Desperate Guys

Posted on September 26, 2012


Uh oh. Bad things are about to happen.

This story is from Kate, a 24-year-old merchandising assistant in NYC, as told to Raz: 

A while back, while I was living in L.A., an old college friend invited me over for a party on a Saturday night. I didn’t know anyone, so I went straight to the kitchen to mix myself a cocktail. The more I drank, the more comfortable I got, and I ended up talking to Scott, who also went to my school, but graduated a few years ahead of me.

A few hours passed, and I realized I’d definitely had too much to drink. That last drink had hit me hard, and I needed to head home. ASAP. Luckily, Scott was nice enough to offer to drive me. We got into his car, and about two minutes into the ride, I knew I had to throw up. I obviously didn’t know Scott very well, and I really didn’t want him to abandon me in the middle of LA, but the movement of the car was making me sicker by the minute. In the past, when I get the drunk spins in bed, I put one hand on a wall and a foot on the adjacent wall to help make the world stand still. Since the car didn’t have two walls, I squeezed into the small space where your feet go underneath the glove compartment. For some reason, Scott decided that that was a good time to make the executive decision to take me back to his place. I was clearly too preoccupied to notice our change of course.

When we get to his house, I stepped one leg out of the car and started vomiting profusely onto his driveway. When I’d calmed down, he took me inside, gave me some mouthwash and started to kiss me.

I know I was the drunk, sloppy one, who should have been ashamed of herself—but he should really reevaluate his life decisions. After some smooch time, I started sobering up and noticed how insanely nice his house was. He even had a pool! I tried to remember what he’d said he did for a living, but I was blanking on our earlier conversation. The tour ended in his bedroom, where we both promptly fell asleep.

At 5am, Prince Charming woke me up by kissing me and then trying to take my shirt off—because last night hadn’t made him seem desperate enough. I was sort of into it, though, until five minutes later, while still practically conjoined at the tongue, he told me I needed to leave.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because my parents will be waking up soon.”

Excuse me? You brought a drunk girl back to your family home?! And why the hell are you still living with your parents?!?!

I threw my shoes on and headed downstairs—he shot me death stares every time a step creaked. When we got outside, I noticed the huge vomit stain on his parents’ driveway and wanted to cry.

He drove me home, and surprisingly, asked for my number. He called me a week later and asked me on a date. I said, “No thanks.” I may have gone home with a stranger, thrown up in his driveway and made out with him afterwards, but I still have my standards. And desperate twenty-somethings who live with their parents and take advantage of drunk women just aren’t my style.

Posted in: Your Stories