Everyone has had a one night stand of sorts. Whether you merely spooned with a stranger and played the who's vomit is in bed with us the next morning game or if you went all out and let them dirty Sanchez you while you called them multiple names figuring at least once you got it right...maybe. The chances that his name was Ryan, Brian, Mike or Chris are pretty good right? I don't know I'm not a fucking machine so don't ask me for the statistics. Google it bitch.
These one night stands usual stem from the dick o'clock phenomenon as my brother so sweetly refers to it. We've all experienced this moment. It's when the people start scrambling at the bar and lower their expectations. When you succumb to the reality that there's no way in hell you're going home with an 8 tonight, shit with those pants on you didn't even have a chance at a 6 (even before you smeared your eyeliner all over your face and dribbled Jager down your shirt), and decide "Fuck it, a 4 will do just fine." You can watch this moment of clarity hit. Suddenly the guy trying to suck it in and look mysterious dry humps the girl with puke in her hair next to him and squints his eyes a little to convince himself she's cute. And the girl who told her friends an hour ago that she was definitely NOT going home with another loser rubs her boobs on the douchebag next to her at the bar twating about how awesome his new tires on his lifted truck are.
Now dick o'clock doesn't just affect those of us with an infinity for bars. It's actually almost even better at a house party. All bets are off when people realize they have about 15 minutes to put their hands down someone's pants or they're curling up on the floor alone, without a pillow and about a 90% chance of pissing themselves at some point in the middle of the night. At least if someone is next to you, you can blame the pee on them; there's a good chance they won't even deny it. Again people lower their standards and choose whoever is still standing, or at least breathing. Anything with a pulse is fair game at 3:00am.
I have been a victim of dick o'clock. Most recently at my friend's birthday party. I went there knowing with the amount of booze I would be drinking that the pants were coming off. I've learned to accept myself for the whore that I am. I would like to thank Courtney Love for this. She is my whorespiration. I told myself, nothing less than a 7. Big dreams right? So obviously I went for the 9...I even thought I had a pretty good line about having him show me around his van. Clearly I shot too high too early. It wasn't early enough for him to lower his standards, I can accept this. I may not even punch him in the throat next time I see him. Ha...that's a lie.
So my big dreams didn't work out. I contemplated the 6's hanging around. I thought, what would Lindsey do? Which led to the vodka shots. Suddenly I realized it was dick o'clock and I couldn't discern a 10 from a troll. So I did what any intelligent girl would; turned to the guy closest to me and asked him if he liked to cuddle. Surprise, surprise...he majored in cuddling at community college. Fantastic!
We can now fast forward to the next morning when I woke up next to ChrisRyanBrianMike and squinted my eyes and ignored the fact that I might have had my head in someone's pee and thanked Courtney again for her wisdom.
What happens in San Diego stays in San Diego right? I hope that weird itching and burning stayed there too.