I have learned many important things in college, but I think the most crucial thing I’ve observed is the importance of the first month of school to that classic collegiate interest – finding booty. During this time, the college campus seems to transform into one giant street corner – upon which everybody is either selling a product or looking to buy one. This is my theory.
Over summer break, school relationships dissolve and students become newly single in an atmosphere in which single people their own age are not readily available.
This means that once we get back to school, the following equation applies – deprivation + break-up + re-introduced social atmosphere = woohoo!
Subsequently, during the first month of school, everyone tries to hook up with everyone else before this time period is up, because once that first month is gone, people have either found relationships or are too stressed out or too cold to venture out of their rooms to seek booty.
This means that if you don’t find a relationship during the first month of school, you’re pretty much screwed – either way – until the weather warms up and people reemerge from their rooms again, which in Rochester, often means that your sexual dry spell will run until the middle April.
After discussing my observations with my best friend – who we shall call here “The Vixen of Burton” – we decided to take action to ensure that we obtained some sort of permanent booty call before Oct. 1. Thus, we instituted the 28 Days of Male-Female Interconnectedness, a concentrated effort on both our parts to bring out our “A-games,” and “get some” before it was too late.
We told all of our friends about our pact, and before we knew it, everyone was in on it. Everyone wanted “some” in the most biblical of ways. There was only one rule – make out with someone before Oct. 1.
Sounds simple, right? One would think so! But alas, I feared that after having written an article in the Campus Times in which I referred to myself as the “metamucilized flatmate,” guys wouldn’t find me sexually attractive.
Fearing that my friends would find success before I did, I quickly put up an away message in which I pleaded with my online buddies to find at least one of the two things I was presently missing in my life – hot man candy and tuna salad. One of my friends promptly responded with a link to a case of tuna and told me, “It’s a whole case! How could you go wrong?” Indeed, how could I go wrong?
On the first night of our experiment, I wore a tight red shirt and the Vixen wore a backless one. This gave me the excuse to run up to guys I didn’t know on the frat quad and say, “Hi! Let me tell you a story about the back of my friend’s shirt! Okay, ready?Once upon a time … there wasn’t one! LOL OMG!” Perhaps this wasn’t the best of pick-up lines – and perhaps I didn’t do enough to help the situation – but I find that even when I’m completely trashed, I am still incredibly uncomfortable on the frat quad.
The end result generally tends to be that I ignore all attempts guys make to hit on me, opting instead to squeeze as many anxious and un-sexy jokes into one sentence and then run off somewhere to sing the Captain Planet song, or do the robot.
In any case, the Vixen and I returned home a bit defeated after that first night. However, I must admit, I came closer than she did to obtaining our goal.
While I was walking up to my building in Hill Court, a trashed boy on the second floor balcony drunkenly called to me, slurring his syllables, “Hey Red, come here, I have something to tell you.” He then proceeded to fall out of his chair.
At first, I wondered what the devil the poor chap could want at such an ungodly hour of the night and if perhaps I shouldn’t inquire as to his motivations for initiating such a conversation.
Ultimately, I decided to climb up to my loft and wallow in post-teenaged angst until my eyes fell shut from the pressure of my own self-pity.
Would the signers of the pact ultimately achieve booty success? Tune in next week to see.
Kaminsky can be reached at lkaminsky@campustimes.org.
