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It was my first time in that house, and truth be told I wasn't too impressed with the party so far. My girlfriend was on the front porch singing songs from RENT (ugh), and I had come in because even I have my limits for how many cigarettes I can smoke in a row. At least, I did at that point. Anyway, it was a party. I wanted to dance and check out girls and find a way to scam a beer. I left her with the other musical-singing wierdos and stood at the edge of the dance floor.
Suddenly, I was faced with two tall leering girls, one who had given me a ride to the airport, and her leopard-print clad friend, asking if I wanted to smoke pot with them. "Uh...no thanks." They kept coming back, and I kept refusing. I guess they decided to change gears, because then they offered me beer. "Sure! Let me just get someone..." Content though she may have been to let me go dance with other girls, I was pretty sure my girlfriend would be upset if I disappeared upstairs to drink with one. Girlfriend in tow, I followed the two slightly disappointed looking women up to a small room on the third floor where apparently a few other people had already been offered, and accepted, the previously mentioned substances.
I think my girlfriend (let's call her Jesse) must have been tossing em back faster than I was, quickly impairing, if not annihilating, her judgment. I had hoped her presence would protect me from too much uncouth attention, but when she agreed to a game of spin the bottle, it quickly became clear that this was not the case. After making out with everyone in the room at least once, and making out with two people at a time at least twice, I was sitting on the floor across from the door, when she came in. People had been coming in and out all night, and most people just slid in through the partly opened door, but not her. She threw the it open and stood there, commanding everyone's attention. Or maybe just mine, but hey, I'm telling the story. Imagine one of those floor-to-head pans in the movies. High heels, sparkling fishnets, black miniskirt, red tank top, smirk and a tiara. I don't remember exactly what she said, something about spin the bottle down the hall. What I remember was more like her looking at me, much as a stockbroker looks at lobster, and saying "I want that one."
That night ended with me puking in Jesse's bathroom, and I certainly didn't end up having a real conversation with the girl. I did, however, find out her name from one of the many rugby players in the room, and she did shoot evil looks at my girlfriend all night. That is, before I ran out of the room about to throw up. It took me mere days to dump my girlfriend, and in between other relationships or hookups, I crushed on her all year. It us mere weeks to get to be friends, but months and months to get back to the "I want that one" stage, and for me to agree that it sounded like actually quite a good idea. To jump in the boiling water, as it were. Turns out, I taste quite delicious boiled and with butter, and....No. She became the person I knew I would end up with when I decided to be serious, and I became that dolt who couldn't get serious. Fortunately for both of us (and everyone who had to witness the sad state of affairs), we figured it out. The rest, as they say, is history.
Suddenly, I was faced with two tall leering girls, one who had given me a ride to the airport, and her leopard-print clad friend, asking if I wanted to smoke pot with them. "Uh...no thanks." They kept coming back, and I kept refusing. I guess they decided to change gears, because then they offered me beer. "Sure! Let me just get someone..." Content though she may have been to let me go dance with other girls, I was pretty sure my girlfriend would be upset if I disappeared upstairs to drink with one. Girlfriend in tow, I followed the two slightly disappointed looking women up to a small room on the third floor where apparently a few other people had already been offered, and accepted, the previously mentioned substances.
I think my girlfriend (let's call her Jesse) must have been tossing em back faster than I was, quickly impairing, if not annihilating, her judgment. I had hoped her presence would protect me from too much uncouth attention, but when she agreed to a game of spin the bottle, it quickly became clear that this was not the case. After making out with everyone in the room at least once, and making out with two people at a time at least twice, I was sitting on the floor across from the door, when she came in. People had been coming in and out all night, and most people just slid in through the partly opened door, but not her. She threw the it open and stood there, commanding everyone's attention. Or maybe just mine, but hey, I'm telling the story. Imagine one of those floor-to-head pans in the movies. High heels, sparkling fishnets, black miniskirt, red tank top, smirk and a tiara. I don't remember exactly what she said, something about spin the bottle down the hall. What I remember was more like her looking at me, much as a stockbroker looks at lobster, and saying "I want that one."
That night ended with me puking in Jesse's bathroom, and I certainly didn't end up having a real conversation with the girl. I did, however, find out her name from one of the many rugby players in the room, and she did shoot evil looks at my girlfriend all night. That is, before I ran out of the room about to throw up. It took me mere days to dump my girlfriend, and in between other relationships or hookups, I crushed on her all year. It us mere weeks to get to be friends, but months and months to get back to the "I want that one" stage, and for me to agree that it sounded like actually quite a good idea. To jump in the boiling water, as it were. Turns out, I taste quite delicious boiled and with butter, and....No. She became the person I knew I would end up with when I decided to be serious, and I became that dolt who couldn't get serious. Fortunately for both of us (and everyone who had to witness the sad state of affairs), we figured it out. The rest, as they say, is history.
