s been working since 6am delivering mail? Pish Posh. She told him she would be home hours earlier? And? She LITERALLY told him to go to bed and that she would quiet when she got home?
She was riled up and ready for the taking.
As I’m sure you could have guessed, she was not met with much enthusiasm which may have been distressing for some but you see, Trashley is no… “some”. No my friends, she was WAITING for a fight to pick. Poor little Tyler De Saint didn’t know what he had coming. Nor did he know what actually came…but we will get there.
Saint Tyler is tired and Trashley is amped and a fight of epic proportions ensues. Things were said, doors were kind of slammed but the shitty draft kept it from being effective and eventually, little ol Trash ended up on the couch. Her couch. In her house. She could have kicked Saint out there but Trash was a martyr. She even left the blankets upstairs to make sure everyone felt bad for her.
*Side note- I finally figured out how I got so fucking sick that week
As Trash was throwing her fit, on her couch, without her blanket, she finds herself on all forms of social media to boast about her sexual prowess. Not as an invitation, never. She was prowess but only for the saint. No, she craved a different type of attention. She wanted the Saint to feel bad and have all of her friends to make him feel worse. She was at her most civil and mature when she spent a night chugging over priced wine. But that was when the night took a turn. Her great stand of defiance was interrupted by the sound of whimpers and scratching. Could it be? Could the saint be feeling the remorse he so rightfully deserved? Trash sat and listened, and waited and listened. Until finally she heard a grunt, a door open and a little jingle of a collar come galloping down her stairs. It was her ol faithful steed (Her 7 pound Chihuahua Terrier Harper who had severe separation anxiety) to her rescue! She was ready to join the epic fit against Mr Saint Who Just Really Wanted To Sleep. She was ready for battle with fury in her eyes. She came up and snuggled with Trash as they fell into a drunken slumber.
Hours pass and the night was furious with storm. Young Trashley had slowly transformed into her more reasonable self- Smashley and began to recall the events of the previous battle. That was when she saw a notification from facebook that said “Your boyfriends step-mom, dad, uncle, cousin oh and your boss all reacted to a fucking absurd post you put on social media”. Her stomach dropped. Her mind filled with dread. She immediately deleted the post and stumbled back up to the bedroom. She was sure her faithful steed rolled her eyes at her but it was time to admit defeat. The war was lost and old Faithful Saint had won this battle.
Prologue- According to Tyler, he was half asleep and heard me arguing with myself for 10 minutes, watched my trip over some shit and then heard my declare that I was sleeping on the couch. He had no idea what we were fighting about.
Drinking is bad.