Age: Young and nubile.
Occupation: That’s changed a lot.
Hobbies: Evidently? Making poor decisions.
Height: 6′ (maybe?)
Weight: Sparrow boned.
Occupation: Grad student?
Hobbies: Slaughtering “Short Skirt, Long Jacket” at karaoke.
- Meet Guy.
I met Bruce at karaoke night at a dive bar. I hadn’t been friends with Erin long, definitely not long enough for her to grab me by the ear and drag my drunk ass away from what we would later refer to as my “super gay one night regret,” so things escalated quickly from me waiting for my gin and tonic to Bruce and I making a spectacle of ourselves macking in front of the speaker. He bought my next drink, which was an excellent decision on his part, as it kept me from minding that he bites when he kisses. Between bites, he turned around to say hi to a friend, so I walked back outside. He tracked me down a few minutes later—“why’d you leave?” “I thought we were done.”
- Take a $30 cab ride.
Because I was that drunk and he was that lucky (and persistent), I somehow thought it would be a good idea to take a cab with him out to Goleta. By the time we actually got there, I’d sobered up enough to have realized this was not the best decision I had ever made. For one, he lived in student housing out in the middle of nowhere kind of by the airport. For two, now that the backs of my eyeballs were no longer swimming in gin, I’d come to realize I was marginally (read: a LOT) less turned on by him now that it was actually go time. But, since I was already there…
- Take your pants off.
We took our clothes off and we put them on the floor. Then he tried to pick me up and I was like, “Please don’t.” I made him walk up the stairs ahead of me—no casual hookup needs a close-up of my naked ass gyrating up the stairs. Nope.
- Get the party started.
I mostly recall bad oral sex, myopic hazel eyes, and a textured, hairy back mole (this, yes THIS, is the reason it’s so important to take your dates to the beach before you commit to sex).
- Get out of dodge.
About three in the morning, he fell asleep, so I snuck downstairs, rounded up all the crap that had fallen out of my pockets, put my pants back on, and then left an awkward thank you note on the back of his power bill. I’m not sure what I was thanking him for. Being done? Not being a serial killer? Paying for the cab ride there? Take your pick. I took a mental inventory of my pockets to make sure I wasn’t about to lock myself out of his house while missing my debit card, then I tried to find a street sign so I knew what to tell the cab company. This was actually a surprisingly difficult task, and I ended up walking about half a mile before I could find a cross street. While walking, I butt dialed my parents. They called me back.
- Have regrets.
I think it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that I spent the next day feeling a little lesser than the day preceding. I kept getting flashbacks to A) not being able to get it in, B) discovering he has a kid, and C) that oral. Oh god. I was pretty quickly able to sweep it under my mental carpet, however, until I…
- Realize it’s not possible to never see him again.
The first time I ran into him after the fact was out to lunch with my new supervisor on my first day at my new job. I thought we were studiously ignoring one another. It wasn’t too long after that that I ran into him again, out at karaoke, chatting up some other blonde with equally poor taste and impaired cognition. I did not say hello. However, I think my favorite so far was the night when I got a text from an acquaintance of mine, begging for rescue from some dude. Who should she be talking to but Bruce? So I do my thing, and I have her out of that situation in 30 seconds flat, and I was like, “was that the dude you needed rescuing from?” and she said, “That guy? No he was cool.” And I was like, “Actually, funny story, I’ve been there and it wasn’t.” He followed us inside and hovered on the periphery of our conversation, and I thought it was rather generous of me to turn around and invite him to join our conversation, “No need to hover, you can actually talk to us.” “Thanks. Hi, I’m Bruce.” “We know each other.” I let him chew on the how for a while. When the penny drops, he’s like “Oh, last time I saw you, were you were wearing an owl sweater? You left me a very nice thank you note on my power bill. You have beautiful handwriting” Yes I did, sir, and no, I don’t. The next week, at a different venue, I discovered that he’s friends with all of the people I have recently begun spending time with. He’s dated two of them. Shockingly, I think I predated both of them. It’s weird and gross that we’re eskimo sisters, and weirder and grosser that neither of them are aware of this somewhat icky connection. They’re not even clued in to the fact that Bruce and I had ever met before they “introduced” me to him. But I know. And he knows. And I’ll probably have to go miniature golfing with him soon.
- Learn your lesson and not do that again. Like, ever.