My Perfect Week

22 Oct

by Stacie Smack

This is the story of my Senior Week (and how my journey to become Barney Stinson began).

I was a bit of a late bloomer: my first kiss and my first “time” happened within weeks of each other, both in the latter half of my college career. I am aware that this is not that uncommon, but I obviously felt like a total freak. It happened while I was abroad, he had an accent, we had a short-lived sexmance (is there really not a word like short-lived romance without the emotional implications but that also isn’t a hook-up without making me sound slutty? Guess not!). I thought: this is it. I am finally a woman.

I will go back to school and finish up college strong. My sexual experience and prowess will emanate from me, I will build some history, and maybe even get into a relationship! It’s going to be amazing.

Except it wasn’t.

I got back to the US, and everything went back to how it was, nunnery style. Until Senior Week. That week after all exams are done, when you are supposed to feel sad about the end of four amazing years and blah blah blah. For me it had a slightly different meaning. This is best told in chronological order.

Night 1: Indian Jason Siegel

My friends and I started the first night of the week by getting dolled up and going into the Big City to go “clubbing”. The place had some ridiculous name like G Lounge. It was my first time using my female prowess [and a lot of tequila] in an assertive manner. The tight skirt, the vodka sodas, and the loud music were all working in my favor. I picked my target, threw a coy smile, and attempted to walk in a straight line. Within 10 minutes, I was sitting on his lap and we were talking about irrelevant things that I definitely wasn’t listening to. He may or may not have been wearing a fedora. I am obviously SO glad none of my friends were there to smack some sense into me and save me from leaving with him (not). But I did leave with him. What a victory. Until he wouldn’t let me sleep on his bed (though at least I was able to cross “couch” off the list). So, I hopped on a cab at around 5am and $65 later, I was home and riding the high of a mediocre bang. What the hell was I thinking?

Night 2: The Baseball Tiger

The second day of graduation festivities ended with an outdoor event in the woods. There was a sexy bonfire, we were double fisting champagne bottles, and there was nothing left to lose. I somehow ended up talking to Him. The All-Star Varsity Athlete on his way to work for ESPN. The one who dated the Volleyball player,that tall leggy blonde who whose ass was the reason Spandex shorts were designed. The one who is too beautiful for me to approach and who would never talk to me – we literally had never spoken to each other before. Conveniently, my tall gorgeous swimmer friend was also there vying for his attention, but I refused to bow down from the challenge. And because all good things happen after 2am, I weaseled my way into his cellphone, and after some flirty texting (which started with him thanking me for champagne and me saying something along the lines of “Anytime. I am very giving”) he laced his shoes back on and walked on over to my dorm. And it was good. At least for the two minutes that he was able to keep it up (and for which he apologized profusely). I would have kept him around but he was too busy chasing after different (cooler and thinner) tail.

Night 3: LaX Bro

This next one, I had been wanting for over a year. He seemed attainable at first. Until I found out he was president of his fraternity and on the Lacrosse team. I guess I have a thing for the ones I can’t have. He was later described to me as “a LaX bro who smoked too much but was kind of smart who also got belligerently drunk too often”. I really just heard “bro” and patted myself on the back. My assertiveness was aided by copious amounts of 99 Peaches and champagne (I encourage all to try it) and the inspirational words of Asher Roth. The whole class had just come back from a night of bowling, and there were kegs waiting for us on the quad. As it generally goes with real love stories, we ran into each other while waiting in line to get Natty Lite. We talked for approximately 4 minutes, ultimately resulting in an agreement to GTFO. We “walked” through the woods, which ended well for me but not so much for my dress with a lace back. Back in my room, he asked me if it was going to be awkward the next day, since we would see each other the next day. Fun fact men: it’s only awkward because YOU make it so.

Night 4: The German Ronaldinho

I never drink beer. Like almost never. But it was our last college Keg night. “Call me maybe” was playing, my girlfriends and I were dancing like true WOO girls, most likely without our shirts on, and I was drinking beer. It was the same 300 people that started college with me doing the same thing we did our first Thursday of school. There wasn’t a lot to look forward to, since I had tackled a couple of the big-ticket items on my wish list. But then I met this skinny, tall, sexy German soccer player who was in the States with an exchange program in some city and was visiting a friend for the night (I think). We danced. We didn’t talk. We left, and I got grass burns on my knees for the first time… romantically outside of his friend’s fraternity. Between the frat and the cafeteria to be precise.  I might actually still have his number. Should I text him?

Night 5: The Dim Witted One

This was the last night, the night before we walked in our cap and gowns. We had our “Last Chance Party” which is hopefully pretty self explanatory. But in case you don’t know, it’s the night where you get drunk and confess your true feelings of love to the crush you’ve had for four years (or for four minutes, the rules are flexible). We were handed readily available ribbons in exchange for a last chance. I managed to lip-lock with Dave, a guy from my Econ class that was maybe 27 and a woodsman from the Rockies with a mysterious air. And then, he said no. No. No sex. Say What? At about 2:30am (when as discussed, all good things happen), an ex Water Polo-er turned Rugby player hands me a ribbon. He nods. I nod back. He winks. I try to wink. There was no cuddling; I had to kick him out after an hour because I just couldn’t tolerate his cigarette breath near my face.

This could either be the lowest point of my college career, or the highest goal achieved.

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6 Responses to “My Perfect Week”

  1. Overpacked and Underpaid October 24, 2013 at 7:44 am #

    Love it! So funny!

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. STOP REQUESTED - December 10, 2013

    […] So this one night I went to see this DJ at Black Cat. I started chatting this kid up. He was kind of funny. Worked for the senate. Went to college and graduated. Was taller than me by enough inches that I’d be able to wear my favorite four-inch heels. I mean in #thisTown, that’s already a pretty solid foundation. So maybe he was wearing a male fashion ring, but he bought be a vodka soda and I kind of stopped seeing it. To make the deal even sweeter, he lived in Columbia Heights (this was while I was living Red-Line land). Basically he seemed to be the ideal #boyfriend material to supplement my perfect 20-something lifestyle. UNTIL. Until we walked into his room to find a bed. A bed for one. A bed like the one I slept on in college. I am no longer in college. You’ve been living in this apartment for A YEAR. And given how much you spent on drinks that night, I know it’s not a money issue. Call me when we can both sleep on that bed without me having flashbacks to Senior Week. […]

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    […] So this one night I went to see this DJ at Black Cat. I started chatting this kid up. He was kind of funny. Worked for the senate. Went to college and graduated. Was taller than me by enough inches that I’d be able to wear my favorite four-inch heels. I mean in #thisTown, that’s already a pretty solid foundation. So maybe he was wearing a male fashion ring, but he bought be a vodka soda and I kind of stopped seeing it. To make the deal even sweeter, he lived in Columbia Heights (this was while I was living Red-Line land). Basically he seemed to be the ideal #boyfriend material to supplement my perfect 20-something lifestyle. UNTIL. Until we walked into his room to find a bed. A bed for one. A bed like the one I slept on in college. I am no longer in college. You’ve been living in this apartment for A YEAR. And given how much you spent on drinks that night, I know it’s not a money issue. Call me when we can both sleep on that bed without me having flashbacks to Senior Week. […]

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