one night stand ↘↖
nerdycatlady asked: I still wish we could have gone through the revenge scenario that night. Drink in the face? Me pretending I was his ex and that he gave herpes to? I'm sick of guys thinking they need to paint this story to get in our pants. Honesty is best. Well, now you're working up toward LA and leaving this loser in the dust.
Seriously, we were all set to B & Serena that twerp until he pussed out. (How many pop culture/TV references can I cram into this post?)
But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If you want to just bang, just say that… and bang. There is nothing wrong with it. We’re a lot more likely to say yes, and we have nobody but ourselves to blame if we enter into something knowingly. The lovely lady who posted this comment agrees, and she’s a way nicer girl than I am.
This is just another dude who proves that we have completely drained Boston of dates. There are no other fish in that sea, just bottom feeders. I’m glad I’ve got some untapped territory now. And they say NY is home to the most beautiful people in the world… I’ll just keep fishing my way west.
(Above image from -odd-person-.tumblr.com).
One Night Stands Are The New Black
So here’s the thing. Until the vampire, I had been one-night-standless. The closest I’d come is:
- Retrosex (sex with an ex)
- Facilitating a gay friend’s sexual identity crisis
- Fooling around, but not actually sleeping with, random friends or acquaintances
While my choice in partner might have been a bit shaky, the rest was so easy. I don’t mean I was easy, it was easy. It was just… easy. I didn’t feel gross, I didn’t feel wrong. And I didn’t feel easy. Because I wasn’t some stupid broad getting manipulated, I was the one who made the rules. I saw what I wanted, and I got it.
Anyway, the other night, I ended up repeating what I could see becoming a new pattern. This was slightly different, in that it was a new-to-me friend of an old friend who I ran into out at a neighborhood bar. If that sentence confused you, it probably puts you in approximately the same state of mind as we were in, three bars later while making out against a Ms. Pac Man machine. And then, of course, I promptly clubbed him over the head and dragged him back to my lair.
But this time, something different happened. Well, a few different things happened. One, I didn’t end up feeling like a picked over turkey carcass after Thanksgiving dinner. Two, during the time we spent talking, I wasn’t actually just mentally shouting “shut up,” and waiting until it was my turn to speak. Three, the next morning, I didn’t mind that he was still there.
That might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever said in this blog, or in my life, and considering the source, that makes it pretty damn strange. But I didn’t mind him, in fact, I kind of liked him there. We’re going out again later on this week. I’m not really sure what I want to come from it. I mean, I hope to move out of this city pretty soon. And getting attached to somebody is probably the last thing I need to complicate that.
Therefore, I’m going to insist that my ultimate plan is to just use this limited time offer to get every deviant gross perverted thought out of my head and into my bed. And that’s the only type of excitement I’m going to admit over it.
ask. | recommend. | submit.
Tramps and Vamps
A few weeks back, I was climbing the walls with energy. Most of my friends and I had Monday off, so I decided Sunday shenanigans were in order. At first, my group text to the girls was met with tepid reactions, but with just a bit of convincing, some of my favorite trouble makers were on board.
We went to a dance night at a local dive bar where a friend was DJing. We got there early to avoid a line, and picked out some prime real estate in a corner booth. Lionesses hunt in packs so, we kept our collective eyes peeled for boys flying solo. Like zebras, you can only really see them when they’re on their own. When they band together, they become more confusing than ever.
Now, this particular bar happens to have dirt cheap drinks, but they don’t pour light. One round for the four of us ran about $22, so we took turns buying them. By the time my pal Charlie and his roommate showed up, we were drunkity drunk drunk. The six of us were in danger of falling out of the booth we were crammed into, so we commandeered the space next to us as well. As we did, we saw a young looking boy leaning against the wall, sipping his High Life. In unison, my friend and I waved, and hailed him over. His name was John, or Sean, it was really loud in there. I’d had enough cocktails to not really care. I asked what he did, how old he was. “23,” he replied, “I can’t believe I’ve gotten so old!”
Yikes. If he thinks 23 is old, he’d probably assume there would be cobwebs in my 27 year old vag. I know 4 years doesn’t seem numerically like a lot, but the difference between 23 and 27 is a lifetime. So, I did what any average single girl would do after her 4th vodka soda when she’s decided now would be the perfect time to have her first one night stand. I lied.
