Shannon Puts People to Sleep

(This is THIS PAST Friday, 10/16)

Last weekend it rained all week. The weather was gross. So I went home on Thursday to sit by the fire and read and bake cookies and stuff. But I drove back Friday night to party. It's pretty much a fact that all roads lead to my campus. I know like 6 different ways to get there. The quickest way happens to be 32 to 95 to 495 to 1, but I've convinced myself that I am smarter than Google Maps and can find better ways to get there. I have this problem with following recipes too. I've got myself convinced that I can eyeball measurements of everything from baking soda to flour (I can't) and that my creative modifications will make everything taste sooo much better (they don't).

Anyway I left my house around 8pm so I should have definitely been there by 8:45. It was dark and pouring outside so not a nice night to be on the roads. I was following my directions and everything was going just peachy until I got to the point where 193 intersected 495. Then I had a massive internal conflict.

SHANNON 1: "Hey, we can get off on 193 and it'll take us right to the dorm without getting on Rt 1!"

SHANNON 2: "But...you don't even know which direction to go on 193."

SHANNON 1: "That's okay, I'll just use my inner sense of direction."

SHANNON 2: "He-llooo, you don't have a sense of direction. That's why we get lost all the time."

SHANNON 1: "Are you saying I don't know how to get to my own campus??"

SHANNON 2: "Um, yes. That's why we have directions. Which will also obviously get us there faster."

SHANNON 1: "Hmm, let me think...naaahh."

So I took 193 and went east, because that sounded right. I was just driving along patting myself on the back for being so geographically-saavy. But after a couple miles I started to worry because 193 is pretty ghetto, and NOTHING looked familiar. Plus I had NO gas. So I pulled out my map, still driving, and realized that I was actually supposed to go west on 193. So much for knowing how to get to your own campus, Shannon. Sooo I did a U-turn and backtracked.

Fast forward 10 ten minutes...things are looking even more unfamiliar and ghetto. This time I started freaking out for real, and pulled over to look at the map for real. Oh...wait...I was supposed to go east afterall. U-turn!!

Anyway, the point of this story is that when I FINALLY got to campus, about 40 minutes late, I was be-yond ready to pound liquor. Lauren's friends Mike and Kenny were already there when I got there. Last time Mike came up I showed him my boobs (all you have to do is say the magic words: "you don't need a boob job"), had a long heart to heart about my life, and told him my thing about houses. (My goal in life is to own 2 houses. Whenever I get sad or depressed I reminded myself of the bigger picture by looking at Coastal Living magazines. So now you guys know too!)

Heather and Kim came down to pregame with us too, and so did Michelle and her friends (Leah, Rachel, and Hannah--I looove them!) We headed out (to Turtle, where else?) around midnight. It was my first time using my new Colorado ID since I lost my fake last week but I got in without a problem. (This is 3rd fake in less than a year--it's like a tax on being blonde.)

I ended up hanging out and dancing for awhile with the cop I'm friends with (not to be confused with the cop I had awesome sex with--read about it here.) He's part German and lived in Germany for a year, so I was telling him about the German kids that are going to be staying in our house next week. It's through an exchange program at my sister's high school, and it's two 16 and 17 year old boys. We established that we were going to ride to my house on his motorcycle so he could explain to the kids in German "Do not jack off in Shannon's bed or she will drive home and shoot you." Because one of them has to stay in my room, and we all KNOW what 16 year old boys do in their spare time. At least the American ones.

Cop had to leave around 2, and I started dancing with this hot older-looking guy. I found out that he graduated my school in 2005 with a finance degree (based on his age he may have actually finished grad school in 2005), and was now making six-figures in NYC. Now nothing gets me hot and bothered like meeting another finance major, especially a successful one. I started flipping out and told him about my classes, and my life plan, and my grades on recent tests, and my SAT scores. At point I asked if he would be my mentor. Predictably, he got a little freaked out and walked away. I was super-bummed, because mentors don't grow on trees. Note to self: let's come on a litttttle less strong next time.

BUT not too long later he came and found me again. We danced for awhile and when the bar closed I was so going home with him. We would have super-duper sex (I found out that his birthday was one week after mine, making him exactly 10 years minus one week older than me: plenty old enough to know what he was doing), cuddle, and talk about strategic career moves. Not necessarily in that order.

Finance Guy was staying with his friend, who was a senior and also a finance major, interestingly enough. We waited for him to finish up with the girl he was talking to (Finance Guy assured me that his friend had a girlfriend and wasn't looking to hook up though) and then walked to his Knox Box.

That's when I started getting the tip-off that things might not be going like I planned. The guys were walking a couple paces ahead of me and basically ignoring me. In retrospect, I should have just gone home at this point. But it was raining, their apartment was way closer than my dorm, and I couldn't just let a major career opportunity pass me by. Plus Lauren's friends were staying in our room, and me getting ass would free up a bed.

When we got in, they sat in the living room and started chatting and watching TV. I was like, excuse me? I mean, hel-lo I'm sitting right here, I don't live here, I'm clearly here for one reason and it's not to watch TV. Finally, Finance's friend (who was actually a really nice and personable guy) went to bed, leaving me and Finance on the living room futon. We started making out and hooking up. Things were going great until he started to, yknow, go down there, so I took off my jeans. Then it went downhill:

FG: "Do you have sex with a lot of guys?"

Me: "Excuse me?"

