Everything is wrong with me
Monday, February 14, 2005
balls and backfires
First, if you haven't seen it, I put up some pictures of the good ol' days to celebrate the one year anniversary of the site. You can find them here.

Second, we've updated the "Choice Cuts" section. The previous idea was not working out, as I am incredibly lazy, so we set it up like a true "greatest hits" section (if such a title could be applied to run-on sentences about masturbation and obesity).

Third, I think I blew my Valentine's Day load with Friday's post, so I will not address the holiday directly in this post, lest I start crying, as I am terribly lonely.

Now that that business is out of the way, I had a pretty decent weekend. I managed to turn all that loneliness and rage that I feel inside outward and projected it onto other people (i.e. unsuspecting females). Let us begin...

The good thing about my "lack of getting any" situation is that I have roommates and friends who are equally bad if not worse with women than I am. And, as the saying goes, misery loves company, especially when misery and its company really, really like to drink and one time wasn't allowed on a plane because he stunk of booze.

While pre-gaming on Friday, my roommates and I talked about our lack of luck with the ladies recently and decided that from that moment forward, we would be more forthcoming. Instead of taking part in the dance of seduction, we decided that in the future we were just going to come right out and speak our minds with the ladies, even if it meant possibly getting arrested or burned with a cigarette.

On Friday night, my friends and I stayed local in the wasteland of my terrible neighborhood, the Upper East Side. I randomly got a call from my friend Sara, who was in the neighborhood with her roommate, Liz.

A little background here: I went to college both with Sara and Liz. Actually, Sara was the first girl I met at BC, and from that moment I spent most of my effort trying to sleep with her. This didn't happen, though she did sleep with my roommate junior year and hooked up with another roommate of mine senior year. So that was great. We did, however, make out one drunk night after college, but nothing ever came of it. Probably because after kissing for a little on her couch I went into her bathroom and came out fully dressed, save for my lack of pants and underwear. She was not down.

On the other hand, Liz and I used to hook up for a time in college. It was nothing serious, and happened occasionally in the summer between my junior and senior years, and maybe twice during our senior year. It ended because I was kind of a dick to Liz and, oh yeah, I had a long distance girlfriend at the time.

[But hear me out about this: I am not really a scum bag. The long distance girlfriend I had at the time and I had a sort of unspoken "don't ask, don't tell" relationship. While I made out with a few girls every once and a while, I'm sure she was slobbing hogs left and right behind my back - actually, my buddy who went to college with her called me one day out of the blue to tell me that my girlfriend had hooked up (as in, went in a bedroom with on several occasions) with his roommate. Not a good day. Not at all. After hearing the news, I think I heard my liver say, "Oh no" because it knew that during the course of the evening I was going to assassinate it.]

So that's the background.

My roommate Brian and I met up with those two for a drink, and then some more people came. Because it was close to Valentine's Day, I made a decision: I was going to make out with Liz. We were both drunk and flirting, and there's the Rule of Previous Hook Ups:

- If you have made out or slept with someone before, it's totally not a big deal to make out or sleep with them again. Like, not at all. (For further reading, please see here)
Things were going well - chatting, drinking, drinking, chatting. It was getting late, and some of the people we were with started to leave. Liz stayed, which was a good sign, but so did her roommate Sara, so it was a push.

More time passed, more beers were drank. The bar thinned out, but we continued talking. By then, we had sort of isolated ourselves from the rest of the group, and slowly it appeared that fate was on my side and I was going to pull it off.

Sara came over to Liz and told her she was going to go, which made for an awkward couple of seconds where each person was thinking something different and trying to read each other's faces/body language/reaction:

Sara: [easy to read] "I think Liz wants to hook up with Jason but I want to go home. I guess she knows what she's getting into, having hooked up with him before, but I heard recently that he likes to strangle girls during sex. Also, I think he has some clam chowder in his beard. I can't believe I made out with him. What a low point for me."

Liz: [hardest to read] "I am very, very drunk."

Jason: [easiest to read] "I will fuck anything that moves. Sara, get the fuck out of here before I fucking stab you. Does anyone have a slightly warm but uncooked piece of chicken breast for me to have sex with?"

Liz, god bless her, said that she was going to finish her drink and then head home (Sara and Liz live fairly close to me and where we were drinking, so this wasn't as much of a commitment as it would have been if she lived very far away). So Sara left, followed shortly by everyone else, and it was just Liz and I sitting there.

The gods were smiling on me.

For now.

I thought I was doing pretty well; I had drank enough to kill a small-ish teenage girl, but I held myself together. We started talking about how much I hate the neighborhood but that I really like my place (nice views, large rooms, my own bathroom, etc). At this point she said, "Oh - I'd love to see your place."


[Queue the "Superman" theme in my head.] It was on. We were both drunk and had been flirting from the moment we saw each other. We had been talking to each other exclusively for the last two hours. There was minimal light touching, but it was there. I don't even remember what I said when she said she wanted to see my place, but I'm thinking it was something like, "Uh...mmph." I couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough.

Before I continue, I should point out that both Liz and I were very, very drunk at this point. I was feeling good because it looked like I was gonna get some, but I was exhausted from a long week at work and had had at least twenty drinks. Liz, on the other hand, was also very drunk. She had been out drinking since 8pm; it was now around 3am. Draw your own conclusions.

It was a short walk back to my place. We didn't hold hands or anything like that - it would have been too bold a move, even though everything seemed pretty set. We entered the lobby and I was joking about something, probably minorities, and things were going well. I hit the up button to the elevator, and, feeling good, I figured I'd take a little chance. So, in an effort to be more forward, I said, "I'm really looking forward to all the making out we're going to do."

Not a good idea.

Not at all.

Liz said, "Um, Jason, I have a boyfriend."



Again, I'm not sure exactly what my reaction was, but it was something like a mix of confusion, anger, and hunger. After a moment, I said, "What?" and she repeated, "I have a boyfriend."

I thought about this for a moment, looked down at the floor as I collected myself, and after three seconds or so, said, "Yeah - I don't care."

Apparently, Liz cared. So much so that she stared at me for a few seconds, and then turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the lobby thinking, "What the fuck just happened?" and "I swear to god there better be pizza up there [in my apartment]."


In retrospect, I'm not really sure what happened. Also, I don't really care. If anything, my roommates and friends got quite a kick out of the whole story, including my chivalrous reaction to her boyfriend announcement, and we all had some laughs.

But in another way - what the fuck? Sure I was drunk, but I don't think I misread anything that badly. When a drunk girl stays with you at a bar (alone) and asks to see your place at 3am, I think that's a good sign. I'm not sure if she thought we were going to go up to my apartment to build a lego house or what, but sheesh. It's actually a good thing that she told me she had a before in the lobby, because if she said something to that effect when in my apartment, I might be writing this from the Manhattan county jail.

So there you have it - my Valentine's story. So happy fucking Valentine's Day everyone. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some markers to sniff.

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