Subconsciously On My Game

A true story based on my stupidity and a man's excessive desire to get laid.

This is it. The first weekend of college!!! Holy s**t what do I wear? Breathe. We can do this. You have earned this. You deserve this.

And so it began. 8:00 pm on the first Friday night of my college career. My suitemate starts the music; some awful rap song that Pitbull threw up over night fills our rooms. Fine this will do. I sit down and put on my face: eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush. My god I feel like I just bathed in makeup. Okay, outfit time. Ugh I hate this part. Why can’t we all just wear sweats to the club? Oh that is a great idea, I should make that my next career move " Comfy Night Club. D****t, stay on track.

            Outfit, outfit, hmmmmmmm. Oh this looks good and I feel skinny today. Yeah this is definitely my outfit. F**k, jewelry. I need to learn to accessorize someday.

            A white lace crop top, low-rise red shorts with the pockets that come out past the bottom of your shorts. Cream colored vans, my blonde hair blown out with a little bit of wave to it. This was it, this is my night.

            I looked in the mirror to see someone I didn’t even recognize. First impression? DAMN GIRL WORK IT. Second impression? F**k this makeup it is too heavy; why did I even do my hair, it is just going to frizz. Stop it, you look hot. Lets go to the pregame.

            So we go, my week old college friends and I make our way to the pregame with a bunch of guys no one knew. And cue the drinks.  Why do people even like alcohol, shots taste like Satan’s a*****e. Stop bitching and take the shots, this is what you do in college. So I do.

            We get into a taxi with our new found friends and off we go to the clubs. We arrive and get in line. I feel like a fish out of water. Older men are staring at me, wait no, I think they’re checking me out. Ha, I knew I looked hot.

            Finally! We’re in. The music blasts and our bodies move to the beat. I feel great; sober enough to know exactly where I am and what I am doing but drunk enough to feel fuzzy and giggly. And cue the boys sneaking up behind us. Cue the dry humping.

            Okay, okay I need a break. Bob and weave, bob and weave. Finally I get to our fancy little VIP table guarded by the big black man in the nice suit. I just need to sit and breathe a bit.

            My suitemate joins me and we laugh about white boys and their pathetic yet valiant attempt at dancing. Then a new VIP table comes in, a group of men. They all look to be Indian and by the way they dress and order drinks, these cats have money to blow. And what would men with money be doing at a club if they weren’t looking to buy a few drinks and trying to get laid? Next thing we know, there are drinks on our table.

            Awh, thank you.

            We sip and talk, and sip and talk. Then it starts getting weird so we get up and bob and weave our way back to the dance floor. Cue the dry humping white boys.

            Hold on, something isn’t right. My legs tingle a bit and I start to get really hot. Is my mouth not working? Because it feels like a wet noodle. The room is going in and out, one second I can hear the s****y club music, next moment I can’t. Hmm maybe this is a good thing. No, focus; something is not right here. You had a few shots and one drink; you should not feel like this. Holy dizzy, I don’t think I could walk if I tried to right now. So I stand still in a crowd that is bouncing to music loud enough to make you as deaf as Helen Keller.

            Then a friend comes up behind me and supports my body, which is getting more and more lifeless by the minute. The hands are rough and attached to strong arms. A man friend.

            I cannot remember much from that point on, I do remember trying to push this stranger off of me and trying to call for help with vocal chords that didn’t seem to be working. There was an excessive amount of unwanted kissing and grabbing from his end but my body just could not find the strength to stop it. But I do believe my guardian angle was in that nightclub with me on the first Friday night of my college career. My more sober friends found me and somehow got the stranger to get off of me; when I come to consciousness I am awake the next morning, tucked safely in MY bed.

             To this day no one is sure how I woke up in my PJs, face washed with my phone, money and key all on my night stand because no one helped me change, they just got me into the room safely. So, me and my subconscious high-five about that moment every so often because drunk, roofied me was subconsciously on her game that night. 

Reviews

[RileyRedding]

Satire through the eyes of a slightly awkward, naively-likeable narrator. Seriously bubbling with charm.

" I looked in the mirror to see someone I didn’t even recognize. First impression? DAMN GIRL WORK IT. Second impression? F**k this makeup it is too heavy; why did I even do my hair, it is just going to frizz. Stop it, you look hot. Lets go to the pregame. "

Love this, self-obsessed narcissist represent! I do this all the time. Damn I actually look really good, wait why does that one hair stick out, everyone's gonna focus on that single hair, re-do hair.

"My suitemate joins me and we laugh about white boys and their pathetic yet valiant attempt at dancing. Then a new VIP table comes in, a group of men. They all look to be Indian and by the way they dress and order drinks, these cats have money to blow. And what would men with money be doing at a club if they weren’t looking to buy a few drinks and trying to get laid? Next thing we know, there are drinks on our table."

Seriously, this. A paragraph that sums up every time, I've ever been clubbing.

The ending becomes a somewhat profound blend of cautionary-tale, and diary entry. It could use a quick one-two edit, but all-in-all good story. I really, genuinely enjoyed it

[Cassy Sandow]

This review means a lot coming from you, and made me laugh. I am working on the ending because i felt the same way. Seriously though, I wasn't kidding about the hair

[RileyRedding]

"these cats have money to blow."

In my head I keep changing this line to: "These cats, are ready to make it f*****g rain!" HAHA I'm not even sure why. Send me a read request next time you post.

[Cassy Sandow]

I imagine thats what every man thinks about when walking into a club???

I definitely will, thank you!

[fireblossom]

Well written for the most part. The subject was not exciting to me but you write well. I didn't like the character much. She seemed to lack substance, was course and shallow.

I think you use curse words for shock and effect rather than to serve your story. When you have a character use curse words or course phrases such as 'satan's a*****e' you lose control of your character. For some those terms pigeon-hole and flatten the character. If I think only people of a certain type would use that term then I see your character as a certain type of person. If I don't like being around those people I won't like being around your character.

Your use of the word bullshit in your profile seemed out of place or maybe you actually say that stuff to strangers. hmmmm.

With all that, your ability to strip the non-essentials out of the text serves you well. You have talent. Keep up the work.

[fireblossom]

It wasn't a compliment. It was a review. I did give you some sincere praise though.