The only thing worse than a terrible hook up is the second time you get with that same terrible hook up. The first time you make this mistake, you're freed from blame since there's really no provisional indicator of a bad hook-up. Bad hook-ups are dangerous because their looks and personality are indistinguishable from the good hook-ups, and that's exactly how they trap you in. When you have a terrible hook up, you learn your lesson quickly (sometimes very quickly) and then move on to the next one. But the second time is unforgivable, even irredeemable. You're totally cognizant of what this hook up has in store, yet somehow you find yourself in the same situation all over again. Except this time, things move much more slowly since your thoughts are decelerated on the fact that you're a fucking idiot. By some great, unknown force of nature, you suddenly find yourself eyes closed, lips locked, and while everything you're doing is blurring through you, you produce a single lucid thought that says how did I end up here again? You feel like an absolute idiot for wandering into the same trap twice, and you come to the actualization that you're a lot less smart than you thought you were. When I was a freshman in high school, I drank too much (feigning surprise) and long-story-short woke up in the hospital with my parents at my bedside engulfed in distress and concern. As a novice drinker, I didn't dwell on my stupid mistake and moved on from the incident. But all of seven months later during my sophomore year I drank too much and wound up in the hospital again. This time when I woke my parents' didn't wear looks of worry, but rather of indomitable anger. My mistake wasn't cute anymore, and so it goes I was sentenced to five months of parentally run house arrest to dwell on what a retard I was.
It turns out I didn't get a hell of a lot smarter in college. While the mistake of repeating a bad hook up didn't land an IV in my arm, it still makes me want to vomit blood. I know how I made the mistake the first time- the guy was absolutely gorgeous. But as I discovered, his looks only acted as a disguise for his dire bedroom skills. It was hard coming to terms with the fact that someone so beautiful could make me want to lynch myself from his top bunk using my bra, but my lesson had been learned and there was no way I was going in that bedroom again. In my sober state of mind I arbitrated that I did not under any circumstances want to hook up with him again. I did, however, want to remain friends with him because in addition to being inconveniently gorgeous he was also a pretty nice guy. So the next weekend when I received a text from him inviting me to a party I didn't hesitate to round up my troops and head over. It was fun hanging out and drinking with him and his friends, but then suddenly it became too much fun. He was starting to flirt with me, and much to my sober-dismay I started flirting back. Even though I was getting pretty drunk, it can't be blamed entirely on the alcohol. I was getting sucked in the same way I'd gotten sucked in the last time; he was visually hypnotizing, and working in cohorts with his looks was his personality, which was charming the shit out of me. As we continued our witty banter the distance between our bodies was diminishing and people slowly started clearing out of the room. It wasn't as if either of us was consciously making movements, it was like some gravitational force was pulling us together. And that is how by some power unknown to me I found myself kissing (okay, groping) the same bad kisser (groper) I'd told myself I never wanted to kiss/grope ever again. The last time we started kissing I experienced a mental shift from totally turned on to repulsed. This time, when we started kissing I made the shift from turned on to repulsed with myself. Again being deceived by his looks and charm, my feeling of remorse was the same, but this time it was joined by extreme self-disdain. I didn't know if this even constituted as being deceived since technically I was perfectly aware of what was in store from the second I started flirting back with him. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, I'm never drinking again. Until next weekend.
No comments:
Post a Comment