Here’s a TMI post that I’m too embarrassed to post on my own blog, or even put my own name on it, so it’s a secret TMI Thursday post. But I think many of us have had bad nights like this one so I feel like sharing it anyway. It’s a long story, but bear with me. It’s worth it.

Not too long ago I was dating this guy (we’ll call him Jack). Not very seriously, but things were heading in that direction. We hadn’t slept together, but things were also heading in that direction. Until things went sour and he didn’t want to date me anymore. I was pretty upset, but he proved that he was a jerk so I moved on.

Because we have mutual friends, a month or two later I was introduced to his friend (we’ll call him Bill) at a bar. I shouldn’t say friend. They were acquaintances. Jack wasn’t around that weekend. Bill asked if I was “Jack’s girl”– he must have heard that I dated him. I told him I wasn’t. I thought Bill was pretty cute, and he was making “eyes” at me all night, but I didn’t want anything to happen. How big of a bitch would that have made me?

The next weekend Jack was gone again, but Bill was back in town. It was a pretty big party weekend and I drank ALL day, starting at around 10:00 am. That evening there was a party at Jack’s house, and since I’m friends with all his roommates, of course I was still going to go. By 9:00 pm things were getting fuzzy for me and I was feeling reaaaal nice. I was still trying not to flirt with Bill. But by 10:00 pm Bill told me he thought I was cute, and in my very drunken state, the green light clicked in my head and told me all signs were a go.

We started flirting. I stole his sweater to wear around the house. We were going shot for shot (except I was drinking probably more than he was). I got his phone number.

Around 1:30 in the morning Bill and I end up in a bedroom together (at least it wasn’t Jack’s bedroom). We’re making out pretty hard core. The clothes are coming off. At this point I should tell you about the house. It’s a REALLY old Victorian with window vents above the doors. The windows have been painted over in all of the bedrooms. Except the bedroom we were in. So the clothes are off and we’re fooling around naked (I hadn’t been laid in months so I really wanted some sexy time). And then I look above the door to see Jack’s roommates watching Bill and I fooling around. Shit. Not good. We try to move to another spot in the room where they can’t see us.

Next thing I know I’m asking if Bill has a condom. After that I’m tearing it open and slipping it on him. We’re having sex. I’m having sex with Jack’s friend, who I’ve only known for less than a week, and I hadn’t even slept with Jack, who I was actually dating for a few months. I was so drunk that things are REALLY fuzzy for me here. I just know that I was SO sloppy and the sex could NOT have been any good for either of us. I remember the condom coming off and I wouldn’t let things go any further. I remember putting my sweatpants back on. I don’t remember falling asleep. I couldn’t tell you if Bill fell asleep in the same room or not.

I woke up in the morning in someone’s tshirt, Bill no where to be found (he had a class that morning, so that’s where he went).

Bill calls me later that night and asks if I remember what had happened.

“Yeah, I mean, pretty much….”

“Well, um, you called me ‘Jack’ about three times….”

WTF.

“Yeah, from what you were saying, I think you and Jack have some unfinished business….”

Oh no. No no no. I called Bill by the wrong name! I never even slept with Jack but I’m calling another guy his name! I thought my night had been bad, but this made it much worse. Bill was cordial, I guess, and we hung up.

The next weekend I went out with my friends, and Bill and the other guys came out too (Jack’s still not around).

What does Bill do?

He shakes my motherfucking hand and asks “Hey, what’s up?”

You’re shaking my hand a week after your penis was in my mouth??

Is that what guys do nowadays?

The next week I started reading “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.” Now I know that anything I ever do in life will never compare to Tucker Max’s stories. Thank you, Tucker Max, for helping to let a girl know that her screwup of a night is actually NOT that bad.

But it’s still Too Much Information.