The Sexy Summer Visitor
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Cornell Diaries
November 21, 2008 - 12:00amFemale, Junior, 21, Arts & Sciences
Welcome to Cornell Diaries, where we print the anonymous recorded lives of Cornell students. While The Sun maintains the confidentiality of each writer, all facts have been verified and all diaries record the true, unedited lives of different Cornell students.
Friday, July 25
1:00 p.m. (PST) Depart for work-related weekend in Ithaca (read: vacation).
10:32 p.m. (EST) Arrive at Tompkins airport. Mooch ride off of old roommate’s boyfriend’s frat brother, even though he doesn’t remember my name.
11:00 p.m. At random apartment for birthday party. Already a few drinks in. Random hot blonde dude I don’t know keeps pouring me shots of tequila.
11:30 p.m. Getting drunk fairly quickly.
11:48 p.m. Find myself at Rulloff’s. No one else is here yet. Don’t recognize anyone. Order a pitcher, go downstairs and make friends with random people.
Saturday, July 26
12-something p.m. Start puking into pitcher, cup and on table. Worried bartenders and new townie friends offer me water, ask if they can call anyone, who my friends are, if I have friends. As a reply, pass out on table.
1:00 a.m. Work friend tapping me on shoulder. “I am a hot mess,” I tell him. Rinse off in bathroom, wash out mouth, give him huge hug. “Hot doesn’t really apply right now,” he tells me.
1:30 a.m. Reunion time at friend’s house! Everyone laughing and dancing. Or maybe just me.
1:45 a.m. Crawl onto friend’s couch.
7:22 a.m. Wake up on friend’s couch. I smell like a dog that ate his own puke. Cute. World is spinny.
7:26 a.m. Back in own bed, thankfully.
11:23 a.m. Dressed and on way to work. Walk by Rulloff’s. Shameful puking returns to my memory.
11:24 a.m. Literally walk into ex-boyfriend.
11:25 a.m. He seems surprisingly happy to see me. We make “plans” to hang out later that I know neither of us will follow through on.
3:00 p.m. Cell phone dies. Realize I left my freaking charger back in L.A. Use this as excuse to call ex-boyfriend, who has same charger. Try to convince him to drop it off at work. No go. Miss the days when the promise of sex could get him to do things.
4:00 p.m. Text message from random dude I’ve had a thing for. He’s in Ithaca this summer. Make plans to hang out later.
11:00 p.m. Apparently, new dude doesn’t want to get drinks; meet him for coffee instead.
Sunday, July 26
1:00 a.m. Not sure how to broach booty call part without coming off as slut. He takes care of it for me by inviting me back to his place.
1:20 a.m. Watching TV in living room.
2:00 a.m. In his room “looking something up online.”
2:15 a.m. Both on bed.
2:25 a.m. Start making out. Easier than I thought.
3:10 a.m. Ask him to get condom. He seems surprised.
3:15 a.m. Sex. Stone-cold sober. Also damn good.
3:50 a.m. Awkward conversation commences. The drive to bounce battles it out with too-tired-to-walk-anywhere feeling. Latter wins. Decide to nap for an hour, then sneak out while he is sleeping.
4:00 a.m. Dude starts hemming and hawing in annoying passive-aggressive way: it’s really hot, he doesn’t sleep well with another person … call him out on his bullshit.
4:15 a.m. Leave. Know I have no right to be mad since I wanted to bounce anyway. Mad anyway.
4:30 a.m. Home. Start feeling dirty about casual sex. Remind myself that it is cultural double standard making me feel this way.
4:45 a.m. Dude in L.A. I’m seeing texts me: hey sweetie, how’s NY? Misssss you. (He has a thing for extraneous Ss.) Tell myself we aren’t being exclusive; no reason to feel like asshole.
4:46 a.m. Feel like an asshole anyway. Ignore text.
4:50 a.m. Steal internet from neighbors, pass out on couch.
1:00 p.m. Stumble over to work. Share my conquest with select few.
4:00 p.m. Everyone leaves Ithaca. My flight doesn’t leave until 5 a.m. Bored out of my mind.
10:00 p.m. New roommate calls me; they are making weed cupcakes at her old co-op. Invites me over to partake.
Monday, July 27
2:00 a.m. Two delicious weed cupcakes in my tummy, two for the road. Nervous about the idea about being so ridiculously high before my flight.
4:30 a.m. Up, packed, wait for cab. World is really, really spinny. I feel awesome.
8:00 a.m. Second leg of flight. Stewardess is getting really angry about people trying to sneak bags onto flight. Stupidly decide to hide carry-on bag behind super-wide gaucho pants.
8:30 a.m. Flight has still not taken off; multiple eruptions between stewardess and passengers. Stewardess threatens to kick off the next person she discovers is hiding a carry-on somewhere. Much, much too late to confess. Freak out. Too much for weed-addled mind. Cower in seat, cover bag further with M.C. Hammer pants.
10:00 a.m. (PST) Back in LAX. Rejoice.
11:00 a.m. Text L.A. boy back: finally back! missed you too. dinner tonight?
11:15 a.m. Pass out on beach. Why can’t Cornell ever be as fun during the year?
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