And I don’t even consider being underneath my covers at 3am, sane and sober, a complete tragedy. Usually, I’d have to be a drunk mess before declaring the evening over. But it’s too much work to have fun at this school and tonight I don’t have the energy. As I told JZ earlier on the phone, “I’m cold and underage.” That rules out waiting outside final club doors or hitting up a bar for overpriced, oversweetened drinks. Besides, Terra and I have blown our pride, livers, and budgets this past week. It’s time for damage control.
It’s funny that I find myself more together this weekend than I have in a long time. It’s the big Harvard-Yale football game tomorrow, and tonight was supposed to be fairly ridiculous, a night when gals like me push their limits beyond limits. But last year, I was surprisingly sober as well. I didn’t even drink a drop at the tailgate. I guess we’ll see how well I hold up tomorrow, but I get the feeling that I’ll remain cognizant and even responsible (well, maybe …)
Last night, a guy I’ve been spending time with (sweet, but fairly clueless) kicked me out of his room at 3am in the middle of the biggest storm Cambridge has seen this autumn. His reasoning? “If you stay, I’m not going to be able to fall asleep, and I have a third-round interview tomorrow.” I thought I had gotten used to the extent of this school’s ridiculousness, but that I just couldn’t stomach. Only at Harvard.
Tonight, I hit up Mather with Allie, Quincy with Adia, and Winthrop with HN. In between, I managed to run into four guys I slept with (at least). If this evening had a catchphrase, it’d be, “Shit. I think I fucked him.” I really need to transfer schools.
Also notable was hearing two Winthrop sophs yell my name while HN and I were walking down Mill Street. Typically when I fly solo, I get approached once or twice a night about my blog, and I write off these incidents as annoying occurrences. Not the case here. Not only was I fielding inquiries with HN in tow, but the kids who stopped me were girls. Plus, they acknowledged quite sweetly that they knew I didn’t like being approached. Chick fans are so rare and are definitely preferable to the sweaty, towering men who give off stalker vibes. Hyper, endearingly fanatic girls are just different. You’ve got to stop for them, even if it’s fucking freezing and you’re reconsidering your (lack of) wardrobe decision. I think HN was fairly bewildered, but it just goes to show that I do not make up this whole blog-intruding-on-life stuff.
Today’s epiphany in therapy: I exhibit impulsive behavior. I am self-destructive. I overindulge in sex, shopping, and food to distract from life’s problems. Basically, I’m just a big fucking mess. Let’s hope I get diagnosed with something soon so I can refer to an actual illness instead of vaguely saying, “I have mental issues.” Anyway, my therapist is right on mark with everything, but then again, I could probably give myself therapy. I feel like every conversation I have about my issues only leads to some new epiphany. Every week, I go into UHS with so many self-revelations that her job must be pretty damn easy.
As far as over-indulgence goes: tonight, Terra and I had a $100 dinner at Om. I also bought a case of Smirnoff Ice. An entire case. That’s lasting until next semester. Last Monday, I snagged red stilettos and purchased brown flats. They constituted the last part of my $650 shopping spree.
I know that flats are uncharacteristic of me, but I needed something appropriate for class. These are my new faves next to the purple BCBG stilettos. I probably like my collection of shoes more than any boy I’ve ever slept with. Ralph and Max are the most dependable men I know.