Fuck Me Gently With a Chainsaw
Life has not always smiled upon me. But sometimes it has thrown me a bone here or there.
As I’ve written about previously, within my first month of college I found myself dating a blond, stunningly attractive, Southern California-bred, big-chested beauty, Kat. I would love to be able to share some kind of ultra-romantic, dreamy, straight-out-of-the-movies tale of our love affair, but, sadly, there is no such tale to tell. All signs that ours was a doomed affair were evident from Day 1.
Our first official “date” as a couple was to a large Friday night beach party. We came to the party together; she left shortly thereafter with a friend of hers and a car full of dudes, none of whom happened to be me. Clearly they were not off to a Checkers tournament. I spent much of the rest of the night pondering that whole “It is better to have love and lost than never to have loved at all” quote. Another goofy platitude to place in the bullshit pile.
As I searched around for a large, heavy object to attach to myself and proceed into deep waters, a girl, Tabitha, who I recognized from the floor below mine in our dorm, walked over and asked if I’d like to dance. As luck would have it, my roommate was out of town this particular weekend, leaving me our room all to myself (and guest).
Tabitha was attractive enough. But it’s amazing how one’s standards raise after getting a taste of the good life. After drinking Dom Perignon, can one ever really go back to Cook’s? If Kat was filet mignon, Tabitha was a nice, tasty, juicy burger cooked just right. Perfect 90% of the time, but disappointing if you were expecting filet mignon.
She had two other strikes against her. One was she dressed funny. I’m not sure if this was a conscious decision on her part to buck trends and prove her individually by creating her own unique style or if she was just clueless. She wore outfits that didn’t seem to fit together properly. Standard for her was to wear a long, heavy, green skirt with a black leather biker jacket.
Also, and I know of no way to say this politely, she had weird boobs. Imagine a rubber band cut with scissors so it is in the form of a straight line as opposed to a circle. That was what her nipples looked like.
The following night we attended our school’s football game together and then went back to her room. I thought for sure I was getting some. Instead, she started in with a long confessional about how she didn’t want this just to be about sex. She then put some CD on (the song of which escapes me) and asked me to join her in a slow dance. Alone in her room.
I think everyone has his or her own fine line of where the romantic crosses over into the cheesy. That was mine.
Meanwhile, I went on a one-man smear campaign, making sure anyone who would listen knew conclusively that Kat was a big-time slutty ho. Bush-Cheney, Kerry-Edwards? They ain’t got nothing on me. The flaw in my theory, of course, was thinking that any 18-year-old guy would look at the fact there was an extraordinarily hot woman within their midst who was more than willing to sleep with just about anyone as a negative character trait. But I digress.
Tabitha was a sweet girl. To give you some insight into her personality and character, the only time I had spoken to her prior to the beach party was in our dorm’s laundry room. The ratio of dryers to students was something like 1 to (a number over 100), so it was not uncommon to find your clothes removed against your will if you committed the sin of leaving them unattended in a dryer for more than 5 minutes after the end of its cycle. Most people just took your clothes and left them in an unruly heap. It was to be expected. Imagine my surprise to walk into the laundry room one day to find Tabitha neatly folding and separating my laundry for me and apologizing vociferously for having taken them out of the dryer before I had a chance to retrieve them.
Obviously excited about our blossoming relationship, Tabitha cornered me one evening in the cafeteria to ask permission to bring a group of her friends to my dorm room the following night to give them an opportunity to meet and get to know me.
Coincidentally, later that same night Kat chose to confront me about my aforementioned smear campaign. She had obviously been planning her opening line for some time, as it was clearly delivered from memory.
“Are you truly an asshole or do you just act like one?"
Truth be told, given that she had at least a week or two to come up with this, I thought she could have been a little more creative. After all, she was a Journalism major. But it was delivered in front a group of my friends, so it had its desired humiliating effect.
As is often the case in fiery relationships like ours, we were making out about 20 minutes later.
The next night, as promised, Tabitha came to my dorm room with a receiving line of her friends. I remember putting her off with some line about a big assignment being due the next day.
Seeing as we all lived in the same dorm, it didn’t take long for Tabitha to discover I was back with the same girl I had spent so much energy railing against. I became accustomed to being the recipient of her nasty scowl every time we crossed paths.
