Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Meet Pete, Part 1

I struggled with whether or not to write this post. It's always weird to bring an ex up in conversation, much less write about him.

But, ultimately, I think it's important to introduce my first long-term, post-college boyfriend. Here's my reasoning:
1) We're still friends.
2) We were together for two years, and I have a lot of stories involving him, so he'll be making a cameo or two here.
3) How we met makes for a great story.

I'll refer to long-term, post-college boyfriend as Pete Sampras. He's Greek, he plays tennis, he has a curly fro-it works.

I met Pete in Puerto Vallarta during spring break of my senior year at college. It was pretty much lust at first sight.

Let me set the scene for you. If you've ever gone through one of those chessy travel companies for your spring break destination, you know that they hype up this magical wristband called a party pass. Basically, this drunken-orgy inducer grants you access to certain bars and clubs without having to pay a cover or for select drinks (ie-Tecate beer and Montezuma tequilla). It also shoves you into the same nightspots as the other spring breakers in the area.

This particular night, the designated bar was Senor Frogs. Quite the classy establishment. If you haven't been to one, I highly recommend checking it out.

I arrived early with my group of friends so we could eat dinner and get a head start on our drinking. After a barely edible meal, we started doing body shots of tequila off each other. A few minutes later, two guys paid for this waitress to pour liquor down our throats and smash our faces in her boobs. Hey, at least we got free shots...oh wait, we could have gotten free alcohol minus the motorboating experience...

Fast forward a good 4 hours later. We're all obviously schwast-faced and watching everyone attempt to dance on the concrete floor covered in foam. Yes, it was a foam party...if that doesn't scream inebriated, uninhibited college fun, I don't know what does.

So, I'm sitting on a barstool, laughing at the people who are slipping everywhere because they can't stand up in the foam, when I get the drunken urge to make out with someone. I won't blame this on the booze or the atmosphere, because this tends to happen quite frequently.

I turn to my friend, SayJo, and slur: "The next cute guy that walks by, I'm going to grab and make out with." (I don't think I'll ever have that much liquid courage to pull off such a maneuver, so I took a more subtle approach.)

I look to my right and my friend Q. is being hit on by one of the guys sitting at the table behind us. As luck would have it, right behind him was his cute friend, chugging his beer. Done and done.

I stroll on up to the cute friend, giving him my best seductive look.

Me: Hi, I'm Miss. Procras.
Pete: Hi, I'm Pete.
Me: So, do you wanna dance?
Pete: Sure, but can we finish our beers first? (Side note: the bouncers weren't allowing any drinks onto the dance floor. Main reason I stood post at a barstool for most of the evening.)

At that point I knew I had picked a winner.

After downing our beers, we made our way to the herpes, I mean, foam-filled dance floor with the rest of the intoxicated college kids. It's a good thing I was so hammered at this point I didn't even think about the pina-coloda scented grossness that was covering my body.

A few songs later, Pete and I decide to stumble up to the bar and order more drinks. It's important to note that on-stage behind us, contestants were being summoned to participate in a "dance" competition. I say "dance" because the girls who entered definitely weren't dancing. They were striping.

No amount of alcohol could make this scenario not awkward. Pete kept trying to avoid looking at the stage, and I didn't know whether to make out with him to keep his attention on me or stay quiet so he could enjoy the show. I chose the later. It kinda reminded me of that scene in
Love Actually where the body doubles are testing the lighting or whatever for a porno.

Once the queen stripper was crowned, we returned to the cesspool of foam. I decided to really turn on the charm and show Pete a stipper move of my own-the Miss. Procras. Sass. I would describe it, but I don't want anyone stealing what little mojo I have. Much like the "bend and snap," the Miss. Procras. Sass has a 98% success rate.

Within seconds, Pete and I were making out. (Told ya. "The Miss. Procras. Sass-works every time!") And the ambiance couldn't have been better. "Gasolina" by Daddy Yankee was blaring from the speakers, foam was flying everywhere, people kept knocking into's the first kiss every girl dreams about.

Pete ended up coming back with me to the condo I called home for the week. Somehow, we lucked out and got the room with the double bed to ourselves. Unfortuately for him, after 8+ hours of drinking, I went into shut-down mode and passed out midway through our sesh. Oops.

Needless to say, I didn't really count on seeing Pete much after that. But the following night, as fate, or whatever you want to call it, would have it, my friends and I were ahead of his group in line, waiting to get into a club. Pete and I started talking-more out of obligation than anything else-or so I thought. When there was a lull in the conversation, I walked back over to my friend Charlotte.

Charlotte: Uh...I think he was still trying to talk to you.
Me: Oh really?
Charlotte: Yeah, his mouth was open to say something else when you walked away.
Me: Now I feel bad.

But I didn't go back over there. I figured he was probably just being nice. Who wants to be tied down to one person during spring break anyway?

He still sought me out in the club, though. And we ended up spending that night, and the rest of the week together.

On his last day there, we exchanged numbers, and Pete hugged me and said me he didn't want this to be goodbye. I felt the same.

Even after that, I told myself it was just a spring break fling. I didn't want to get my hopes up. Obviously though, Pete meant what we said, and we started dating long distance...something we'd do the entire time we were together.

Check back tomorrow for Meet Pete, Part 2.

1 comments on "Meet Pete, Part 1"

Anonymous said...

Awww I love Greg Brady...umm....I mean "Pete."


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