Morning After Etiquette

This past weekend’s focus group of my random sample of friends: “Morning After Etiquette”

We have all done the deed, having brought home a boy/gal or having been the invitee ourselves for a night of fun but unfortunately not many of you boys know how to end the night. Below are the rules that Emily Post would have written if she wasn’t constrained by society:

1. Do not rummage through my shit when I am still asleep
You know the question that is meant to be an ice-breaker at “get to know you” functions that asks “what are the five things that you would save if your apt caught on fire?” My response: my passport (it’s 70% filled with stamps), my thoughts notebook, and my laptop. Let the rest of the shit burn because it is all replaceable. My laptop gets saved from the inferno because it really has become an extension of myself. It has my writing, my grad apps, phone numbers, and my PORN.

Imagine my surprise when I wake up from my slumber, stumble out of my bed and find a boy rifling through my shit on my computer. Talk about the other shoe dropping, how do you explain to someone who you know for less than twelve hours why you have a variety of porn sites bookmarked under “favorites”? Especially since some of them are a little on the…shall we say interesting side?

2. Take my phone number/Ask when we are going to hang out next
We both know we do not want to see each other again. It’s polite to tell me to have a good day, it’s a boldface lie to imply that you are going to call me.

3. Take the hint/Pretend you have plans for the day
Don’t make it awkward for both of us. If I wake up, and I am shaking from alcohol withdrawal and make-up is smeared all over my pillowcase, it means that I brought you home in a fit of inebriation. Let us both save face. I don’t want to see the mistake I brought home and I am sure that you don’t want me to look over at you and ask you to leave.

4. Do not think that it is the beginning of a relationship
If I wanted a relationship from you, I would not have brought you home. Sure it sounds counter-intuitive, I mean if I was a guy and a girl was inviting me home I would think that she was smitten. WRONG. Why did I bring the teacher back to my apt during date #1? I knew I would never get into a relationship with him. If I like a boy, I pretend to be a “nice girl”, the type who he could see himself bringing home to mommy. Too bad no boy has ever taken me up on my offer to play that role.

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In other news, I am fucking sick, hence the shitty quick post. I sound like Selma from the Simpsons, my voice is scratchy and my throat feels like razor blades are cutting into me each time I swallow my own spittle. Too bad this is going to be a hell week at work.

And I still have not heard from Oxford. I think the letters went out on May 19.

Oh yea, new place for me to try to meet a nice Jewish boy: temple! Driving past a synagogue on the Upper East Side Saturday afternoon, I have never seen so many hot hot Jewish boys. Finding religion in my quest to get laid.

I am so fucking pathetic right now. Shitty blog post, long work week ahead, find out from Oxford, and my throat feels like it is imploding. No really, I think I may have to see the doctor.