My Whirlwind with Spicoli

I went to college. I drank a lot. And it got me into trouble.  Everyone loves the fun, sloppy drunk girl when you’re a college senior, but 3 years postgrad, it’s not so cute anymore.

This is why I pretty much stopped “going out to go out”. I still drink, but the goal and locations have changed.  Aka: it’s pretty rare now a days that I go out to get wasted and go to seedy college bars or clubs.  I’m more likely to go to cheap dive bars or just casually drink at friends’ apartments.

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Moral of the story – I don’t go out drinking a lot anymore because I don’t trust myself not to do stupid things.  I also don’t enjoy clubs the way I used to. Well, guess what happened the one time I went out this summer??

I got sloppy drunk and had sex with a guy I met twice.  Typically, I would wake up hating myself, but you know what?

chandler

Here’s what happened: On a Tuesday night, I went out to dinner with my friend, Anne Marie, and her parents. Anne Marie has been one of my best friends since I was little, but we’ve drifted apart a little bit. She likes to party at the “cool bars” (aka ones flooded by losers we went to high school with and cost a ton of money), and I’m not into that scene anymore. Anyways, our server at this restaurant was one of her friends that she goes out with a lot.  I thought he was pretty cute. Not in a typically attractive way, but in a sexy-unemployed-haven’t-showered-grungy kind of way.  We will refer to him as Spicoli.

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At the end of dinner, he sat down and had a glass of wine with us.  We started talking and Spicoli and Anne Marie started telling me about a party the next day. Anne Marie, always the wingwoman (especially after 4 glasses of wine), said “Spicoli, take her number, maybe you can convince her to come out because I never can.”  So I did.

He texted me to come out to the party, but I didn’t go because I really didn’t want to I was super busy.  Then he asked me to get a drink the next Friday. Afterwards, Anne Marie was having people over for dinner and was going to go out.  So that was our plan.

I had a great time with him on our date.  He has very interesting qualities about him. I found conversation with him to flow easily, and he’s definitely one of the most open-minded guys I’ve ever met in my life.  He was so open with his emotions, which I found to be so attractive. He doesn’t have a degree or a steady job, but has traveled the world.  And his hair is about as long as mine. Basically, I’ve never really dated anyone like him. I typically go for “safe” guys – for example, the boyfriend I had senior year of college was athletic, handsome, came from the perfect family, went to grad school, and is the smartest person I’ve ever known (triple major, got a perfect score on his math GRE).  His “perfectness” freaked me out – and I ended up cheating on him with a guy who had a long-term girlfriend (and also had long hair now that I think about it.

Things just felt different with him. I told him up front about my relationship with Evelyn, which is something I don’t tell guys until we’ve been dating for a couple of months.  Spicoli didn’t blink an eye.  Open-mindedness is such a turn on for me.

Fast forward to the end of the night – we’re making out, at a club, between shots of fireball. I go back with him to his apartment, and have amazing sex.

I felt like I could be myself with someone for the first time… ever. He didn’t judge me; he completely accepted me for who I was. I left a week later, but we went out a few more times, and the sex got better and better each time.

I really took away something valuable from the whole Spicoli experience: I need to stop going for the “safe” guys.  Maybe later on in my life, when I need more stability and consistency, will the safe guys be a better option for me.  For now, I need to stop getting sucked into relationships I’m not interested in just because there’s nothing wrong with the guy. I can’t get tied down, I have way too much craziness left in me! Right, B?

bey

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One thought on “My Whirlwind with Spicoli

  1. Pingback: Falling into Old Patterns | musings of a quarter life crisis

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