Lots of times. Lots and lots of other, better times. Lots of times that don't follow two bottles of wine, perhaps. Maybe lots of times when you don't have to go to work the next morning. How about even lots of times when you're also not going out afterwards? All of those times are waaaaay better times to drink pink champagne. With or without the girls.
(If this song didn't have a strong radio presence during the most formative time
of your teenage years, you're too young to read this blog)
Just as this is a lesson I learned the hard way-- the following Friday morning at work--, I have learned love-life lessons in a similar fashion...by experience. The old "trial and error" or "trial by fire" or "try, try again" if you will. Notice how it's never called "trial and INSTANT SUCCESS!". If it was, I'd have way fewer lovers to talk about here before my rapidly-approaching 27th birthday. I'd also have way fewer lovers to talk about if, as a friend of mine pointed out this evening, hooking up with someone and NOT having sex had a point. I mean, if you don't plan on having sex with someone, you're looking at at least two hours of hard time. Two hours of kissing and "heavy petting" with no real, satisfactory end for either of you (well at least not for the woman, depending upon her generosity). My problem is that I really value my beauty sleep. I'm super-cranky if I don't get enough rest and having sex with you is going to end the night in a timely fashion and let me get back to faking the one thing I do better than having an orgasm while you paw at me: sleeping, in the hopes that you'll show yourself out.
Now yes this all seems harsh, but come on ladies, we all know this is the truth. The men that are worthy of a full night (implying a "next morning" if you know what I mean) are few and far between. Trust me, I know these things. I've sampled a large enough group of the greater tri-state area. And some men in Europe. My fake sleeping has been nominated for Oscars.
So. Hm. Who do I feel like talking about first? I suppose my first would be appropriate. No, it wasn't my high school boyfriend. That's so predictable. It was the first guy I met in college, which is much less cliche. (Hi, I'm Felicity.) To be fair, he really really liked me (I think) and we waited a couple of months, because when you're 18 and 19, sex is still kind of a big deal.
Now the best thing about this guy is that apparently he was still dating his high school girlfriend much of the time we were together. (And the best thing about this story is that now she and I are friends despite all of this craziness). After we "did it", he asked me not to tell anyone because it wasn't any of their business and it would only add fuel to the fire of his off-again relationship with his ex. JesusHChrist, I didn't even remember that until I just wrote it down.
Funnily enough, I was hesitant to start with him for this series because I wasn't sure what the lesson I learned from this situation was, but in this very moment I figured it out: If you have to keep your relationship a secret, it means there's something wrong. Now he and I didn't keep our relationship a secret, not in the slightest, but the fact that something really important and pivotal happened betweeeeeen us and I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, well that's pretty much the same thing.
So yeah, I guess that any relationship in your life that appears in parentheses (I just watched "Up In The Air" last night) isn't worth it. If there's something you're not telling other people, there's probably something other people aren't telling you. Thankfully I never made that mistake again, so it appears that I learned this lesson well before I realized that this lesson had been learned.
Wow, this whole "dissecting my sexual history" thing is already turning out to be more helpful than I thought. Therefore to recap:
Lesson 1) Secrets secrets are no fun; secrets secrets hurt someone.
Check.
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