I'm a true procrastinator in every sense of the word. I put things off until the last possible minute, every time, never fail. It's how I deal with confrontation.
I avoid avoid avoid. The messy bathroom? been messy for over a week. The books the cat knocked off the book shelf last week? still on the floor. The pile of clothes? Sitting across the room from the laundry basket. Matilda's litter box? scooped it on Thursday.
Guy I've decided I don't want to talk to anymore? avoid. Bad hookup who wants to do it again? run the other way when I see him. Mother who's trying to get in touch with me? don't answer her 4 emails, 9 phones calls, 4 text messages and 2 wall posts to my
facebook (although in my defense it's because i
dont want to say something i will regret in 10 years)
I know it's a problem, and I know that I need to stop being such a wuss and grow a set. But I can't help but think about the times I've faced something head on...like the mess referred to by my friends as the St. Patrick's Day Incident that Never Happened of 08. (oh yes, there is more than one
SPDItNH..March 17
th has never been my finest day..)
The week before St. Patty's Day, I met this guy, who we'll call
WWIT*.
Wwit was nice, albeit slightly dorky (just the way I like them) and better yet: socially awkward enough to make me the more outgoing party. We talked a little, and then I made the mistake of mentioning to one of my friends that I thought
Wwit was slightly cute.
She told me that he was a good friend of hers, had never kissed a girl, and then ran off to organize the hookup. She always had a big mouth, damn her. There was no way I was hooking up with someone who had
never kissed a girl at 22. 4 shots of tequila and 2 cherry bombs later, I decided that a kissing virgin was better than nothing and
proceeded to talk to him for the rest of the night. A little after 2, I decided my roommate would be asleep and I could drag him home. We get up to my room, and all of the sudden I have to pee. I mumble something about having to pee, come downstairs and look in the mirror.
My hot and smokey eyes look a little smeared..
ok more then a little. They look like raccoon eyes, and my face is bright red as it always is when I'm drunk. But really. I don't think he's in any position to complain and after my 6 month
makeout dry spell, I really don't care. So I head back upstairs and pray hes as drunk as I am.
I open the door. He's naked. on my bed. at half mass.
WTF?
I close the door, open it again, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. And sure enough, there he is. still naked.
I can't help it. I start to laugh.
Apparently, this is offensive, as suddenly he's not even at half mass.
Wwit asks me if
i'm always like this before sex.
I ask him if he always expects sex before any foreplay.
He asks me to define what I mean by foreplay.
I tell him to put his clothes on and
i'll show him.
In my drunken state, this still seems doable.
He gets dressed and I attempt to
makeout with him. He informs me that he doesn't enjoy kissing, but prefers to get right into other stuff and
proceeds to start groping me.
And I think wow, he might not be into kissing, but he must have some inborn instinct about how to move his mouth around a boob.
And then the pants come off. And I suddenly have to pee again.
Go back downstairs, and pass out on the bathroom floor**
When I come back upstairs in the morning, he's gone.
It's a fairly small campus, but fortunately for me I never see
Wwit on campus since he is a business major and never has classes in the Humanities and Life Science buildings. My friend who originally introduced us told me that he had a great time and wants to do it again. I am completely
flabbergasted.
WTF? Is he INSANE? Or did he time-travel and assume that I am the owner of his v-card?
The next weekend, St. Patty's Day weekend. Kegs and eggs at the college bar, a pastime at my school. My roommates and I manage to get a table, and are sitting there when
Wwit comes in with his friends. I quickly hide under the table. Avoidance #1 is successful, he doesn't see me.
Later that day, we're on our porch doing Irish car bombs and drinking green beer*** when
Wwit is walking down the street, again with his friends (later find out they are his roommates). I run into the house and stay hidden, hoping he has just kept walking by instead of stopping by to see if I'm home. Avoidance #2 is a success.
Later that night, at the bar. How we are still alive at this point, I do not know. I turn around and bump straight into
Wwit.
He asks me if he can come over tonight.
I laugh at him and ask him if he is mentally disturbed, really naive, or if he is suffering from one night amnesia.
Apparently this is about as amusing as laughing at someone who is naked in your bed.
he tells me that he had a great time, until I passed out.
I inform him that I passed out because he was such a stud.
this sarcasm was not well
received. by not well
received, i mean he thought i was serious.
he informs me that if i enjoyed last weekend, i would enjoy tonight even more.
i double over in laughter.
he tells me laughter is not a turn on.
NEITHER ARE YOU, i yell. before puking on his shoes.****
*stands for
what was i thinking.**this may or may not have been done on purpose
***how exactly do they make it green? I try not to think about this....
****For the record, that was the second time in my entire life I have ever vomited while drinking. The first time I later found out that I had the stomach flu.
This is why I avoid. Confrontation does not suit me.
