Post Whore-tem Emails Are the New Brunch

Even though my inbox over floweth -- when I see the subject: Why do I have a bite mark on my ass? from a close girlfriend that is traveling abroad, I stop dead in my tracks. Why, you ask? Because I know it's got nothing to do with mosquitos, and between jobs, internships, law school and significant others, getting girls together for a post mortem Sunday brunch is as likely as a guy giving you cab fare for the way home after a sleep over.

Naturally the next best thing is an email recap, cause let's face it, sharing these stories with even your most intimate Google+ circles still seems too risky. Check out a post whore-tem email recap I got from one of my favorite women on the planet! You. Cannot. Make. This. Shit. Up.

I thought you said in the Bible, "thou shall not be tempted beyond what thou can bear"?  I went to XXXX bar last night [minding my own business] when in walks a hottie Mc-Hot-ass [this was not my fault] I walk over and sit at the bar where he is standing and comment to him about the band. He makes a joke. [What's that? Do I detect an accent?] Where are you from? I ask. He responds: Barcelona. [You had me at Ba..] Deets: 39, dark hair, giant brown eyes, stubble, smelled great, hilarious sense of humor He begins to buy drinks, there is some unnecessary / extremely welcomed touching of the knees, arms at the bar.  Bar is closing, he says "will we go for another drink?  I say "Is there a bar at your hotel?" [slut] We take a cab to his hotel. [kissing in the cab] Enter the hotel [making out in the elevator] Proceed directly pass the bar. Enter the room. [clothes flying off, no joke that shit was like an Axe commercial] [Mating scene deleted - it was HOT], rinse, repeat.  At this point for some reason [so I can prove it to myself? pinch me! / for posterity / because it's hilarious??? to show you all?] I tell him I'm going to take his picture. [see attached] He laughs. I snap. He says "Ay! I look terrible!"  Nap. rinse repeat, round 3.  Who do I think I am? I ask as I'm grinning in the bathroom mirror at 8 am / contemplating pocketing all of the aveda products that are complementary at his hotel I resist, because THAT'S tacky which is way worse than slutty.  Get dressed. Kiss him good-bye, and head to the street car ice-coffee in hand, giggling like a school girl.  I feel like I've been horseback riding. Yes, I said HORSE. Love and kisses,