Beav Has A Hangover, Epiphany
It's 1:00 on a Tuesday afternoon and I'm sitting in BisonWitches with my friend BrownEyes. We're trying our best to cure our respective, raging hangovers with sandwiches, but it's only sorta working. We're hung over because the night prior was our big, drunken blur of a company "holiday" party. She and I woke up together after only our surpassing intoxication and her smoker's breath stopped us from hooking up the night before. I dare say it was the best sleep I've enjoyed with a girl in years, but that's neither here nor there. Now she's telling me about how she was putting in a good word for me with a gorgeous former coworker of ours. I've drunkenly asked the girl out before, and have hit on her countless other times. She's been kind enough to placate me a little, but even I can see that she's not really interested in being my girlfriend.
"I told her, 'You know, Beavs really likes you. You should give him a chance. He's not such a bad guy.'"
The word such jumps right out from the sentence and slaps me in the ego. Adverbs can hit hard, and it really stings. "He's not such a bad guy." The description of me as a bad guy needed a modifier. Basically, what we've admitted is that I am a bad guy, but in terms of badness I'm overrated. She continues.
"I think you get a bad rap, and you don't really deserve it."
Shit.
This is something I had not considered. I have a bad rap. Deserved or not, this a problem. To be honest, I'm not sure how I didn't notice. It's been obvious for a while now that most of the people I work with are under the false impression that I bang no less than 20 skanks per night, but I somehow failed to catch that this is a bad thing. The double standard, it seems, has a tipping point, and somewhere along the line I tipped. I am no longer perceived as the good guy with a cute little bit of a bad boy persona for defense. I'm not sure I ever was, but that's what I'd like to believe (and what I wish I could still believe) so let's just pretend it's true. If it ever was true, though, it isn't any more. Now I am a different sort of creature altogether. I have crossed the fine line into out-and-out slutdom.
Looking back, I'm not sure when it happened. When I came to college, I'd only been with one girl. After freshman year, only two. Even up through junior year I was only up to four, but sometime after the great breakup and through my fourth, fifth, and fifth-and-a-half years of college, I became rather...prolific. Some of them were girlfriends, but more were not. In most cases, each of us at least knew the other's name. Usually the girl involved was closer than one would expect due to my uncanny ability to mix sexual propaganda, opportunity and alcohol. Don't read that in a "wow, this guy is a date rapist" sort of way. All my sex has been on a voluntary basis; it's just that if opportunity is a window, drunkenness makes it a sliding glass door and then forgets to lock it. In my case, heartbreak led to a period of withdrawal followed by an even more intense period of opportunism. If I took anything away from my relationship with Anna, it was a newfound realization that girls actually can be attracted to me, and that I evidently know my way around the bedroom. Given that I had two forms of exciting new power, I did what any responsible, young college student would do. I abused the shit out of them.
If Anna and I were great together (and we were), then we were at least twice as bad apart. We were each becoming aware that we might have some power over members of the opposite sex, and we were each fully incapable of wielding that power responsibly. We spent our time together being a cute, passionate, loving couple. We spent our time apart shamelessly flirting with anyone and everyone who would allow us to hone our skills at seduction. Early on we would draw the line before anything really "happened" with anyone else. The longer the relationship went on, though, that line got blurry. I developed an alcohol-induced blindness to the line altogether. She at least had the decency to dump me before she fucked anyone else...as far as I know anyhow. The same could not be said for me.
