It’s not a promising sign when the first thing you hear about a recent hook-up is “if she didn’t have that giant gap between her two front teeth, she would have been cute… in a white trash trailer park kind of way.”
Or how about, “She’s not THAT bad.”
Thanks for the reassurance guys!
My immediately response to both was: “well I’ve taken down worse.”
And I certainly have.
Last night I experienced my first ever one night stand. How was it? I would tell you if I remembered.
So let’s talk about what I do remember. And more importantly, what I learned:
Lesson # 1. The morning after is extremely awkward.
I woke up naked in my bed with an unattractive girl sleeping next to me. It was like Christmas morning except the exact opposite, like if you had walked into your living room and your parents were on fire. Even my blanket was embarrassed to be around me. It had abandoned me somewhere throughout the course of the night… kinda like I wish she had.
My first thought was, “wow, she looked a LOT better last night.” My second thought was “Oh no, she works with me!!!!!”
The future implications of last night’s decision were sure to be bad news.
She soon woke up and started to make small talk, which would have been much less awkward if we weren’t sitting in my bed with very little clothing on. The entire time I just wanted her to leave. I was drunk, extraordinarily hungover, and she was doing an awful job of trying to carry a conversation. The whole time I was thinking about how Jack Daniels is somehow always able to deceive me.
I also failed to remember her name. I thought it was Rachel but apparently I was wrong, since it was actually Rebecca. Oops! (In an unrelated note, I later found a facebook picture where she strikingly resembled the grim reaper. I also feel like I wasn’t in the proper state to give consent to any sexual activity whatsoever. For the sake of the story, we’re now going to call her the “Grim Raper.”
Lesson #2: Jack Daniels is not a performance-enhancing drug
My penis and I have a strong relationship. When I drink, however, we are unable to communicate as effectively. Translation: After 3 gallons of Jack, it’s probably going to take a Playboy Playmate to give me an erection.
I don’t recall much about the sex with Rebecca but I’m pretty sure it was awful. I half-remember her repeatedly asking me if I was awake. That’s never a promising sign.
I’m sure reading an atlas would have been a more stimulating experience for her. At least she could have gotten a little satisfaction.
Lesson #3: Wrap It up
Nooooooo!
Oh God!
Please No!
I have condoms. Plenty of them in fact. Yet, when I drink, I must forget that I own any. I woke up and frantically searched around the room for any sign of a used condom. I look to see if I’m still wearing one, I scan the carpet, underneath the bed, even in Rachel’s (er, Rebecca’s) hair to see if there is any visible dried up spooge. No traces of any prophylactic. Not even saran wrap or a shopping bag.
As a result, the day following intercourse I usually go into a depressing “Fuck, I was way too wasted and didn’t wrap it up” state of mind. I characterize it as Post Traumatic Sex Disorder. It’s typically a month long phase where I’m a constantly on the edge. I avoid all contact with females, the only thing I am thinking about is that my sperm is currently fertilizing an egg and I will soon be forced to raise a child in a world where I can barely even support myself.
Of course, when I’m feeling this way, all I see on TV is commercials for diapers, pregnancy tests, baby food, basically anything that would cause me to cringe. I turn the television off and think I’ll be safe perusing through facebook. Nope. Unfortunately 85% of my Maine friends have children and post their photos all over the popular social networking site.
I can't escape the babies!
Lesson #4: I’m never drinking again.
