Anatomy of a One Night Stand


Height: 5’7”

Weight: Delicious

Age: Young and nubile.

Occupation: That’s changed a lot.

Hobbies: Evidently? Making poor decisions.


Height: 6′ (maybe?)

Weight: Sparrow boned.

Age: Inappropriate

Occupation: Grad student?

Hobbies: Slaughtering “Short Skirt, Long Jacket” at karaoke.

  1. 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.”

  2. 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…

  3. 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.

  4. 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).

  5. 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.

  6. 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…

  7. 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.

  8. Learn your lesson and not do that again. Like, ever.



Results Not Typical.

This weekend, I have:

1. Discovered that the door guy at my favorite bar saw a text NOT intended for his eyes, in which I declared that I would bone him. It’s been weeks.

2. Discovered that the man my friend and I have been referencing for the past year as my “super-gay, one night regret” is not only friends with ALL of my friends, but has dated two of them, and there is no way that I will be living in SB without not only running into him on the regular, but hanging out with him.

3. Had a conversation with a friend of mine about how much he wanted to have sex with my sister.

The evidence is in, folks: I have officially earned my black belt in awkwardness diffusion.


Let’s not, and say we didn’t.

I’ve tried many, many different ways of meeting people (ahem, dudes) who I might actually have something, anything in common with, at all, that also aren’t totally repulsive. That last part is actually the most important, since I can typically pull off a passable impression of a person who is interested in what someone has to say. Lord knows, I’ve had practice. I’ve tried striking up conversations on street corners, playfully sarcastic comments to shirtless surfers, asking people out, being aloof (personally, this one’s my favorite), meeting friends of friends, and the ever-ubiquitous, yet equally scorned OkCupid. Of course I have.

I don’t think there’s anyone my age that doesn’t have at least one dating profile—which, incidentally, makes it damn near impossible to not accidentally browse onto the profiles of men you already know you don’t like. In any case, I’m no stranger to wifi love. Throughout the years, though, there is one venue I have never stooped so low as to investigate, and that is Craigslist. It’s hard to take it seriously when you consider that even the “Strictly Platonic” section is a sea of penis photos. Now, before I present myself as prudish, I should probably mention I’ve had my fair share of one night stands. I am cool with the hookup. But picking a faceless dick off the internet just seems so… tawdry. Not to mention lonely, desperate, and risky. What if you meet a Ted Bundy with every imaginable STD who believes in rape and unsafe sex?

But, being me, I can’t seem to stop myself from kicking metaphorical sleeping dogs. After watching The Duff with my two older siblings, and concluding that people in real life are just not as cool as that (on that topic—where can I find the people who think these characters up? Where the hell are those people?), we were all sitting down to a sushi dinner at a restaurant a block down from the theatre, when my brother happened to mention that he’d seen an ad on Craigslist the other day for a girl who just really wanted to go get sushi. After some thoughtful conversation picking apart the various possible entailments of such a post, we realized it might actually be a diabolical screening tool, the male status equivalent of a creep feeder (Google it). To afford sushi, you’re probably not a total schlub; to be willing to meet like that, you’re probably at least a little spontaneous; and since it’s totally acceptable to ask for photos, it’s completely possible to screen out the trolls in round one.

So, I tried it. With no further adieu, I present to you, the tragic, and yet not totally unexpected results of this social experiment:


In summary, I got 64 total responses, most of which were barely readable, everyone that sent pictures probably shouldn’t have, and there was a high percentage of shriveled-up, age-inappropriate wishful thinkers (had to try). On the plus side, I did enjoy my correspondence with the internet screamer-troll:


Screen Shot 2015-03-22 at 5.17.16 PM


One thing I did find incredibly surprising is that I didn’t receive a single picture of anyone’s penis, a fact we can all be thankful for, because, as one of my brother’s classmates once said, “They all look the same, and they’re all ugly.” Thank god for small miracles.


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Hello Everyone! I have started this blog as a place where I can share my thoughts and ideas. I will also be reviewing some cool products and posting my opinions here as well as information on where you can find these products. There are some really cool things out there in the world and I…
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