Mr. Grilled Cheese

Carrie – I am no longer a young professional living in the 6ix. As much as I loved shitting around in what my father termed my “sabbatical” year in a great city, I’ve decided to move to a sleepier town. I’ve immerse myself back into an academic environment filled with intelligent, like-minded individuals, and a ton of… general douchebags. Welcome to the world of law school.

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Since I began two months ago, I have projectile vomited on a bus in front of my friends, peed behind a school building on campus, fallen on my face on a boat cruise, woken up with a leg full of bruises, developed viral conjunctivitis (aka a case of the pink eye), gotten a cold twice, and just generally killed it at life it seems. Maybe it’s the fierce female squad I’ve made (our group chat is the “Pro Boners”) and their bad influence on me but realistically, it’s probably just me.

One Saturday, after 12 hours in the library, my friend and I took one break to stop for linner at around 3. With that having been my only meal of the day, my mind being exhausted, and my overall track record of making bad life choices, I am fucked by 8:30 p.m. when we head over to this bro’s house for a pre.

I show up and I am the most ‘lit-lit’ out of all of us. I was hoping one of my crushes would be there – he’s a year younger but we went to the same alma mater, he’s well-spoken, tall, with these cerulean eyes that are alarmingly entrancing. He had been messaging me a couple of weeks earlier, even sending me heart emojis that the Pro Boners collectively freaked out over, so I had this pent up sexual tension I was hoping to explore with Mr. Heart Emoji.

Naturally, I sleep with his best friend.

I do have a penchant for fucking things up. This other guy, Mr. Grilled Cheese, wasn’t even on my radar. In fact, when my friends asked me about him the next day, I was slightly embarrassed because I don’t even really find him that attractive. He’s from my hometown coincidentally, Jewish (which is quickly becoming a top trend in my kill list), and a meat-headed douche that can’t take any commitment seriously. We call him Mr. Grilled Cheese because drunk Carrie has a tendency of making drunk 3 a.m. sandwiches for whomever is around, including the guy in her bed reviving himself post-coital.

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The point is not about him. Honestly, there wasn’t very much memorable about the evening other than the fact that it was the first time in HALF OF A YEAR (#record) that I had hooked up with anybody below the belt. This blog post will focus on what it’s like to be one of the first few hook-ups in an environment where you are confined to seeing this person and his friends on the daily basis, from the positionality of a strong, independent female.

In some ways, this is my first rodeo. In high school, the first and only person I had done anything sexual with, I ended up dating for the next four years up until my last year of undergrad. After a first semester grace period of heart break, I only hooked up twice my last semester and with dudes that were from out of town. I might have done this subconsciously to avoid the scenario I’m in now. Beyond that, kills in Toronto were easy: you rarely see anyone if you didn’t make a concerted effort to and even then, you could very easily avoid the scenario if you did by quickly walking past them or moving onto another subway train (true story).

This past month has been strange. Coming back to school after my weekend of wildin’, I could sense that the bros knew. They no longer sat with me at the library but would look at their phones as they passed by. They’d huddle in groups as they walked down the stairs together in the atrium. And then the piece de resistance was when I take a flight back to the 6ix for Thanksgiving weekend, five days after my sexual encounter with Mr. Grilled Cheese. Out of all people beside me, it happens to be my crush and his bro friend.

Mr. Heart Emoji himself leans over to talk to me. It was the first time that week he’d spoken to me and my heart was fluttering that I got to spend a whole hour with him. Then he shatters my fantastical vision of him when, before I even get my seatbelt on, he starts the conversation off with, “So… I hear you make a mean grilled cheese.”

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They were drunk. This is not an excuse or a qualifier, but actually where my question stems from. Are someone’s intoxicated comments a spouting out a random stream-of-consciousness or is it true what they say: drunk actions, sober thoughts?

An hour of getting slut-shamed later by the bro I thought was my friend and Mr. Heart Emoji laughing along, I was near tears for the berating I was receiving. Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t a woe is me situation – I was giving it right back to them and defending myself of their double-standard latent statements. But when you get told by your ‘friend’ that you were acting like “an animal in the house” who he heard can “bend it over and split it real good,” there’s only so much you can stand up for yourself when you were blackout and in a vulnerable position (literally). Also the fact that I was subjected to sit beside them on the plane until it was over was pretty torturing.

I haven’t hung out with them since, at least not in a drinking environment. I’ll be civil and I’ve made my annoyance with their comments clear. I also managed to match with Mr. Grilled Cheese on Tinder and call him out for his kissing-and-telling. (Then I superliked his housemate just to be a serious shit-disturber.)

Moral is: Double standards happen at every age, in every environment, and even with people soon to be trained professionals who might even be advocating in sexual assault cases. While I consented to sex with Mr. Grilled Cheese, I did not consent to have my reputation and humanity reduced until I was just a sexual object in my male classmates’ eyes.

It is by no means every man or woman who perpetuate these misogynist ideas about sex but no one should ever be able to take away some else’s dignity. You’re allowed to be drunk, you’re allowed to have sex, and you’re allowed to be a human being after it all.

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