“I know, I mean, I just turned 25!”
A few minutes later I pulled a hardcore Irish goodbye and took off with him, making out on a streetcorner. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be barely 25! It was even more fun the second time around.
The next morning I was roused from my haze by a text from my friend Lola, asking about our brunch plans. “I need you to call me,” I responded, “There’s a 23 year old in my bed. Call so I can talk about our plans loudly so he’ll get the picture and leave.” When the phone rang, I could hardly understand her through her giggles. “Did you escort the young man back to his dormitory yet?” “Working on it.”
I shuffled him out the door and laid back down for a few. I was astonished at how little I felt. I mean, this was my first real one night stand. Yeah, I’ve gotten drunk and kissed strangers on the dancefloor, or fooled around with a friend. But this was the first time I met somebody and slept with them, with no intention of doing it again, or even seeing them again. I didn’t feel bad, I didn’t feel good. I felt nothing.
I headed for the bathroom to wash away the hangover and the morning after. As I went to put my hair up, I felt a huge pang of pain in the back of my neck. “What the…” I looked in the mirror. All over my neck were bite marks. Not even hickeys. Straight up teeth marks. Like they could have identified a body from the impression on my neck, in lieu of dental records. I pulled a towel around me and ran out to show my roommate. “Look at this… I’m not sure if that kid was trying to fuck me or feed on me!” “And look at your arm!” On my upper arm was the hugest bruise I’ve ever seen, which provided about a week of entertainment as my friends and I watched it change colors from day to day. It’s a good thing I have a rather impressive scarf collection.
I figure the kid heard my name was Bella and assumed I must be into vampires. Well, he was no Edward Cullen, but at least in my version of the story, people actually got some.
recommend. | ask. | submit.
Be A Respectable One Night Stand
About a year ago, I hooked up with a friend. At the time, we’d mainly just been online friends. We had a lot of mutual friends, he wasn’t living in the area, but we’d both heard about each other and struck up a casual online friendship. When he moved back to town, I decided hooking up with him was a logical thing.
Here’s the thing: I love my guy friends. But I can’t hook up with them, because it’s relatively impossible to go BACK after that. So this was the perfect arrangement. He was just like my friends, but I wouldn’t be ruining a friendship. You can move ON after fooling around, you just can’t move back.
Anyway, he didn’t have a job yet and I was working sporadically. One afternoon we decided to get sunshine beers, which turned into dinner, which turned into stopping back at my place to help some friends move things into storage in the basement (while drinking), which turned into a stop at a bar, which turned into hitting the dance floor til the last call lights came up on us making out. Obviously nobody was sober enough to drive, so he crashed at my place.
The next morning, we put off getting out of bed as long as possible. We snuggled, and stroked each others’ hair, giggled, had Advil for breakfast. At some time in the early PM, he eventually bid me adieu. I migrated as far as the couch to continue to lounge off the hangover. Later on, we chatted online, and I asked what he was doing that night. This provoked him launching into the old cliche “Listen, I don’t really want a relationship right now. I hope last night wasn’t leading you on.”
Seriously, listen up fellas - WE DON’T ALWAYS WANT A RELATIONSHIP, EITHER. Yes, if I found a great guy and things seemed right, I might not turn it down. But I’m not expecting every tongue tango to lead to that.
Furthermore, let’s discuss what actually leads to mixed signals. There seems to be this vicious rumor circulating that anything physical automatically makes a girl think there’s relationship potential. We are capable of making out, and sometimes more, without thinking we’re your girlfriend. What gives us the wrong idea is all the other stuff. The snuggling, the caressing, the spooning, the hand holding.
If you just want to hook up, just hook up. And get up in the morning and leave like a respectable one night stand.
All I Want For Christmas Is Jew (The Commute of Shame)
I decided not to participate in Christmas last year. While technically Roman Catholic, my family isn’t particularly religious, so there wasn’t much to protest. Basically the biggest change from any other year was that I didn’t listen to Hanson’s “Snowed In” on repeat, but I think I did that in July anyway, so it was out of my system. I was still licking my wounds from a break-off (“You can’t say we broke up if we weren’t officially dating”) and simply not feeling festive.