We are defined, at least in part, by the choices we make.
And on and on and on…
As I’ve written about previously, within my first month of college I found myself dating a blond, stunningly attractive, Southern California-bred, big-chested beauty, Kat. I would love to be able to share some kind of ultra-romantic, dreamy, straight-out-of-the-movies tale of our love affair, but, sadly, there is no such tale to tell. All signs that ours was a doomed affair were evident from Day 1.
Our first official “date” as a couple was to a large Friday night beach party. We came to the party together; she left shortly thereafter with a friend of hers and a car full of dudes, none of whom happened to be me. Clearly they were not off to a Checkers tournament. I spent much of the rest of the night pondering that whole “It is better to have love and lost than never to have loved at all” quote. Another goofy platitude to place in the bullshit pile.
As I searched around for a large, heavy object to attach to myself and proceed into deep waters, a girl, Tabitha, who I recognized from the floor below mine in our dorm, walked over and asked if I’d like to dance. As luck would have it, my roommate was out of town this particular weekend, leaving me our room all to myself (and guest).
Tabitha was attractive enough. But it’s amazing how one’s standards raise after getting a taste of the good life. After drinking Dom Perignon, can one ever really go back to Cook’s? If Kat was filet mignon, Tabitha was a nice, tasty, juicy burger cooked just right. Perfect 90% of the time, but disappointing if you were expecting filet mignon.
She had two other strikes against her. One was she dressed funny. I’m not sure if this was a conscious decision on her part to buck trends and prove her individually by creating her own unique style or if she was just clueless. She wore outfits that didn’t seem to fit together properly. Standard for her was to wear a long, heavy, green skirt with a black leather biker jacket.
Also, and I know of no way to say this politely, she had weird boobs. Imagine a rubber band cut with scissors so it is in the form of a straight line as opposed to a circle. That was what her nipples looked like.
The following night we attended our school’s football game together and then went back to her room. I thought for sure I was getting some. Instead, she started in with a long confessional about how she didn’t want this just to be about sex. She then put some CD on (the song of which escapes me) and asked me to join her in a slow dance. Alone in her room.
I think everyone has his or her own fine line of where the romantic crosses over into the cheesy. That was mine.
Meanwhile, I went on a one-man smear campaign, making sure anyone who would listen knew conclusively that Kat was a big-time slutty ho. Bush-Cheney, Kerry-Edwards? They ain’t got nothing on me. The flaw in my theory, of course, was thinking that any 18-year-old guy would look at the fact there was an extraordinarily hot woman within their midst who was more than willing to sleep with just about anyone as a negative character trait. But I digress.
Tabitha was a sweet girl. To give you some insight into her personality and character, the only time I had spoken to her prior to the beach party was in our dorm’s laundry room. The ratio of dryers to students was something like 1 to (a number over 100), so it was not uncommon to find your clothes removed against your will if you committed the sin of leaving them unattended in a dryer for more than 5 minutes after the end of its cycle. Most people just took your clothes and left them in an unruly heap. It was to be expected. Imagine my surprise to walk into the laundry room one day to find Tabitha neatly folding and separating my laundry for me and apologizing vociferously for having taken them out of the dryer before I had a chance to retrieve them.
Obviously excited about our blossoming relationship, Tabitha cornered me one evening in the cafeteria to ask permission to bring a group of her friends to my dorm room the following night to give them an opportunity to meet and get to know me.
Coincidentally, later that same night Kat chose to confront me about my aforementioned smear campaign. She had obviously been planning her opening line for some time, as it was clearly delivered from memory.
“Are you truly an asshole or do you just act like one?"
Truth be told, given that she had at least a week or two to come up with this, I thought she could have been a little more creative. After all, she was a Journalism major. But it was delivered in front a group of my friends, so it had its desired humiliating effect.
As is often the case in fiery relationships like ours, we were making out about 20 minutes later.
The next night, as promised, Tabitha came to my dorm room with a receiving line of her friends. I remember putting her off with some line about a big assignment being due the next day.
Seeing as we all lived in the same dorm, it didn’t take long for Tabitha to discover I was back with the same girl I had spent so much energy railing against. I became accustomed to being the recipient of her nasty scowl every time we crossed paths.
We are defined, at least in part, by the choices we make.
And on and on and on…
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