(Lost in Translation is our weekly column from a college guy’s perspective.)
Jealousy is getting to be a problem in my life. I’ve never been one of those guys who doesn’t understand or appreciate jealousy. You know, the guy who seems all confused when his current hook-up hysterically storms toward her friends huddled around a table of kamikaze shots after seeing you talking with Emily, the girl you hooked up with long before ever meeting your newest squeeze. Actually, I happen to have a very formidable jealous bone myself, and I’ve learned to ignore it. For instance, I didn’t like it at all when I see a new Facebook album from the one night I didn’t go out last week, (aptly named We Didn’t Start the Fire… by that bitch of a friend of yours Farrah) pops up on my news feed and Derrick from your Stat Class is hanging all over you in every other picture.
But let’s face it: Farrah never really liked me much. I guess I should have been more careful of your shared toilet seat, which you’ve been more than clear that I’ve apparently vandalized a few times with stray streams of piss. Between that and the thin walls between your bedrooms, I’ve always felt her eyes boring into me whenever I stumble out in the morning for a glass of water to wash down that handful of Tylenol. And her comments about how “you two are sooooooooooooooo cute together – xo” don’t make her and my friendship, if that is what it is, any better.
But I’m a big boy, and you and me, well, we’re just hooking up, and nothing more. I understand that I don’t have all too much room to wiggle around and make a fuss about Derrick, or even Farrah. I’ve done that before. And I’ve learned that if I did ever, drunkenly or not, spout out the way I actually feel, you might end up turning the tables to ask what we are, which is not good. Not good at all.
Jealously is never a good card to play in a hookup. NEVER. Where we just so happen to be standing (which is more often than not in a small puddle of drunkenly spilt beer and shots in a sauna-esque, saloon-style bar), is not the place, nor time, to be raising that objection. ‘Cause there are far too many other players who just need a nudge to take control of the joystick, in more ways than one. I don’t care if Farrah told you that I didn’t pay enough attention to you and that you need to make me prove to you that I like you. I think you’re great and all, but, let’s face it, neither of us see this, whatever it is, going on more than a week after graduation, if it even makes it through Christmas break.
Sex with you is fun. All sorts of fun. And those new positions we have been finding ourselves in? Those are just awesome. But sex in general, with other girls, is fun as well. And as seniors in college, that kind of sex is all but guaranteed for only a half a dozen more months before we have to actually start traveling to get laid, or frequenting bars with twenty-something bankers, and I’m not sure if my lousy paycheck from wherever hires me is going to hold up very well next to theirs. So I don’t mean to be harsh, but you should know that I plan to spend money on a lot of other girls after college. And bringing up the jealousy thing is only going to make that happen faster.