I informed my mother that if she wanted to be blessed with my presence in my home town on Long Island for a few days towards the end of December which HAPPENED to include Dec. 24th - 25th that there was to be no reindeer, no “merry,” no tinsel. Sure she could still buy me things, but wrapping paper was not part of the deal. I told her I’d give her a limited time on Christmas Eve when I’d visit the relatives and smile. I’d make witty comments and be the comedic relief they’ve come to know and perhaps even love, and I’d pose for pictures with babies and seniors alike. Other than that, I wanted take out food and cheap wine, and to sit on the couch in my pajamas for as many days in a row as possible. Since she is somewhat used to my antics and is generally relieved when they’re as passive as this, my mom agreed to my terms. It’s a lot easier to get people to agree to NOT do something than to do something.
In the mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve I was roused from my slumber in front of a Law & Order marathon by a phone call from my friend Rachel. Rachel had moved from Boston to CT a few months before, and spent a lot of time in NY, where I believe her family owns the Upper East Side or something. “Want to come to the Matzo Ball? You can be Bella Goldstein for the night.” The Matzo Ball is party thrown in various cities by a Jewish singles organization on 12/24 every year. As I understood it, they get royally drunk and hook up under the pretense of “trying to meet somebody of shared faith.” Then they nurse their hangovers with greasy Chinese food and go to the movies the next day. While I call this “3 out of 4 Fridays in a month,” they call it “Christmas Eve.”
It is my belief that the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else. It is also my belief that the best place to make bad decisions is someplace far from where you live, where you won’t be haunted with “Hey, remember that time…” until the next time you embarrass yourself. Crashing the Matzo Ball was a no brainer.
I did the family thing, and got dropped off at the Long Island Rail Road train station. I almost bailed on the plan when I saw the line to get into this “Ball,” but a stranger randomly gave me a ticket for free. It was clearly meant to be. I almost jumped ship AGAIN when I saw the line for coat check. Never before have I waited to check a coat, and I hope I never do again. Especially because one of the most unattractive men in the place was standing behind me and decided we were best friends for the night. He came in useful for about 5 minutes later on when Rachel’s friend spilled her drink and my puppy dog eyes got him to buy a new one for her, but other than that he was a snore. And the only thing worse than an ugly guy is a boring one.
Have I mentioned how evil I was feeling this particular evening? I mean, I was out for blood. It didn’t matter if these people thought I was a bitch, because I lived states away and would never see them again. And I’d been watching enough Gossip Girl to jump right in to this Manhattan world of $50 tab minimums at the bar.
This might be a good time to inform you that I’ve never had a true one night stand, nor had I ever gone home with a complete stranger. But in my good girls gone bad mood, I had decided it was all about to change.
I’d declared my goal for the night to be a nice Jewish doctor, but I was having some trouble locating one who suited my tastes. I settled for the next best thing, some guy named Matthew who did something on Wall street. I can’t tell you if I’m using his real name or not, because by the time he told me his name I was at least 5 cocktails in.
Matthew, Rachel, her friends and I ended up at some random bar where I informed Rachel I would not be sleeping at her house as planned. Then Matthew and I took off. I don’t remember much about the journey to his apartment, except him saying that his roommate was away and that I made him stop at a pharmacy for contact solution, gum, and potato chips.
After some making out and drunken falling down, Matthew pulled away from me. “Wait, wait, I need a minute… to calm down…” That was fine, I needed a minute too. To pass out. He woke me up a few minutes later, but the moment had passed. And by that I mean, I was completely loaded and wanted to sleep.
I woke up at about noon-thirty the following day, pried Matthew off me, found my belongings, awkwardly gave him my number, and stumbled out into the sunlight. Since I had no idea where I was, I hailed a cab to Penn Station, and scarfed some pizza while I waited for the LIRR. On the train home, I was surrounded by people heading to visit their suburban relatives for the holiday, holding baked goods and geraniums in their Sunday Finest. And there I was in a little black dress, my boobs pushed up, my mascara running down, with vodka emanating from my pores. As if this Commute of Shame wasn’t epic enough, my mother picked me up from the train station. Hi, I’m 26 and an adult by most standard definitions.
I went home and slept on the couch for about six hours. Then we ordered Chinese food and went to the movies.
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
