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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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10 March 2005



Scot and I were acquainted through my brother, Daniel. They’d been friends since junior high. I’d always thought he was cute; a bit of a jock, but very sweet and mature for his age. He was 22. I was 31.

Another friend of theirs, Leslie- a girl Daniel had dated- invited us all to her birthday party. There were about 50 people- ranging in age from 21 to 55- on a club crawl. For a week leading up to the party, every time I saw Scot, he would make some comment about how it was so great I was going to be there. The party would take place on a chartered bus which would drive us all from club to club, drinking all the way. The party bus had its own sound system, and Leslie had made cds and jello shots for the ride.

The party started at a local pub; the party bus was owned by this place. I walked in, wearing jeans, a black top and my red snakeskin print sandals. Love those shoes. I wasn’t the only one. Scot was on his phone when he saw me. He waved, looked me up and down, smiled and said something into the phone. I found a few girlfriends and we ordered drinks. We waited for all the guests to arrive and piled onto the waiting party bus. It was November, and very cold.

First stop: Retro Night at a local spot. 80’s dance music played, and drinks were cheap. We were all on the floor, dancing. At one point, Scot started flirting and dancing with me. He came up behind me and whispered into my ear, "You are so fucking sexy."

Oh, my.

The bus driver kept us all in line, and after the allotted time at that club, herded everyone back onto the bus. It was dark. Scot was sitting with a friend across the aisle from me. We were “inadvertently” touching each other. A lot.

Next stop was a dive bar. Pool tables, pinball machines and absolutely no room to move. Standing at the bar, he stole a look down the front of my shirt. With the leer invented by college boys he laughed and said, “You have a great rack!”

Uh, thanks? My feigned disgust didn't deter him. I didn't figure it would.

We went back outside to the bus.

He kissed me. I kissed him back. He sat on the seat. I sat on his lap, facing him. I hadn’t made out like this since high school. We went at it for about half an hour. People started filing back onto the bus. I have no idea who saw us; I really didn’t care.

Two more stops, and who the fuck knows how much to drink, we were back at the starting point. I drove him to his place. I don’t know if he even invited me up; I was too drunk to notice, much less care.

Followed by: Drunken sex (Forgive me for not fleshing this out, as it were. If I could, I most definitely would. All I know is that it lasted a good long while.).

Followed by: Sneaking out of his apartment at 5 AM.

Followed by: Um, that was great, but it can never happen again. By the way, did I happen to forget my scarf at your place?

Followed by: Many text messages and phone calls about how we really shouldn’t decide anything until we have sex sober.

Followed by: See post entitled “Sneaky.”


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