Monday, February 11, 2008

Still in playback

For a brief period of time, I was a minor celebrity at my college. I was into my second semester of writing a column for the campus paper and had sort of been the right guy at the right time. It probably helped that I didn't have a problem writing about getting loaded, getting laid or the school administration being a bunch of dipshits.
I still stand by that.
It was a populists sort of issues column with a pretty hard comic bend. People liked it and for a while there, I was on the map in the local social scene. I got invited to a cool costume party. I'd written something particulary well-received (though I have no idea what that was) and people gravitated toward me. On this particular night, as usual, I had a bit too much to drink and was a lot more bold than usual. I danced with a girl in a vampire costume. She wore tight black pants and a long cape. On the slow songs, my hands ended up under the cape, under her tight black pants and firmly on the girl's ass.
We went on like that for probably half an hour before I was pulled away by another girl, who was primarily upset I wasn't doing that with her.
It was a pretty weird thing. Evidently, everybody had too much to drink.
By the end of the evening, I'd made out with two other women. One of them dragged me back behind a doghouse in the yard for a particularly strange romp.
The night ended, eventually. I didn't go home with anybody. This mostly had to do with the logistics of transportation and the number of drunks per vehicle.
It was a pretty good memory, but not one I dwell on. It was a particularly decent party for me, but that's about it. Well, except lately I have been thinking about it and remembering things about the girl in the vampire costume, like maybe a lot more happened than some groping on the dance floor.
The memories are pretty vivid, including details like what she was wearing under the costume, some anatomical details.
All fine and good. Yay for me.
Except, I know it didn't happen. At least, I'm pretty certain it didn't. The house the party was at and the people wouldn't have allowed that much privacy and I wasn't drunk enought to do a live show for the studio audience. There's also the time line of what I do know actually did happen, where I was at which point in the party and with who.
This all sort of fits in with a general theme lately. I've been sort of fixated on women in my past who might have represented missed opportunities. They were women who, I thought, liked me an awful lot, but for one reason or another didn't connect. The timing was bad. I was just getting over someone. I had a policy of not dating married women, the mothers of girlfriends, the sisters of close friends, etc... Really, it all sounds more interesting than it was.
I don't dwell on regrets and I don't make a habit of telling myself lies. It's strange that I seem to be starting.

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