Some days it seems like Davis is a sad little pool of incest. It‘s necessary to state this only figuratively. I‘m not hating on people who actually partake in incest because, hell, you never know who you‘re gonna offend. What I mean is that this joint is packing something like 60 percent Bettys and 40 percent Dudes. Which means the act of recycling has to come into play.
There is nothing new about the concept of recycling. We humans are resourceful beings; we make do with what we have. We‘re more likely to be romantically involved with those within closer geographic proximity. Even though the cost of gas is down, no one wants to drive somewhere to score some tail when they could just walk across the street.
However, this leads to the heightened likelihood that you will get stuck with the hand-me-downs of an acquaintance. Look at all the Aaron Spelling dramas. Those hot ass people all sleep with each other. It‘s kind of like musical chairs with sex. I‘m pretty sure Brandon Walsh ended up getting with almost every chick in the zip code.
There are two different ways to look at this. Your morals can shrivel disgustedly at the idea of getting stuck with someone‘s leftovers and ultimately discourage you from going for it, or you could ditch your morals like a televangelist and take the slightly more savage approach because you‘re a human being with needs. It‘s never right for us, really. If someone is too notorious a skank, it reduces their appeal, but if they‘re a downright prude you wonder why nobody wants them.
Let‘s exemplify. Birds broke out into choruses of “November Rain“ when you first laid eyes on Stone Fox. But your stupid friend got him first. And then your other friend went for a ride the next weekend. Crap. Months later, you find yourself watching a movie with Stone Fox. Alone. In a dark room. With nothing except your drunk neighbors and their new guitar outside to break the mood. Maybe some yowling cats. What to do, what to do?
Retaining dignity and scoring some lovin‘ are two actions that always seem to run in conflict to one another. If you succumb to those lustbunnies, you worry about him thinking you‘re just another Saturday night skeeze. And yet, he‘s so pretty … damn it.
As much as you may love your friends, knowing that they got there first may involuntarily cause you to throw up in your mouth a little bit. After all, not too many people know where they‘ve been and what they‘ve been picking up along the way better than you do.
However, if you ultimately figure that you can‘t fight the moonlight, you could always just ask in a half-assed attempt to not piss off your friend. It‘ll go something like this: You‘ll casually bring it up, she‘ll laugh it off and insist that she doesn‘t care because she‘s “so over that idiot“ even though she has a picture of him tucked into her pillowcase and stripped for him on webcam the night before. She may also warn you about a weird sexual habit of his in hopes that it will deter you–this will probably backfire. She‘ll inevitably find out via the gossip mill and proceed to hold a secret internal grudge against you for months.
If she ends up marrying Stone Fox, I don‘t know what to tell ya except that it happens all the time. I actually wonder how many weddings take place every year in which the bride and best man or the groom and the maid of honor have gotten their freak on.
Again, everything is a matter of perspective. If you‘re the one who‘s going for it, it‘s okay, but there is little so sleazy as the guy who puts the moves on members of the same social group. Chicks never shut up, it‘s true, and we tell each other everything. So you will eventually be found out, and once we get over being all butthurt about the fact that you didn‘t even have the decency to change your pickup line, we will come to find that there is much fun in entrapping a douchebag with his own lies.
MICHELLE RICK wishes everyone a wonderful picnic day with plenty o‘whiskey and a reason to get frisky. Send comments (sober and otherwise) to marick@ucdavis.edu.
