Quizno's Sex and Flatbed Disco

I have a friend most people are intimidated by. I will call her Flatbed (details later). She is Hollywood beautiful (long blond hair, big chest, tiny waist, long legs) and more adventurous than any person I have ever met. Most women are jealous of her, unless they too look like they have been pulled from the movies. But me, I love being around her. I am not beautiful, I am not adventurous, I do not light up a room the way she does. But I am comfortable in my skin and with my own presence. Enough so that I feel the way people should feel when then are around her. Full of life and loved.

It was July 4^th and my hangover was vicious. I woke up in naked next to my best friend, an Irish guy from Tehachapi. The room was a sickly green and smelled of sour whiskey and sex. How appropriate, I thought.

I snuck to the kitchen for water. Empty beer bottles were stacked from the floor to the counters and clothes were piled next to the refrigerator. What the fuck happened last night?

Flatbed came skipping into the kitchen. Yeah, skipping. This girl should have been dead from alcohol poisoning, at least she should have been in a little bit of pain. But no, a cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth and a smile spread across her face.

Flatbed: You slept with him didn’t you?
Me: Jesus. I did. I guess I thought our friendship wasn’t good enough anymore so why not ruin it with sex, right?
Flatbed: It’s about time. Your sexless flirting was irritating me. How was it anyway?

Her boyfriend came in the kitchen and looked how I felt. He stared at me, waiting for my answer.

Me: Mind blowing, actually. Up until the Quizno’s part. You know when there is all that sexual tension and then whiskey gets involved? It’s like the perfect recipe for great sex.

Flatbed: Quizno’s part?
Me: Yeah. We were having sex and everything was going great and then he just passed out. Like dead to the world passed out. But still ready to go, if you know what I mean.
Flatbed: Holy crap! What did you do?
Me: I got off of him and laid down, of course. There was a moment where I was like, should I keep going? But it felt… criminal.

Flatbed: HA! I would have kept going! Still not sure what this has to do with Quizno’s, though.

Me: Oh, yeah! The pass out part! Right in the middle of everything he starts to close his eyes and mumble something. I ask him to repeat it and he gets this incredibly sad look on his face and says, “Quizno’s is closed. Forever…” Then he passes out and starts snoring.
Flatbed’s Boyfriend: HAHAHAHA!!! Oh my god!! That is hysterical. I know why he said that!!
Flatbed: Tell us!
Flatbed’s Boyfriend: Remember when you guys went into the donut shop yesterday, the one where you stole the donuts from Buddha? While we were waiting for your two crazy asses, we passed a Quizno’s with a sign that read “Quizno’s is Closed. Forever.” And Irish Guy was very upset about the ‘forever’ part. He kept saying, “That sign was so final. Why were they so final about it?”
Me: I don’t even want to know why sex with me reminded him of that.

We decided to be patriotic that afternoon and headed to the beach for oysters and bloody mary’s. Nothing is more American than that, right? Then we stocked up on more alcohol and went back to Flatbed’s Boyfriend’s house for the fireworks. He lives on the main canal of the Channel Islands and from the deck of his house you can see the Ventura Fireworks Show perfectly. If you are sober enough, that is.

Halfway into the evening, Flatbed and I were barely standing. We were happy drunk and full of trouble. That was when the most brilliant idea was made into reality.

Flatbed: I want to go to a disco!

Me: Who says disco anymore?
Flatbed: I need to go dancing!
Me: Okay. Let’s get a cab and make this happen.
Flatbed’s Boyfriend: We are not going anywhere!
Flatbed: I want to dance, big daddy!
Me: I agree. I feel this needs to happen.
Flatbed’s Boyfriend: If I make a disco here will you two shut up?
Flatbed: Make it here!!

Flatbed’s Boyfriend and Irish Guy pulled out a flatbed trailer and moved it into the driveway. They hooked up speakers and I think there might have been lighting involved. Mind you, the driveway faced the main sidewalk where scores of family-type people were walking to the beach for the fireworks. Loud obnoxious music and four half naked people dancing on a trailer is not exactly family appropriate but what the hell. I am not exactly family appropriate, am I?

I am not sure how we did it, the four of us dancing on a tiny trailer, but never in my life have I ever had so much fun in such small space. Flatbed’s boyfriend brought the whiskey bottles and Irish Guy tied a cooler of beer to the trailer. The public was not happy with us.

Sometimes, if you pour enough alcohol down my throat, I get a very rebellious streak in me. After several dirty looks from people waving their American flags as they passed by, I had had enough. I stood up on the top of the trailer and started yelling.

Me: England should have won!!
Flatbed: Won what?
Me: England should have won!!
Flatbed: Why are you screaming that at them?
Me: The war. Remember? The whole reason we celebrate today. England versus the colonists? We won. Then America happened. The whole reason I can yell this without being beheaded?
Flatbed: So you think we should have lost?
Me: God no. I just want these people to piss off and move along.
Flatbed: OH! Okay. England should have won!!... Why is nobody caring?
Me: You aren’t much good at history, huh?
Flatbed: Apparently neither is anyone else.
Me: I give up.
Flatbed: Why is Irish Guy looking at you like he wants to kill you?
Me: Oh, shit. Because in his war, England really did win.
Flatbed: Damnit. Looks like no Quizno’s sex for you tonight.