Originally published by Ladybud Magazine

For many reasons, people like to get really fucked up before they have sex, especially sex with strangers.

I spent many years slinging drinks behind a busy downtown bar watching people get wasted, make out at the bar and stumble into the alley to conspicuously suck dick or get fingered, smoke cigarettes and cry, or puke and hope the person they were getting all liquored up to sleep with wouldn’t see them tossing their cookies down a dirty sewer.

On the sober side looking in, it is all so desperate and disgusting– people who think they look so good in their stiff suits and undersized strappy heels—constantly realizing the only thing they are missing in their “chic metropolitan life” is a human accessory, at least for tonight. So they get drunk and start pawing at each other the minute one starts slurring sweet nothings into the other’s ear.

I would be lying if I claimed not to be guilty of it. I am also guilty of spending many shameless nights stumbling into hotels all over the city with a couple bottles of cheap champagne before the corner store closed, and any sexing that happens between bottles at three am is usually pretty terrible. Try pretending the dick tickling the back of your throat didn’t just make that champagne pop back out with dinner just a little bit.

And by terrible I mean you both woke up the next morning without clothes on and neither of you remember what happened the night before. If you are unlucky enough to get a flashback, you will see yourself being a sloppy drunken fool.

You can try to stretch that awkward morning after it into a breakfast and maybe cut the edge off with a couple mimosas, but you both know you will now be avoiding the places you think you will ever run into this person again, because your drunken stupor put you into an awkward sobriety with a stranger who was meant to remain unknown.

I have suffered through many of those awkward breakfasts only to realize the quality of my choices is low when I’m drunk, we would gulp down morning booze while they told me about how they dropped out of community college, live on their buddy’s couch in a co-op house near the college and just turned 33 last week.

Both these men can be referred to as “That Guy”

Then comes that awkward hug after the bill is paid when yousmell the fact they have been living on a friend’s couch and realize you actually had sex with that dude last night. “So uh, can I get your number?” he asks. And if you’re me you do it out of pity and you keep kicking the date planning can down the road a bit until they get the hint. Or you get guilted into a date at the bar where they have a two for a dollar special on PBR and you wake up back at square one again.

And that’s fucked up. You shouldn’t be putting yourself in a sad situation like that in the first place. The dude is 33 and he probably isn’t changing any time soon, so if you aren’t ready for a new boyfriend/roommate it would probably have been easier not to get fucked up and fuck him in the first place. Or second place. You just gave him a taste of the mommy/girlfriend or boyfriend he has always been looking for and once they get used to suckling on a teet it’s all done for.

So how do you have one night stands (if that is what you are looking for) without picking up that guy? Shop elsewhere. Get out of the bar, all you will find in a bar is alcoholics. Still want to drink?

Try an art gallery, they usually have FREE wine and cheese and a room full of “artists.” At least you will have a good story about having sweaty, passionate sex in a parking garage and him drawing your naked body before the Titanic hit the iceberg. Just make sure he isn’t the tourist-sketching caricature guy. He probably frequents that bar with cheap PBR to troll for chicks too.

Or you could try the dog park. That guy might take you hiking and have sex with you in a woody glen. Look for the Patagonias on his feet. He’s the perpetual bachelor who lives in a beautiful home with great natural light with just his dog, and he somehow pulls off classy one-day stands. At least you will get a vegan locally-sourced dinner before you part ways forever.

Better yet, fuck a mechanic. Car repair isn’t cheap, but the parts are.

What I am saying is, there is nothing wrong with a sale on PBR and some punk music, but be ready to suffer the consequences when you wake up to the smell of nag champa covering body odor. If you are going to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, have some self respect and take the beer goggles off.