The Lisa Files: Was It Good for Me?

Pin it

Index |

December 31, 2001

Some people drink and they are just like themselves but a little louder or quieter or kinder or meaner. Others — and I’m one of these — lead alternate lives. Put two Jack and Cokes in me and I’m Lisa Dark. I don’t know her, but I sure have heard a lot about her. From what I gather, sex with (and for) her must be really great (and occasionally really gross . . . really body fluid-y . . . and things get broken). I remember a five-hour ride home from New York with my just-a-friend, who said, after the third time we’d pulled over so I could throw up into some matted, frosty grass, “I haven’t seen someone so enthusiastic about sex as you were last night since high school! We have to do that again sometime!”


“Nooo,” I groaned, searching in his glove compartment for a second pair of sunglasses to put on top of the ones I was wearing.


I don’t believe in “fuck buddies.” I think the whole concept is weird. But apparently Lisa Dark is a more accepting soul than I. “For the longest time I couldn’t figure out why you two had so carefully deposited the contents of my coffee table onto my couch,” read an email from my friend Kate, whose house Just-a-Friend and I had slept at, “since you were totally not in a careful mood when I finally went to bed. Then I realized you guys had crawled under my coffee table and somebody’s back heaved the glass up out of it, and that’s when everything came off. By the way, do you remember propositioning me?” After that, I switched to Budweiser. As it turns out, three Buds affect me the same as two Jacks. So I put Lisa Dark into retirement, except for once a year, on New Year’s Eve. Here is a sampling of other people’s glorious non-memories of drunken fucks past.

Lisa Carver is the author of the books Dancing Queen, Rollerderby, The Lisa Diaries and Drugs Are Nice. She’s written for Hustler, Index, Icon, Feed, Newsday and Playboy, among others. She lives in New Hampshire.

Lisa Carver and, Inc.