While I learned to hate and avoid the shame of infidelity, I learned to love the joys of sex without the restraints of commitment. I also developed an amazing ability to sow the seeds of curiosity in the minds of female friends and acquaintances. Sometimes my efforts would come to fruition within the night, but sometimes it took years. I'd be lying if I said the delay didn't make it all the more rewarding. I've been in a few relationships since then, and while I don't regret a moment of any of them and they taught me a lot about what it means to be able to love someone without being "in love", I have to confess that the impulsive and immature side of me has had more fun compiling impressive lists of trophy lays and girls I technically should not have slept with in the first place. Those lists often cross over, and for that reason I really can't discuss the details of either, but both can make my guy friends raise their eyebrows in respectful amazement and make my girl friends crinkle their noses in disgusted shock. Of course, they aren't actual lists in the sense that I have all my past sexual partners written down and categorized somewhere. ..that would be impossible. I cannot actually remember the names of all the girls I've been with. This is not to say that I've been with any staggering number of girls, but there is a certain degree of realization that comes with not being able to name all the people one has known in the Biblical sense of the word.
Because of all this, the words "slut", "man-slut", "man-whore" and other similar derogatory nouns are frequently thrown at me. In the past, I would always respond by saying, "Hey! I am not a slut. I'm easy. There's a difference." Lately, though, I've come to terms with the fact that I probably passed easy a few miles back and I have earned my stripes as a full-fledged slut. I was totally alright with that fact until it was brought to my attention that the metaphorical sword of sluttery also has a back edge, and that's the aforementioned rap. Having a reputation as a promiscuous bad-boy is a great way to attract girls who are into casual sex, but it's also a great way to repel girls who are into legitimate romance. Once a girl decides that you're trouble, it's awfully tricky to earn her trust, no matter how many times you assure her that you're very certain that you're HIV negative and have never, not even once, had an STD or a kid.
Now I find myself at something of a crossroads, because my desire for someone to sleep with is waning and my desire for someone to wake up to is decidedly waxing. It seems a simple problem, but it has a complicated solution for me and others like me. While my blood-alcohol content is inversely proportionate to how picky I am about who I'll sleep with, my number of ex-girlfriends is directly proportionate to how picky I am about who I'll date. It is exceedingly rare that I find a girl I'd consider dating, and somewhat rarer that it coincides with willingness on her part to let me date her. I have no doubt that when I do find that certain girl I'll have no trouble settling down and being the sweet, attentive, loyal boyfriend that I know I can be, but it's a tough search that is only made tougher by my new status as a guy with a bad rap.
The whole realization serves to intensify my hangover, but I'm sure that my bloodstream and mind will both clear in time, and I'm also sure that I'll find that girl who will be amazing enough to make me willingly utter the words "forsaking all others." After all, I'm not such a bad guy.
"I told her, 'You know, Beavs really likes you. You should give him a chance. He's not such a bad guy.'"
The word such jumps right out from the sentence and slaps me in the ego. Adverbs can hit hard, and it really stings. "He's not such a bad guy." The description of me as a bad guy needed a modifier. Basically, what we've admitted is that I am a bad guy, but in terms of badness I'm overrated. She continues.
"I think you get a bad rap, and you don't really deserve it."
Shit.
This is something I had not considered. I have a bad rap. Deserved or not, this a problem. To be honest, I'm not sure how I didn't notice. It's been obvious for a while now that most of the people I work with are under the false impression that I bang no less than 20 skanks per night, but I somehow failed to catch that this is a bad thing. The double standard, it seems, has a tipping point, and somewhere along the line I tipped. I am no longer perceived as the good guy with a cute little bit of a bad boy persona for defense. I'm not sure I ever was, but that's what I'd like to believe (and what I wish I could still believe) so let's just pretend it's true. If it ever was true, though, it isn't any more. Now I am a different sort of creature altogether. I have crossed the fine line into out-and-out slutdom.
Looking back, I'm not sure when it happened. When I came to college, I'd only been with one girl. After freshman year, only two. Even up through junior year I was only up to four, but sometime after the great breakup and through my fourth, fifth, and fifth-and-a-half years of college, I became rather...prolific. Some of them were girlfriends, but more were not. In most cases, each of us at least knew the other's name. Usually the girl involved was closer than one would expect due to my uncanny ability to mix sexual propaganda, opportunity and alcohol. Don't read that in a "wow, this guy is a date rapist" sort of way. All my sex has been on a voluntary basis; it's just that if opportunity is a window, drunkenness makes it a sliding glass door and then forgets to lock it. In my case, heartbreak led to a period of withdrawal followed by an even more intense period of opportunism. If I took anything away from my relationship with Anna, it was a newfound realization that girls actually can be attracted to me, and that I evidently know my way around the bedroom. Given that I had two forms of exciting new power, I did what any responsible, young college student would do. I abused the shit out of them.
