A Tale of Seduction, Spew and Crazy Trent-Antics
I forget the actual quote, but it’s something along the lines of: “it’s better to have loved and lost, to never have loved at all.” And, while I’m sure that’s true, the quote, in no way shape or form, even describes the amount of pain you’ll experience getting up the point of that infamous “love” thing. And that’s not even taking into account the effect teenage hormones and music tend to have on the matter of “love.” And we sure as fuck won’t try to factor in movies, magazines, or any other manner of Hollywood into the equation. That’s just a prescription for total Armageddon.
Want a description of total emotional Chaos? Throw a 17-year-old guy — and not the jock kind of guy who will have sex with anyone with a willing hole or two; I’m talking a guy that actually feels emotions when it comes to the female gender — into a room with three types of women: we have Rebecca, the incredibly beautiful, though ultimately boring as hell, girl. In the next corner, we have Samantha; the pretty, but not gorgeous, girl that you can talk to for hours upon hours and never get bored. And, in the final corner (it’s a triangular room, deal with it), we have Bobette; the ugly girl from god-only-knows-where, with a winning personality; but let’s face it, she’s just meant to be a friend. In fact, Bobette has no impact on this story what-so-ever, but she’s just there for completeness. And, for that matter, Rebecca has no real place in this story, except for a small part later on. The focus for this story is Samantha; the bane of all my existences (I’m a cat, the whole 9-lives thing is taking effect), until I realize what, exactly, is going on.
Flash back two and a half weeks to a certain Friday night, after my second to last Final for my freshman year at the University of Michigan. I was sitting, happily I might add, in front of my computer when my friends mentioned going down to Central Campus to meet up with a few friends for a party. I asked who the friends were, found out they consisted of a cute friend of mine, plus a couple more of her friends (also of the female gender, which generally peaked my interest). In a matter of milliseconds, I bolted up, got dressed in a sexy attire suited for only me, and me alone, and we were off. Blah-blah-blah, run into a bunch of asinine-acting drunks, blah-blah-blah, drunk whores falling all over drunk guys, and blah-blah-blah.
We ended up on Central Campus, met up with previously said lady-folk, and they were with two guys; total body count: five guys and three girls. One of the three girls has been a friend of mine for a while, no introduction needed; another girl looked hella familiar, introduction needed; and the final lady looked completely unfamiliar to my neural-net I call a brain, introduction needed once again. Ah, her name is “Sam.” That’s interesting. Please, god, tell me that’s not her real name. Oh, real name is Samantha. Sweet. Very sexy name. Looking good so far.
Now, I hit it off with the girls almost immediately; granted, they were drunk and in a euphoric state (I, on the other hand, was completely sober at this point), so it didn’t take too much to impress them, but I still was feeling mighty confident. Sam and I hit it right off, as we talked our way through the half-an-hour walk to the party venue, as run-down, smells-like-drunk-ass frat-house. Yeah, definitely need a beer or two to get comfortable in this hell-hole. Anyway, previous talking with the lady of interest, Sam as she would be called, was quite interested. Apparently she’s into bio-psychology, or something of the sort. I’m a computer science major for fuck’s sake, I have no idea what the hell that is, but it did sound cool. She described it as “doing experiments on animals, which I feel morally wrong about, to test certain ‘circuits’ of their brain as a result of certain staged phenomena.” Was that actually what she said? Can’t remember, but that’s the jist of it. Anyway, I got the impression that this girl wasn’t just your average “oooo, I want to be a doctor/lawyer Barbie doll! *giggle*” kind of college girl. Was I interested in her?: Definitely. Was I also quite sexually repressed?: Yes, but I don’t think it had an effect on my state of mind at that juncture in time.
A couple beers later, and I found myself sitting outside, mildly alone with the girl of interest, just talking about whatever her intoxicated self came up with, and my getting-tipsy-self could think of that would interest her inebriated state of being. We talked for about a half-hour then she said she needed to go inside. I downed another couple beers (I, actually, enjoy the taste of them), and waited for her where she told me. She forgot to come back for a while, though I could tell it wasn’t intentional, as she seemed genuinely interested in talking… And I, actually, was having a remarkably good time just talking to her; we seemed to genuinely “connect.” [Enjoying the haphazard grammar so far? Yeah, I thought so.]
It was at this point during the night that thing’s took a turn for the not-so-bad-but-definitely-not-good point. You see, one of the girls was tiny, in body size, and apparently drank a bit too much for her body to handle. She passed out like a rock, and looked like she was about to bring up everything she’s had to eat/drink in the last few hours. Looks weren’t deceiving either — not that I really paid close attention to the contents of the spew. We decided to make our way back to one of the girl’s cars, then drive back to the frat, pick up said passed-out girl, and get her somewhere safe. In that time, Sam had started showing lovely side-effects of alcoholic-over-consumption as well; and those side-effects were shown to my clothes in a way that will make them never-quite-the-same again. So, when we got back to one of the guys’ dorms, some of us set little tiny passed-out girl up with a bed, and made her comfortable, meanwhile the driving-girl tried to get the puke off her car, and I tried comforting an increasingly-sick Sam while all this was done. She ended up falling asleep on me… Something that made me, in my semi-sober state (I was quite tipsy before-hand, but I was able to pull myself together to take care of the girls; what a good drunk I am), feel really good about things.
After all was said and done that night, I was able to look back on the night with satisfaction, and sadness for those that lost their stomach acid, food inside said stomach, and such (and lost it all over me, another guy, the innocent vehicle, and a few sidewalks), and genuine feel-goodness that I actually met a girl with potential.