Week 2: Slutty Skypes and Sashays of Shame

Hi, World. Still a virgin. What’s the topic of the week? Slutty Skypes and Sashays of Shame.

You know when you’re walking down the street, heels caught in the damn cobblestone? Your cheeky dress from the night before seems a little too hoochy now that it’s daylight and you’re surrounded by young families, yet you pull at the hem trying to pass off the “I’m totally wearing this to church” look.

Or maybe your bowtie is hung loosely around your neck, your hair disheveled, and you’re thinking: There’s no way in hell anyone’s going to believe I’m headed to a meeting right now.

Some of you relate all too well. Others like me (are you even out there?) have only heard horror stories of the famous “Walk of Shame.” (*unless you count this one time at 4am that I ran away from a guy that I was making out with because he pulled out his umm, and I was unprepared.)

How come society has decided to classify a successful night out as hooking up with someone, yet if you get caught on the way home, you’re ridiculed? What do you want from us, world?!

Last weekend I had one of my first wild nights out in a while. I normally work on the weekends. But not last weekend. Subsequently we were taking advice from our good friend M.I.A. and planning on “[Living] fast and [dying] young” since “bad girls do it well.”

We spent hours getting ready. You know the routine: You take a shower, shave, emerging naked and hairless as the day you were born. (Have any of you ever gotten a Brazilian wax? They won’t miss any spots, but they hurt like a bitch.)

You put on makeup, do your hair, and model about five different outfits for your friends before settling on the first one you had on (though you dabble with the idea of nudity at some point because nothing seems to be working.)

After nine tequila shots I was doing pretty well (I’d even managed to not fall down, which is huge considering I have this thing with coordination where… I don’t have any.) So presumably adding alcohol to the mix would destroy any chances of me balancing. Essentially, I was thriving.

However, the shots did not bode so well with some of my friends, so I rallied the troops and took the tequila stricken victims home.

Once back in my dorm I decided that I was sober enough to Skype my boyfriend back home. (I was not sober enough to Skype my boyfriend back home.)

Because, well… I’m inexperienced, but tequila made me want to be sexy. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to be sexy. I kept my clothes on because I am a classy lady that will not partake in virtual nudity, nor will I frown upon it (for anyone that is into that, you do you.)

However, at one point I licked my lips… I don’t remember why- they were probably chapped or something. But my boyfriend found this alluring, so I continued doing it.

He said that he wanted to do terrible things to me. Isn’t that hot?

For someone that has very limited experience, that’s super hot.

Anyway, I blue balls-ed him, went to bed, and woke up with really chapped lips and the realization that this Skype experience was not just a figment of my imagination.

I was embarrassed. I mean, there were probably so many better/sexier/more exciting things I could’ve done.

My embarrassment faded when I talked to my best friend. She was about to enter her Cab-of-Shame from an upscale hotel back to town.

She claims that judgment oozed from the families on holiday as she teetered into the lobby in last nights heels and wrinkled dress. They were probably jealous, right?

Her lesson of the night was that friends need to watch out for friends because drunken 7’s make sober 2’s.

We both wallowed in embarrassment and ate large quantities of Chinese food to ease our feelings. There’s really nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all made extremely shameful drunk decisions. Some of us have faceplanted on the dance floor of a busy club. (I’ve done this.) Some of us have had dropped an entire pizza on a busy street and proceeded to eat the entire thing. (I’ve done this.) Some of us have gotten with DJs before realizing they were twenty years our senior. (No comment.) Most of us have regretted these things later.

Whether you slept with somebody, fell down and acquired an array of bruises, or tried to virtually satiate your long-distance man, you will inevitably wake up the next day with the vodka shits and regret.

But it’s college. So we must explore. Obviously, some of us have explored more than others… but I’m getting there.

So wipe the fallen makeup from under your eye, hold your head up high, and sashay (with moderate/mild) shame!

Xx the vestal virgin