If Anna and I were great together (and we were), then we were at least twice as bad apart. We were each becoming aware that we might have some power over members of the opposite sex, and we were each fully incapable of wielding that power responsibly. We spent our time together being a cute, passionate, loving couple. We spent our time apart shamelessly flirting with anyone and everyone who would allow us to hone our skills at seduction. Early on we would draw the line before anything really "happened" with anyone else. The longer the relationship went on, though, that line got blurry. I developed an alcohol-induced blindness to the line altogether. She at least had the decency to dump me before she fucked anyone else...as far as I know anyhow. The same could not be said for me.
While I learned to hate and avoid the shame of infidelity, I learned to love the joys of sex without the restraints of commitment. I also developed an amazing ability to sow the seeds of curiosity in the minds of female friends and acquaintances. Sometimes my efforts would come to fruition within the night, but sometimes it took years. I'd be lying if I said the delay didn't make it all the more rewarding. I've been in a few relationships since then, and while I don't regret a moment of any of them and they taught me a lot about what it means to be able to love someone without being "in love", I have to confess that the impulsive and immature side of me has had more fun compiling impressive lists of trophy lays and girls I technically should not have slept with in the first place. Those lists often cross over, and for that reason I really can't discuss the details of either, but both can make my guy friends raise their eyebrows in respectful amazement and make my girl friends crinkle their noses in disgusted shock. Of course, they aren't actual lists in the sense that I have all my past sexual partners written down and categorized somewhere. ..that would be impossible. I cannot actually remember the names of all the girls I've been with. This is not to say that I've been with any staggering number of girls, but there is a certain degree of realization that comes with not being able to name all the people one has known in the Biblical sense of the word.
Because of all this, the words "slut", "man-slut", "man-whore" and other similar derogatory nouns are frequently thrown at me. In the past, I would always respond by saying, "Hey! I am not a slut. I'm easy. There's a difference." Lately, though, I've come to terms with the fact that I probably passed easy a few miles back and I have earned my stripes as a full-fledged slut. I was totally alright with that fact until it was brought to my attention that the metaphorical sword of sluttery also has a back edge, and that's the aforementioned rap. Having a reputation as a promiscuous bad-boy is a great way to attract girls who are into casual sex, but it's also a great way to repel girls who are into legitimate romance. Once a girl decides that you're trouble, it's awfully tricky to earn her trust, no matter how many times you assure her that you're very certain that you're HIV negative and have never, not even once, had an STD or a kid.
Now I find myself at something of a crossroads, because my desire for someone to sleep with is waning and my desire for someone to wake up to is decidedly waxing. It seems a simple problem, but it has a complicated solution for me and others like me. While my blood-alcohol content is inversely proportionate to how picky I am about who I'll sleep with, my number of ex-girlfriends is directly proportionate to how picky I am about who I'll date. It is exceedingly rare that I find a girl I'd consider dating, and somewhat rarer that it coincides with willingness on her part to let me date her. I have no doubt that when I do find that certain girl I'll have no trouble settling down and being the sweet, attentive, loyal boyfriend that I know I can be, but it's a tough search that is only made tougher by my new status as a guy with a bad rap.
The whole realization serves to intensify my hangover, but I'm sure that my bloodstream and mind will both clear in time, and I'm also sure that I'll find that girl who will be amazing enough to make me willingly utter the words "forsaking all others." After all, I'm not such a bad guy.
posted by Beav at 11:28 AM
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