Throw-back Thursday: Beer, kisses, and assholes.
Here's a post about my love life. (HA)
I started off first semester with having a crush on one boy (who was an asshole) but ended up making out with his friend, who I friend-zoned. I then spent the night of the biggest hockey game of the year in a friends dorm drinking, and ended up making out with a drunken senior who I barely knew existed. (we will refer to him as Shark.) My best friend ( Who we will call Lea) made out with his best friend (Chickenlegs.) While lea Liked Chickenlegs a lot, I only started liking Shark until after we made out.
Fast-forward to Valentine's day. I get a text from Shark inviting me over to his off-campus apartment. I'm busy getting drunk with a bunch of other single white girls. So I say, "Yeah, sure, I'd love to hook up." I walk about a mile down to his house at 2 am with Lea, and find that Chickenlegs is passed out on his couch, Shark is nervous as fuck, and boy#3, my now worst enemy for reasons explained in a later post, is chilling with them. Long story short, I lose my v-card to the 22-year-old alcoholic man, have a panic attack, try to leave at 4:30 am, and then fall asleep until 7 and then wake up, have ANOTHER panic attack, and finally slut-strut my way back to campus.
About a month later, I go on spring break with Lea, Chickenlegs, Shark, boy#3, and the rest of my club sport team for a tournament about 20 hours south of where I live. The entire week I was drunk, high, or both, and managed to get finger-banged on a beach and 5 retarded-vampires worth of hickeys on my neck. Even though I had multiple chances to get with my crush, Shark. After spring break, hookups weren't happening any time soon. Oddly, I was not bothered by this rejection.
Two days later, I get a boyfriend back at campus.
So, that's my college love-story. I guess it's true what they say, that the freshman year is always the sluttiest.
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