There are several different ways that people choose to deal with the stress that arises from work, class and their personal lives. Whether it's excessive sleeping, eating or drinking, our actions go to the extreme to compensate for the energy expended on this heightened pressure. Though it wasn't the solution earlier this semester while juggling several responsibilities, last week's compilation of personal failures made it seem absolutely necessary to max out in a different way: the slut phase.
No matter how many bases you have rounded, we all know the feeling of a complete disregard for prudence in favor of cutting loose and getting down with as many different people as possible. Whether it's making out with three people at a party or participating in a threesome, sometimes you just need to ho it up. Especially when you have been unwilling or unable to be tied down-then spreading yourself around seems to make the most sense.
One of my oldest friends (and occasional hook-up) and I have a relationship that resembles "You've Got Mail" more than "Cruel Intentions." We spend more time communicating online with each other than we ever do in person. Though we live only minutes apart, I had not even seen his face this entire semester. But that all changed last Monday night. Finding ourselves both alone and without work to be done, he picked me up and whisked me off to his apartment. Like Hailey's comet, we only hook-up every once in awhile (twice in the last year and a half), but it is always incredible and temporarily special. A couple hours later I was back in my own bed, staring at the motionless stars.
Well, one hook-up does not a slut phase make, so looking good when I went out on Tuesday was essential. It ended up being easy to convince a mutual friend to come back with me, though. I wasn't alone on Wednesday morning. His goodbye kiss left me with only an inkling of regret of what our friends would say.
Fast forward to Thursday, and I was still convinced that bed-hopping would be the only way to blow off steam. You would think that seeing three consecutive exes at the club would put a damper on my plans or at least my libido, but I was on a mission. The night wore on and as my dancing shoes loosened, my drunk goggles tightened. At least that's what my friend conjectured, when I announced that I was leaving with a stranger. But to me, he was tall, dark and handsome. It took a couple hours to discover that he was also one of the worst hook-ups ever. The next morning my walk of shame through Dupont accelerated into a run out of my slut phase.
When I was an underclassman, week after week of bad and meaningless hook-ups never fazed me, but the older I get, the more wearing it becomes. Going home with someone who turned out to be less-than-skilled used to be something we could laugh about, but more and more it seems to leave a mark of failure on ourselves. Thinking that I could ease the pain of failed attempts at relationships with an unreliable, albeit heavenly, body or some "friendly fire," or a mystery man, was a rookie mistake I seemed to have forgotten.
Don't get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with staying single and having safe relations with several partners. Just don't expect it to solve any self-esteem problems you may be having. Sometimes we think that having someone desire us will make us feel better, but like many disillusions, this is not enough. We have to learn to feel comfortable with ourselves, which is hard to do when you see the reflection of last night's outfit in the doors of the Metro.
Seeing no one that really struck my fancy on Saturday, I woke up on Sunday next to one of my best girlfriends, fully clothed. A great night out with friends and no regrets... now that's sexy.
