Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Memories of an Aging Lacrosstitute Part II

I was talking to one of my buddies who I'm still tight with from the lacrosse team I worked with in college the other day, and he brought up a funny story, one I'll probably never live down but considering there's like, 97 stories like that having to do with the lacrosse team, this one's not as bad as some of them are/could have been. This story is legitimately one of my sluttiest, even though it contains NO sex whatsoever, so I'll totally give liberty - while I am not a fan of the term slut, yeah, this qualifies me as one of those nights that I was like "holy shit, if I keep going like this I'm going to end up pregnant and a petri dish of STD's." You live and learn, kids. You live and learn.

It was midway through the season freshman year, and I think maybe the guys had beaten Fairfield to salvage our shot at the tournament and it was one of the dudes 21sts, so we all went out to the bar. I had been close with mainly the sophomores and juniors on the team (I was a freshman). And there was one junior dude who we called "Dad", a.) because we all thought he looked like he was a 45 year old dad, and b.) because he was actually smart and nice and probably was going to do well for himself in the future. So Dad and I, who had NEVER had any kind of sexual tension before - in fact, he had hooked up with one of my best friends, and I had been hooking up with one of his good friends most of the semester, so it was easy just chillin' and chattin' with him - were hanging at the bar and bullshitting.

Seven, count them, seven tequila shots (which turned into body shots) later, plus like 3 beers on my end, I'm pretty sure his hand was down my pants by the bar. We decided, in the advent of the camera phone, getting out of the bar might be a good idea. Or, he thought that. Seeing as I was incapable of thinking about anything including "am I alive right now?"

We walk back to his house, which he happens to share with dude I had been hooking up with all semester who, in hindsight, was a massive asshole at the time. I remember getting naked, and being in this awkward position where he was naked and on his back and I was naked on my back on his stomach. We weren't boning, at all. We kind of just like, laid there. I'm pretty sure we were too tired to even attempt to touch each other. I decided I had to pee, a huge step in the right direction seeing as it meant I was regaining sense of feeling in parts of my body. I throw on a t=shirt of his, and wander upstairs to the bathroom.

I knocked over the vacuum on the landing and couldn't get up for like, 15 minutes I was laughing so hard, by myself at like 4 in the morning. I pee, and then I notice the door to the asshole I had been hooking up with's bedroom open. He was home. I peeled myself up off the vacuum and pushed the door open. Surprisingly, for the first time in the history of the eight months of so I had now known him, he was not completely black out drunk.

"Hey," I said.
"Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?" he asked.
"Thought I'd come say hi," I was trying to be sexy, like, leaning to one side and making my voice get all whatever. Looking back I think I tripped over an empty Gatorade bottle and probably sounded like someone who's second language was English and who had failed the TOFEL exam.

I crawled in bed with him and started making out with him. I had no intentions of banging, because I couldn't. I had no intentions of going down on him because I knew I was hitting that point where the Tequila wasn't feeling at home in my stomach any more, and any gag reflex would set me off. So yeah, I was all about making out like a 15 year old. My lips got chapped.

"Who's shirt is this?" he asked suddenly.
"I stole it from the laundry downstairs," I lied blatantly, but I have to give myself credit, being shitfaced, that was a believable, original excuse. Go me.

"How'd you get here?" He was getting suspicious now, and I was getting hungry. I didn't feel like dealing with him anymore.

"I have to pee," I said. "I'll be right back."

I shut the door behind me to asshole's room and wandered down the hallway to another room of another guy, D, who also lived in the house. I had made out with him once in the fall, and I think maybe once in the spring. At this point, I was only wearing underwear.

No sound came from his room, so I opened the door. No one was in there.
"Fuck". D had gone home for the weekend, I totally forgot, I think I had had a long ass conversation about it on the bus back from Fairfield.


I couldn't have sex. I was too tired to fool around anymore. And the idea of spooning with a naked Dad or asshole, made the Tequila start to stir in my stomach again. I closed the door to D's room, got under the covers, and took out my cell phone.

"D, it's me." I'm talking in that voice. You know that voice. That drunk voice where everything you say is emphasized and it sounds like you are incredibly surprised by every thought that's coming out of your mouth. "I'm sleeping in your bed. BUT YOU'RE NOT HERE. I don't know where I am. I like your pillow. I'm going to steal it. I want a cheese...." I fell asleep mid sentence and left him like, a 32 minute voicemail of that, plus me snoozing.

I remember opening my eye and looking at the ceiling. It was exactly like the scene in the Hangover where Stu opens his eye on the floor, and it like, flutters open and he has no idea what he's looking at. That was me. I had no idea who's ceiling I was looking at. I had no idea who's room I was in. I had no idea how long I could keep myself from puking. And I had NO IDEA where my clothes were.

"Oh my God,". I rolled over and looked around. Obviously no guy in the bed, and at first I didn't recognize D's room. I honestly,f or a good three minutes, had no fucking idea where I was or what happened.

When I finally came to my senses, I started to panic at the idea that I had no idea where my clothes were. I had two choices. Pray that the guys were still asleep and go look for them around the house. Or steal clothes from D's closet, as I had done on many occassions actually, and just come back for my clothes later.

I opted for the latter, and thank fucking God I did. Because as I came down the stairs, seven guys were sitting in the living room playing video games.

"Hi," I said, half hidden by the stair railings.

"Had a rough night?" One guy, Mike asked.

At this point, I could either own up to my own drunken sluttiness, or wither in embarrassment and let them torture me for the rest of the year with this.

"Anyone know where the fuck my clothes are?" I said.

"Yeah, here," Dad said. Clearly he had brought them out of his room to try to cover up the fact that I had been in there if and when this situation arose. I walked by all the guys, head held high, took my clothes, put on my high heels, and began the long, long ass walk of shame home. In brown pointed heels. Navy blue Shippensberg lacrosse shorts. And an oversized GAP t-shirt. Makeup down the face. Constant stops to puke in the lovely campus shrubbery. Oh yeah, I was a winner.

Surprisingly, the guys involved rarely ragged on me for that one. I think because they were embarrassed once they realized I had hit up THREE BEDROOMS that night. Even though the vacuum on the landing got the most action out of any of the guys. Is it possible to have entirely slutty intentions and not have the physical ability to be slutty at all? I think that's what this was. The intention to get laid, and the physical and mental inability to keep my mind focused long enough to not get bored and move on, finally finding a bed. And sleep was just so much better.

God, I miss lacrosse. You fuckers were awful.

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