Friday, January 22, 2010

The Luck of the Irish

A more recent adventure started spring of 2009, when I happened upon a nice, attractive boy...who just happened to have an Irish accent. I hate to say it, but honestly, accents are sooo hot. Granted, there are definitely some that make me cringe (think Southern drawl, South Boston, Valley Girl), Irish accents simply make me melt. Don't worry, I mean, I make sure there are other attractive qualities so I'm not being completely superficial. But the accent just kills me. I think it's because I enjoy experiencing other cultures, and hooking up with people from other cultures is a great way to start.

I met him at this popular college bar. He was working abroad as a soccer coach (Attractive quality #2). He was tall (#3) and hot--jet black hair, adorable freckles, and I think his eyes were hazel. I was trying to shift through a crowded spot in the bar when I became stuck behind some rowdy boys arguing about something incredibly stupid, I'm sure. I literally couldn't move forward, so I just stood there for a few minutes, quickly realizing that the other boys that surrounded me were yapping in some foreign accent that just so happened to be Irish. Aaron, noticing that I was a damsel in distress, mentioned something to me about the predicament I was in. We began to talk, joked with his friends, discussed soccer, America, Europe, etc. Aka, all of my favorite conversation points. Over the next ten minutes, I completely forgot that I had actually intended to simply cut through that section of the bar to get back to my friends.

After the bar closed, he offered to walk me home (how gentlemanly--not--come on boys, I know your true intentions). We kissed a little bit, he went pee on a building--you know, the usual romantic, post-bar, drunken college stroll. He ended up coming up to my apartment because, let's face it, we both know girls want to have sex just as much as guys. It's really not fair that us women are the ones that have to resist and hold off. As my mother always says, if you want to sleep with a guy on the first night, that's fine. Just don't give a fuck what he thinks the next day. And of course, I always tell myself that will be easy, but it never is. Unless it was terrible sex, he's ugly, or you were roofied. Just kidding. Date rape drugs aren't a laughing matter.

Whateverrr. I mean, I wanted to, its done, and what can I do about it now? It was great, though. It didn't last extremely long, but he was constantly rejuvenated, so we could always do it again 5-10 minutes later. No complaints there. I think he still holds the record for # of times in a 24 hour period. We exchanged numbers; I thought he was pretty cool, so I hoped to hear from him again.

Over the next couple of weeks, we saw each other numerous times. He took me out to breakfast, introduced me to his friends, and told me he really enjoyed spending time with me. I'm not saying that I was expecting a fucking ring, but I liked him, and didn't think he was going to end up being a complete douchebag. The damn accent got to his head. I feel like it always does. These foreign boys always realize that the words that come out of their mouths can bed a girl in 15 minutes flat. Kudos to them, cause it certainly works. I've definitely used my foreign language to turn a guy on.

Basically what happened was, he ended up coming over one night after seeing each other for several weeks. We hooked up, and THEN he told me these terrible things like, "This is strictly sexual," "I don't want to see you exclusively," and "I am insecure about the size of my penis so I am going to treat you like shit." He left, made me feel cheap, and I cried. As mentioned earlier, its not like I was telling everyone he was my goddamned boyfriend, but don't men understand that even if you are strictly fucking somebody you still have to treat them like a human being?

So, the next day, I called up my mother upset about this boy. She always brightens my day by putting it in perspective and belittling him (literally). This particular situation, she started off by saying, "You should've told him you were going to Youtube his penis because you've never seen a dick so small!" and "Tell him I'm going to go on facebook and tell all of my friends that he has a small penis!!" Me, crying, immediately turned into me doubled over in laughter, realizing that I don't really give a fuck about this guy.

As my mother always says, "Next!"


Epilogue: Aaron called me about a week later asking to come over. I didn't let him inside. We sat outside on my front steps and he apologized and begged for my forgiveness. Honestly, this is the constant cycle I go through with every asshole I meet. He said he never meant to say those things (probably because he wanted to get laid). I told him that he wasn't worth my time. You know, I was HONEST. I told him how he was a jerkoff. I think we may have hugged, or something, and he left. At the end of the summer he called me all debbie-downer and said he was leaving in a week for Ireland and that he wanted to get coffee with me. I never called him back. Oops. Maybe I'll see him in Europe, and we can have a quickie, since that's all he's capable of.

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