This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at St Olaf chapter.
If any of you read my column regularly, you’ll know that I write on one of two subjects: funny stories involving dates and/or hookups gone wrong, or the weight of sexual encounters and their toll on emotions. Since I don’t want to kick off the year with any philosophically heavy articles, I thought I’d relay a comical encounter I had with someone this summer.
So I spent a great deal of time this summer with a friend from high school, named Jessica, who lives about two hours away in a northern city (keeping things somewhat anonymous). We’re of the anti-social sort and partying isn’t our forte but one Saturday night, we made the conscious decision to push ourselves socially and went to her friend’s 21stbirthday.
Now Tom, the birthday boy, had had feelings for Jessica the previous year but due to her emotional unavailability, did not pursue it any further than asking her on a few movie dates, which she politely rejected. Some other important background details are that Jillian happened to see a resemblance between Tom’s roommate, John, and Julian Casablancas. Naturally, like any hipster queen, she thought he was cute and wouldn’t mind going on a few movie dates with pseudo-Julian John. Rough.
Now that the scene has been set, we arrived at the party, acutely aware of how out of our comfort zone we were. It was a house show, so there were punk bands screaming about stealing things and a band that wore animal masks. It was just unclear why that was happening, but trying to be social so we went with it. As Jessica and I stood in the kitchen sipping our social lubrication (responsibly, of course), Tim—who I might add has ridiculously long curly metalhead hair—stopped by to say hello. Nice—just being a good host.
As the night continues, Jessica begins to start talking to pseudo-Julian John. They’re vibing and I’m cool with it but also third-wheeling on the couch. I realize I’m hungry so I wander into the kitchen and try to find something to eat. While scouring the kitchen for some spare tortilla chips or something, Tom wanders in. It’s his 21stbirthday so he’s in no state to remember anything that’s going on. He tells me he makes really good grilled cheese and that he’ll make me one if I want. Like the typical fat kid I am, I obviously accepted, without really thinking through the time it takes to make a grilled cheese. So he starts making a grilled cheese and literally corners me into the kitchen island. He’s getting close to my face and telling me the things that drunk boys usually do and I’m getting increasingly uncomfortable. In an attempt to satisfy and/or assuage him, I give him my number. While in hindsight I deeply regret this, I assumed that giving him my number would do a number of things: 1) get that kid outta my face 2) make it morally acceptable for Jessica to go on a date with pseudo-Julian John 3) does it matter, because honestly will he even remember this?
After leaving the party, Jessica had pseudo-Julian John’s number and I thought all was well. Wrong. The next day, I got a phone call from an area code I didn’t recognize. I picked up, heard breathing, and he hung up. Later on, I got a call from the same number, promptly ignored it, and received a long rambling message about “how great it was to meet me and how we should really hang out sometime.” For the next three weeks, I was bombarded with text messages inviting me to drive a round trip of four hours to go on dates, asking me how my day was, and asking me menial questions about myself that were likely unimportant to him. Eventually, I pulled the “Tom, I’m emotionally unavailable but I’d still like to be friends” card, which happened to be true. He politely declined. While the situation was comical and something I can laugh about, at the time I was so frustrated by how he both remembered and knew little of me, but still vehemently pursued dating me for no other reason other than I was there. It was frustrating that someone thought my looks were reason enough to date me, and was further evidence that sometimes 21 year old boys need to grow up. So now Jessica is dating pseudo-Julian John and all I have to say is that I took one for the team.
So I spent a great deal of time this summer with a friend from high school, named Jessica, who lives about two hours away in a northern city (keeping things somewhat anonymous). We’re of the anti-social sort and partying isn’t our forte but one Saturday night, we made the conscious decision to push ourselves socially and went to her friend’s 21stbirthday.
Now Tom, the birthday boy, had had feelings for Jessica the previous year but due to her emotional unavailability, did not pursue it any further than asking her on a few movie dates, which she politely rejected. Some other important background details are that Jillian happened to see a resemblance between Tom’s roommate, John, and Julian Casablancas. Naturally, like any hipster queen, she thought he was cute and wouldn’t mind going on a few movie dates with pseudo-Julian John. Rough.
Now that the scene has been set, we arrived at the party, acutely aware of how out of our comfort zone we were. It was a house show, so there were punk bands screaming about stealing things and a band that wore animal masks. It was just unclear why that was happening, but trying to be social so we went with it. As Jessica and I stood in the kitchen sipping our social lubrication (responsibly, of course), Tim—who I might add has ridiculously long curly metalhead hair—stopped by to say hello. Nice—just being a good host.
As the night continues, Jessica begins to start talking to pseudo-Julian John. They’re vibing and I’m cool with it but also third-wheeling on the couch. I realize I’m hungry so I wander into the kitchen and try to find something to eat. While scouring the kitchen for some spare tortilla chips or something, Tom wanders in. It’s his 21stbirthday so he’s in no state to remember anything that’s going on. He tells me he makes really good grilled cheese and that he’ll make me one if I want. Like the typical fat kid I am, I obviously accepted, without really thinking through the time it takes to make a grilled cheese. So he starts making a grilled cheese and literally corners me into the kitchen island. He’s getting close to my face and telling me the things that drunk boys usually do and I’m getting increasingly uncomfortable. In an attempt to satisfy and/or assuage him, I give him my number. While in hindsight I deeply regret this, I assumed that giving him my number would do a number of things: 1) get that kid outta my face 2) make it morally acceptable for Jessica to go on a date with pseudo-Julian John 3) does it matter, because honestly will he even remember this?
After leaving the party, Jessica had pseudo-Julian John’s number and I thought all was well. Wrong. The next day, I got a phone call from an area code I didn’t recognize. I picked up, heard breathing, and he hung up. Later on, I got a call from the same number, promptly ignored it, and received a long rambling message about “how great it was to meet me and how we should really hang out sometime.” For the next three weeks, I was bombarded with text messages inviting me to drive a round trip of four hours to go on dates, asking me how my day was, and asking me menial questions about myself that were likely unimportant to him. Eventually, I pulled the “Tom, I’m emotionally unavailable but I’d still like to be friends” card, which happened to be true. He politely declined. While the situation was comical and something I can laugh about, at the time I was so frustrated by how he both remembered and knew little of me, but still vehemently pursued dating me for no other reason other than I was there. It was frustrating that someone thought my looks were reason enough to date me, and was further evidence that sometimes 21 year old boys need to grow up. So now Jessica is dating pseudo-Julian John and all I have to say is that I took one for the team.