FG: "Well, you took off your jeans yourself. Usually girls will make the guy work for it."

Me: "WELL MAYBE YOU'RE JUST OUT OF TOUCH WITH MY GENERATION, ASSHOLE!"

Just kidding. That's what I SHOULD have said. Instead I protested, that, "No!! of COURSE not!! I do NOT sleep with a lot of guys!!" I also adroitly pointed out that maybe I was so inexperienced that I didn't know you weren't supposed to take your own jeans off. I don't think he bought it though.

For serious, though, I was in the right. I mean, who gives a shit who takes off whose jeans? Fucking generation gap.

Anyway we started to have sex and it was fine. Nothing to write in my diary about, but I figured we'd warm up for awhile then get to the good stuff. But before I could get cracking on the hair pulling, he got up and went to the bathroom or something. Then he came back and passed the fuck out. I mean OUT. I don't know if he was finished or not, but I sure as hell wasn't. I tried shaking him a couple times to wake him up, but he was gone. Okay fine. I'd just go to sleep...

...except he started snoring. Like a jackhammer. Anddd I shook him. And smacked him. And made him roll on his stomach so he'd stop (didn't work--later I found out you're actually supposed to put people on their sides.) I was going out of my mind. I could NOT fall asleep. I wanted to go home, except it was cold and raining and the buses had started running. I was literally about to go find a knife and stab him. Except that would not have been a good career move.

So, because I was totally desperate, I pulled on my jeans and a bra and went and woke up his friend and asked if I could sleep in his room. If I was him I'd have probably been like, fuck no, but he was a really nice guy and had a double bed and probably felt sorry for me. So he gave me a t-shirt (probably because he was too good of a boyfriend to sleep next to a girl wearing just a bra) and a balled up sweatshirt for a pillow and I went to sleep. I guess his niceness didn't extend to giving up the actual pillow. I should have just gone and stolen one from old Sleepy in the other room, but whatever. At least I had a snore-free bed.

We woke up at like 8 or 9 a.m. and the friend asked me if I wanted a ride home. And I was like THANKTHEFRIGGINLORD because it was still raining and I was NOT looking forward to a walk of shame in the rain, especially when I hadn't even had good sex to show for it. Finance Guy was still passed the fuck out when we left. His friend was super-nice driving me home and even let me keep his t-shirt. (I was putting my laundry away today and I have 7, haha. Wearing one right this moment. Guy shirts are comfortable.) I must have apologized and thanked him a million times, but like I said he was so nice about it.

When I got back, Lauren, Mike, and Kenny were all asleep in the room, but I banged things around and woke everyone up so I could complain about my life. Which I did.

*  *  *  *  *  *

In reflection, this was some of the most disappointing sex I have ever had in terms of falling waaaaay short of my expectations. It's also the first time I've had sex with someone without knowing or having a way to find out their last name. (His first name was freaking Chris and his friend's name was Mark; I have zero way of tracking that shit down). The moral here is that just because someone is 10 years older than you does not mean they will automatically be really good at sex. Also that it's a good idea to always carry your resume to the bars because you never know where you'll find a mentor. (Just kidding).

Also, you know how when you're drunk you make all these intense plans that never end up happening? Like, "let's ride your motorcycle to go meet some German kids!" Except Cop texted me the next day about it was good to run into me, etc, and we started texting for a bit. Then he was like, "And I'm looking forward to meeting the Germans!" Umm, okay. I'm not sure how I'd pass that one off to my parents: "Hi mom and dad, this is a 26-year-old cop that I met when I called the police on my friend's bogus rape case! He wants to talk German to the 16-year-olds!" Except I might try to make it happen, because I'm really concerned about the flogging-the-dolphin in my bed situation. And what if he's a bed wetter? My mom REFUSES to use rubber sheets.

Plus I really want to ride a motorcycle.

And maybe shoot his gun. We'll see.

PS I'm off to use all my mad facecreeping skills to see if I can find Finance Guy. Wish me luck!

20 MINUTES LATER: Well good thing I'm a huge fucking creep. I didn't have enough concrete information to find Finance Guy on facebook, so I focused on his friend Mark. I knew his first name was Mark, he was graduating in 2010, he was a finance major, and in a relationship. So I searched all "Mark's" at my school graduating in 2010 (there are 43), looked at their profiles, and when I found a likely one I searched his friends for a Chris who sounded like he fit the description. Anddd I found a Mark who is friends with a Chris who is a Maryland '05 Alum, lives in NYC, and worked for The Boston Consulting Group and D.E. Shaw and Co. I can't see his default, but that is so him. Except I can't friend him because that's way too creepy. But it turns out Cop is one of our mutual friends! Which makes sense since they both graduated in 2005. Maybe I'll ask Cop about him...

In the meantime I googled him! And it turns out he was a hurdler on our track team, tripled majored in Math, Economics, and Chinese (wait! what about finance?? did I get that wrong), and has worked as a Trader at D.E. Shaw and Co since February 2008. D.E. Shaw, I discovered, is a "global investment and technology development firm" and it looks pretty intense; I have no doubt that he was telling the truth about his six-figure salary. Plus I found pictures of him in his track uniform and he's pretty damn hot. Fuck. I should have worked that one harder.

Okay. NEW LIFE GOAL: No screwing around. From now I am only going for guys who make real money. I need to get serious about finding someone to finance my boobs. Time to hit up some better bars...