Things that should never happen on a second date:
1) I should not, two hours beforehand, be trying to come up with ideas of conversation topics.
2) Potential ideas of conversation topics should not be "What drugs have you done?", "When's the last time you drank so much you blacked out?", or "Since you're from Wisconsin, do you want the Seahawks or the Packers to win?"
3) No man should show up in the exact same plaid shirt that he wore on our first date.
4) I should not be drunk-texting- from the bathroom at the bar- three men who I dated in the last year along with my best friend M for the sole purpose of telling them that my date wore the same plaid shirt twice in a row.
The fact that I drunk-texted multiple men I've slept with while on a date with a different man appropriately sums up my interest. He is kind, smart, Jewish (!!!!), and clearly interested in me, but as the date continued and I got drunker, I knew I was heading into dangerous territory. I was having a great time with a man who I was quite apathetic about, which meant I would almost certainly have sex and break my resolution to only sleep with men I like. We were headed out to dance, and the night was perfectly set up for me to make a decision I'd regret.
Until 1 am, we boogied down to mashups at the last Bootie night ever for Chop Suey- the latest Seattle institution to fold under. We Built This City came on the sound system, he kissed me, and I kissed him back. His hands moved from my shoulders to my breasts, abdomen, and hips, and I realized that making out on the dance floor was just delaying the inevitable. I took his hand and led us to our jackets we'd tossed on the floor, signaling it was time to leave.
At my apartment, I futilely tried to keep us in make-out mode with clothes on by suggesting we go up to my roof. It was an effective strategy for ten minutes but then we got cold, went inside, and had sex. Resolution broken. It lasted 3.5 months. (The resolution, that is. The sex lasted about ten minutes).
The first thought in my head when I woke up this morning and saw him next to me was "You're still here?!?!?"
Of course, I kept that to myself, but the second thought, I said out loud:
"I have a headache."
I was turned away from him in bed, so he spooned me and kissed the back of my neck. "Not me. I feel great!"
Totally. Me too.
1) I should not, two hours beforehand, be trying to come up with ideas of conversation topics.
2) Potential ideas of conversation topics should not be "What drugs have you done?", "When's the last time you drank so much you blacked out?", or "Since you're from Wisconsin, do you want the Seahawks or the Packers to win?"
3) No man should show up in the exact same plaid shirt that he wore on our first date.
4) I should not be drunk-texting- from the bathroom at the bar- three men who I dated in the last year along with my best friend M for the sole purpose of telling them that my date wore the same plaid shirt twice in a row.
The fact that I drunk-texted multiple men I've slept with while on a date with a different man appropriately sums up my interest. He is kind, smart, Jewish (!!!!), and clearly interested in me, but as the date continued and I got drunker, I knew I was heading into dangerous territory. I was having a great time with a man who I was quite apathetic about, which meant I would almost certainly have sex and break my resolution to only sleep with men I like. We were headed out to dance, and the night was perfectly set up for me to make a decision I'd regret.
Until 1 am, we boogied down to mashups at the last Bootie night ever for Chop Suey- the latest Seattle institution to fold under. We Built This City came on the sound system, he kissed me, and I kissed him back. His hands moved from my shoulders to my breasts, abdomen, and hips, and I realized that making out on the dance floor was just delaying the inevitable. I took his hand and led us to our jackets we'd tossed on the floor, signaling it was time to leave.
At my apartment, I futilely tried to keep us in make-out mode with clothes on by suggesting we go up to my roof. It was an effective strategy for ten minutes but then we got cold, went inside, and had sex. Resolution broken. It lasted 3.5 months. (The resolution, that is. The sex lasted about ten minutes).
The first thought in my head when I woke up this morning and saw him next to me was "You're still here?!?!?"
Of course, I kept that to myself, but the second thought, I said out loud:
"I have a headache."
I was turned away from him in bed, so he spooned me and kissed the back of my neck. "Not me. I feel great!"
Totally. Me too.
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