Losing the Girl...

April 7, 2010
You wake up. Really hung over and covered in a disgustingly cold wetness from the waste down, you turn over to realize that there’s a really hot girl laying naked right next to you. Ironic, because… well it’s not your girlfriend and this isn’t your apartment. You look at the clock. It’s now 11:55 in the morning and you quickly recognize that, it’s the final day of midterms and you’re going to be late for your 12 o’clock class. But how? Well… you conveniently set your alarm for PM instead of AM. A bit confused and really pissed off at your own stupidity, you get yourself out of bed. Your clothes are still drenched in that strange wetness that inhibited the sheets you slept in. However, you keep telling yourself, “I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have done that. There’s no way I did that!” So to make peace with yourself, you blame it on the “must-have-been-skanky” although, surprisingly hot girl who you ended up in bed with last night. With no change of clothes, you throw on a pair of her dark purple pajama bottoms that you hope will pass as black; without realizing the word “JUICY” embroidered on the back of them. As you walk down the stairs and outside the door, the first thing that pops into your mind is her; usually you’re too busy thinking about which pair of Jordan’s to wear or what homework you forgot to do. But today, it’s all about her, because after all, it is your girlfriend’s birthday. Strike One.

Luckily, you walk outside and realize that you’re sort of familiar with where you ended up last night; a few blocks away from the bar, and only a couple miles from campus. Your car is nowhere in sight, so you decide to take a cab. To avoid feeling like the scum that you are, you try to pass it off as though, you’re in a limo and the driver is your personal chauffeur. After all, you do insist to tip him in quarters. You exit the cab and rush to class, getting frequent looks left and right. You just shrug it off thinking, “Wow, I must look really hung over.” You finally make it to class where your professor informs you that you’re now 25 minutes late and won’t have time to finish the test. You start to sweat out the concoction of shots and mixed drinks you consumed last night, as you stand there with a blank stare looking at your professor. Before you can think of an excuse, your professor asks if you had a “rough night” last night. Puzzled about his spot-on psychic skills, you confess how you, “got a little sea sick sailing with the Captain all night”. Sarcasm flies above and beyond his baldhead as an awkward moment of silence fills the air. He shortly reassures you with the satisfaction of getting a zero on the midterm. You turn your back and storm out, leaving nothing but a room full of laughter behind you. You un-thoughtfully, look back and catch a glimpse of something written on your ass. Strike Two. You now officially suck at life.

A feeling of regret and misfortune overcomes you as you begin to question your own existence. The torch that was once fueled by your pride and dignity has been extinguished by a wardrobe malfunction and cheap beer goggles. You dart to the library before your next class, urgent to figure out how you got yourself in such a dilemma. You immediately pull up Facebook and wait anxiously as it loads.

You can’t call your girlfriend so you turn on your phone and decide to call your best friend Jordan to pick you up. However, before you can even make a phone call, you receive a swarm of seven missed calls and five text messages. All of which are from your girlfriend. You disregard the messages and call Jordan. As you wait for him to arrive, you read the text messages. The first one starts out with, “Quit playing games with my heart” and proceeds all the way to, “Bye, Bye, Bye”. You ignore the possible fact, that she might have broken up with you by quoting songs from two 1990’s boy bands and are more importantly frustrated by the fact that you don’t remember much of last night.





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