TMIT: The Most Shameful of Walks

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~*0*~

We’ve all done it at one point or another: the walk of shame. Last night’s mascara all over your face, hair tangled and sticking up on one side, wearing some combination of borrowed clothing and ridiculous heels, your bra in your purse and your head down as you try desperately to get from his bed to your own unnoticed.

I went through a bit of a slutty phase right after my college boyfriend of 2.5 years and I broke up the summer before my senior year of college. The thing you have to know about me is that I don’t hook up with randoms. Instead, I go back and hook up with guy friends that I’ve known for a while and we always kind of had a thing for each other but I had a boyfriend or he had a girlfriend or both and it just wasn’t good timing. I’ve done this no less than 6 or 7 times. After 2.5 years with one guy, I had met more than a few guy friends who became guys I hooked up with.

This was one of those times. The friend was actually a guy I’d known since high school and was in the same fraternity as my ex. After the breakup, I was really making an effort to go out more and Frat Brother Hookup (FBH) was being very helpful in that regard. He and a buddy were headed down to Sixth Street and invited me to join them, so drove over to get me and take me back to his place in West Campus so we could take the E bus down to party town.

Now I was a total lightweight in college. I didn’t really start drinking until I was 21 and I didn’t really get any good at it until I started playing kickball. So we’re at a bar and FBH’s buddy wants me to take a shot with him. I protest for a while before he finally talks me into it, but when he asks what I want I am completely clueless, so I tell him to just pick something. That was a HUGE mistake. He brought me a shot of Liquid Cocaine (151 anyone?) and I was literally almost instantly DRUNK. We then proceeded to the bar next door where FBH and his buddy knew the bartender. The free beer, it was a-flowin’.

Needless to say, I got fucked. up. Like, drunken making out on the dance floor with FBH fucked up. I don’t dance or make out in public if I can help it, so that’s saying something. By the time we left the bar, the guys were pretty much carrying me back to the bus.

We got back to FBH’s place and I guess I figured I’d better follow through on all the making out we’d done at the bar. I obviously wasn’t going home, so I asked for some clothes to sleep in. The thing about FBH is, dude’s a big guy. Like, 6’5″ football player big…not overweight, just BIG. So he hands me a tshirt and basketball shorts that literally swallow me. I rolled the shorts about 5 times at the waist and they still went down below my knees.

We climbed into bed and continued the making out until…I passed out? I don’t actually remember deciding to go to sleep, which makes me think maybe I might have sort of fallen asleep…in the middle of something. I’m pretty sure we didn’t have sex, since I still had all my his clothes on the next morning, but I honestly couldn’t tell you what we did do. I can tell you that at some point during our passionate (read: wasted) make out sesh, he must have bitten me, because I woke up the next morning with a fat lip. Not sort of fat, totally conspicuously injured. And my elbow hurt like I had banged the shit out of it on something the night before, though on what I could not tell you. Not one of my prouder moments, but hey. At least I knew the guy.

So it’s the next morning and it’s time for FBH to drive me home. He was generous enough to allow me to borrow his clothes so that I didn’t have to squeeze back into my slutty top and jeans…but the only shoes I had were the high heeled boots I’d worn the night before. For whatever reason, I decided not to zip them, just to slide them on my feet long enough to get me from the door to the car and the car to my own front door.

We get to my house and I give him an awkward peck and a “thanks for taking care of me” before rushing into my own house…only to encounter one of my roommates coming down the stairs. She took one look at me in my GIANT clothes, last night’s hair and make-up, unzipped boots and fat lip and just busted out laughing. I looked at her, said “Shut up, I’ve seen you looking just as bad!” and trudged upstairs to pass back out for a few hours.

It was days before my lip and elbow were back to normal and weeks before I got up the nerve to call FBH and return his clothes. Lesson learned? Yeah, not really.