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The streak ended at 3:45 a.m. Sunday morning. Up until that moment in the wee hours of the scariest day of the week, I was convinced that my lifestyle was probably comparable to other 25-year-olds. Inebriated Friday night through Sunday morning and working a job they don’t particularly enjoy Monday through Friday.
I now realize that this is not the case. I sleep on an air mattress. My apartment, which is shared with 3 others, is constantly in a state of disarray and it doesn’t really get to me that much. I like it when the kitchen is clean and I have my clothes folded, but is having an air mattress instead of a real one really all that bad? Don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know the answer.
They say that when you’re on a heater you have to keep rolling the dice and that’s exactly what I did this past weekend. Thursday night? I went out to watch some basketball, drink a few Mich Ultras, and somehow ended up getting laid. Friday night? I called a repeat offender whom I hadn’t seen in about 10 months and closed the deal.
But neither of those sexual encounters were particularly interesting. The aforementioned women were not what I like to call “dragons in the sack,” and when I woke up Saturday morning with a brutal hangover, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it out that night. For about forty minutes, I laid on my air mattress in my bedroom and talked about nothing to strangers on Instagram live. It was lit. I spent the rest of that afternoon grazing on day old pizza and watching Frasier.
Around 8:00 p.m. Saturday night, I finally dragged my sorry ass out of bed and took a shower. I had plans on meeting up with my college roommate who was in town for the weekend and had been trying to get ahold of me all day. I felt bad about ignoring his calls but I was hungover and in no mood to speak to anyone.
About an hour and a half later, I was drunk enough to make the 0.6-mile walk from my apartment to the bar where my old roommate and his girlfriend were drinking. We caught up for an hour or so while a DJ spun records from the mid-90s. After three shots of tequila and two tall boys of PBR, my roommate’s girlfriend had already learned that I was violently single and very much on the market.
“Perfect,” she said, “My friends are almost here and one of them will probably be into this whole thing you’ve got going on. Be an asshole but don’t be an asshole, okay?”
Toeing that line between total asshole and somewhat-charming asshole is difficult, but I did it because I was on a heater. Totally and completely in the zone. It should come as a surprise to no one that by last call I had been making out with this girl unabashedly for an hour and a half. I thought it was a done deal. Three for three on the weekend was looking promising. That is, of course, until it wasn’t.
We walked the four blocks home together hand in hand, laughing about God knows what. I even warned her on the way home that I had only just moved in and my bedroom and the apartment as a whole was a bit of a mess at the moment. As we walked through my back door and I turned the lights on in my room, I saw a look of disgust and confusion on her face and I knew right then that it was over.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but your place is kind of a shithole. Not kind of. It is. If you weren’t sleeping on an air mattress I would have stayed over but I just can’t do this. My Uber’s here, but I had so much fun with you tonight.”
I had a sure thing. A twenty point lead with less than five minutes remaining. I was in the victory formation. And then seemingly out of nowhere, a total and utterly unpredictable collapse.
In a way, I should have seen this coming. I moved into a new apartment with three other people about four weeks ago. I have a mattress of my own, but no truck to get it here and I’ve been putting off renting a U-Haul the past two weekends because 1. I much prefer getting wasted in Chicago with my friends to spending a weekend moving a bed and 2. This air mattress I’ve been sleeping on really isn’t all that bad.
I think I’m going to take this coming weekend off, drive back to Michigan, and get my mattress. I’ve had a hell of a four weeks on this Intex, but Saturday night was an embarrassment that I don’t want to repeat. .
Respond
jduda@grandex.co
Duda’s apartment is a complete MESS, reminds me of Crooked Hillary’s presidential campaign. He needs to ACT NOW. The system is rigged against him! Total lightweights can’t close with a FAKE mattress. SAD!
This has gone from enjoyable stories about a young man with a bright future adding notches to his belt to nothing but short stories about someone getting whatever he can get while he lives one step above homelessness. My thoughts and prayers are with you
I can’t not respect the stats being put up here, but that doesn’t mean we have to respect you. Sort of like the Detroit Pistons of the 80’s. Good, but not likable.
I think Duda wants us to feel conflicted about him.
This
This is like the Clippers blowing an 18 point lead to the Kings in the final 5 mins.
If I slept on an air mattress for a month I don’t think I would ever be able to walk again. My back is locking up just thinking about it
Not to mention, I’ve never been on an air matress that actually stayed inflated the whole night. Always have some kind of leak in them.
I think on Twitter he’s said that he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and inflate the mattress again.
Seek help, Duda. That being said, congrats on the sex.
Reason #1939494 why you can’t get a girlfriend: you sleep on an air mattress. That in and of itself isn’t REALLY the reason, but it speaks volumes about the probable state of disarray that your life is currently in right now. Gotta get that shit fixed before any reasonable woman will think of committing to you.
But congrats on the sex!
And one of the reasons why you’re usually landing college girls reveals itself. #realgirlswantboxsprings
real girls tend to also want bed posts.
Duda, at some point, being that asshole that pushes the line between between a likable asshole and an actual asshole becomes a problem. For example, one of my buddies has always been that way. Sure, he may attract a ton of girls, but the ones that don’t sleep with him hate him. As we get older, more and more tend to do the latter.
Also, at some point not wrapping it up after all this strange is gonna bite you in the ass. Or bite you in the dick (in the case of crabs).
This rings very true. Not that I know from experience
Don’t get me wrong I miss living with my friends, but no way in hell could I tolerate having that many roommates now