Nobody wants to get to know you better at two in the morning. They don’t want to hear your hopes and dreams, a recap of your day, or your childhood memories. There is only one reason why anyone is contacting you to hang out after 2 AM: booty call.

I’ll admit, I’ve been guilty of both making, and accepting booty calls. This Sunday at Rok Room was obviously nothing less than a shit show, because I received not 2, not 3, but FOUR booty calls. FOUR. Not trying to brag, but that’s more than the average bear would receive on a Sunday night. To make it clear, receiving booty calls isn’t really something to be flattered by as you’re most likely a last resort, or an after thought. If these people really wanted to hang out with you, they would have invited you out with them in the first place. My grand total was 4 calls, which means I was a last resort 4 times. I didn’t even think there were that many girls in Orlando to choose from.

I was going to go out tonight, but weighed my options. The Law and Order SVU marathon and PF Chang’s leftovers seemed more enticing than drinking the night away; I passed out watching TV at around 11. I woke up about an hour ago with a surge of energy and started cleaning my room. When I clean my room, I typically end up making a bigger mess “reorganizing”. As I was sitting here categorizing and sorting my vast t-shirt collection, my phone began to ring. The caller shall remain nameless, but if you’re reading this (which he’s probably not), just know that it was nothing personal when I turned you down. Recently I decided it was time for me to turn a new leaf. Sure, I’m the go-to party girl, down for the count, and a whole lot of fun. But being the party girl doesn’t get you no-occasion roses, or jewelry for Christmas. Dropping everything you’re doing to hang out with someone at 2 AM (in my case the important task of throwing my clothes around), doesn’t earn you respect, or more importantly a build-a-bear on Valentines Day.

The first caller was charming. He was clearly drunk and harmlessly asked me if I wanted to come “have fun”. Initially I said yes, hung up the phone, and scrambled to find pretty pajamas to put on. I looked around at my piles of clothes on the floor and realized I would not be able to put together a presentable outfit, not to mention I had just eaten even more leftovers and was feeling sluggish. Just as I was going to send the “actually, let’s do this tomorrow” text, he called again. Persistence is cute, but drunk persistence is annoying.

Me: Not tonight, I’m in the middle of cleaning my room.

Him: You realize this is probably the last time I’ll invite you over, right?

Me: Is that a threat?

Him: Yep…

Me: Sorry to hear that. Goodnight!

Immediately after this phone call I knew I wanted to write about booty calls. Not 1 paragraph into this entry, the phone rings again, this time caller #2. At this point it was about 3:30. Seriously? These calls are forcing me to reevaluate my life. This guy was 10 times more hammered than the first one, and 100 times funnier. Drunk sentence formation is hard enough to decipher in person, let alone over the phone. Due to the fact I could hardly understand what he wanted besides “come over”, I hung up after just a couple minutes of amusement.

Would I love to be “having fun” with some attractive guy right now? Yes. Would I have jumped at the chance to do these things a month ago? Yes. However, times are changing. I’d rather be spending time with someone who calls me at 9, not 2. Someone who wants to see me before the sun sets, and who is interested in hearing what I have to say. I’m not completely writing off late night rendezvous, and I’m not here to dictate what anyone else should do. I’m just a girl deciding I am no longer attending to a rando’s needs, and not expecting anyone to attend to mine.

 

 

Tags: booty call, orlando girl's guide