Wake Up, Sober Up, Gay It Up, Hook It Up

I roll over and gaze at the clock. 7:41 AM, Friday. My head is pounding from the night before, yet I feel oddly spry with energy and ready to tackle another day. There’s nobody in bed with me, and for the first time in a long time, I’m kind of sad about it. For months on end, I was loving the fact that I could do my patented “scissor kick” at night. Sleeping with someone in the same bed is like the pencil dive of sleeping positions.

Last night was filled with way too many questions before the night even started. Is Girl A going to text me back? Does Girl B like me or is she just being a good friend? Would I even care if she did like me? It would probably freak me out, right? Is Girl C looking at me or the guy behind me? How much alcohol can I take after tequila thursday? How hypocritically  annoying would tequila thursday sound to me if anyone else had said it? (The answer to the last one is “extremely”).

After a dip in the pool and a few rays of sunshine, my friends and I stroll home, looking for and thinking about tail to chase for the upcoming night. It’s only 12:15, but we’re already thinking about starting. I think to myself, “There is no other group of people on earth that do this besides students and full blown alcoholics. HA!” Ten minutes later I have a beer in my hand and we’re watching an old football game on espn classic. Another thought rolls in, “Jesus, I am now officially Mr. Annoying Frat Boy Douche Bag Dick Fuck (minus the asshole part, of course). Sweet.”

Eight hours later, I’m texting Girl A in the kitchen of my friends house. She finally answered in her annoyingly nonchalant manner and I realize the conversation is over and I’ll have to hope that I run into her at the bars. “Fuck,” I mumble under my breath, as Girl E (previously unmentioned) walks by in a sun dress and hot Greek Goddess-like sandals. Whatever style clings best to the era are my favorite. She’s wearing them so well that I picture her floating towards me, wings flapping gently. She is an angel in that moment.

“Simon, you’ve been on your phone too long, stop being such a wuss and come party.” She’s right but I hate to admit that she is. So I say nothing. I look at her, and her eyes spin out from her skull, beautiful as ever. She is an angel and a monster all at once. Everything that I want to say to Girls A-E becomes confused in my head, and like an ambitious juggler, I drop one of my balls and say the wrong thing.

“Well you couldn’t be any sexier. And I’m only like 70% drunk.” Whatever that means. Oddly enough, she took my bait and we started talking and flirting, with only a few flirts here and there, nothing too obvious.

I start to think about the conversation I had with Cole, which led to his post about pick up lines. I realized that we have very different styles. If you watch Cole talking to a girl, he literally has no intention of doing anything with her, and yet somehow, you can tell within 30 to 50 seconds if they’re into him or not. I remember that we agreed that one thing that always does it is saying something feminine like “those are really pretty shoes” and letting it sink in with them. If you say something gay, then it’s win/win/win:

1) The girl starts to wonder if you’re gay, and because most people are nosy and just generally curious, her interest in you (in whatever capacity that may be) continues.

2) The girl wanted you before you said anything questionable and now she’s fighting to hook up with you.

3) She backs off because you’re gay but gay guys are always good friends with girls. Consolation prize is a friendship that ultimately could turn into hooking up because of course she will eventually find out. And you’ll be right there.

As all this goes through my head, I realize I’ve sort of been drunkenly staring into the distance while standing with Girl E.

“Simon? Are you all right? You look drunk and tired.”

“Yeah, I’m tired. Are you tired? Wait, I mean, I love your sandals!!!!”

“Haha, thanks. You’re cute. And yeah, I’m kind of tired. What’s it to ya?”

“Let’s go.” I grab her hand and we walk home, sleeping together and enjoying the night like it was our last.

My eyes open and I look at the clock. 7:30 AM, Saturday. My head is experiencing a fury of pain, and I’m trying to recall the previous nights events. I see the Goddess’ sun dress and sandals on the ground, and it all comes back. “That was super fun,” I think to myself.

Who knew that combining a little booze and a little gay would get me a chick? Logic would tell you that those two would equal Guy A laying next to me, not Girl E.