by Lynn Kim Do

Sweaters Over Baes (3 of 3)

"Let's take a walk," he said. It'll be fun, he said. You see how this seemingly innocent suggestion in form of a period punctuation as oppose to a question mark is quite deceptive. Its meaning will forever change due to this incident. And if you don't know what I'm talking about then let me explain... 

Cropped Sweater - SHAE NY // Velvet Green Pants - Zara // Burgundy Red Boots - Zara // The Ellis Choker - The Break Vintage // Screw Bar Bangle - The Peach Box // Hidden Gem Cuff - mumbaistockholm

Date 03: Let's Take A Walk

Freshman year of High School was a year of many firsts. It was when I had my first kiss. My first puppy love. My first shattering heart break. Was a victim of girl sabotage for the first time. My first jello shot. My first drunken blackout slash throwing up slash regret slash fukkkkyassssletsdrinkmoreeeee. And my first encounter with a boy name Tommy* who isn't all that important but have circulate as one of my most favorite stories to tell over brews. I find it near and dear to me for many reasons, most of them odd. This story is one highlighting a simple heroine act, warrants hard laughter, foreshadows my narcissistic feminist characteristics, and truly rare for the time, my age, and circumstance.

I will tell it like you are indeed sitting right next to me at Ten Degrees at 6:54pm on a Tuesday. Not a Monday. Not Wednesday. But yes, that dreadful Tuesday. This story will make you smirk, even laugh. (Please let me know if I succeed). It's buy one, get one free at this bar so tell the bartender to keep 'em coming. Now let's begin...


I had just moved to North Plainfield, a small town in New Jersey. Small towns comes with the dreadful small town package--nosy neighbors, nosy students, nosy people, nosy school. Everyone knows everyone. So naturally, everyone knew I was new. Better yet, a new new Freshman. By the end of the year, my circle of friends were inhabited by mostly Juniors and Seniors. This news didn't arrive too well with my peers. My best friend at the time (in fact, she's my longest standing friendship--shoutout to the bae *kissy face emoji*), her friend (who we are no longer friends with), and I met up to listen to Britney Spears new album which was undeniably good and pregame before we headed to the end of year house rager. I hadn't been to many house parties during the school year. The raging didn't begin for me until the Summer. I guess I was a late bloomer. You wouldn't guess that, would ya?

I'm sure we drank something ridiculous like Hypnotic or whatever shitshow that comes in a slender grey can. (swallows a large amount of vodka soda and silently thank the bar god for wisdom, old age, and good cocktails at Ten Degrees) We pregame until we got just saucy enough and waited for the appropriate time to walk to a three story home fit for Queen Latifah's bodyguard. I'm not even kidding. Because we should never arrive early. And god forbid, if we ever arrive on time. So we arrived an hour late. We walked past the kegs. And by the soldier boy choreography by the "cool" seniors with their hats on backwards and pre-beer belly physiques. I hugged a couple people. I introduced myself. And I went for the only thing I knew I cold solely rely on--more alcohol.

His backyard was massive. I think there was a pool. No, maybe there wasn't. Ugh, if he doesn't have one, he should get one. I could totally suggest it to the host, once friend, now twitter/snapchat acquaintance to get a pool for his backyard. He would appreciate that. Anyway, we were all in his backyard. My best friend's friend was well-annihilated and her thirst was unquenchable. And I don't mean the kind of thirst for liquids.

At one point in the evening, a guy walked up to me and suggested we perform a make out.
"Wait, aren't you gay?"
"Uh, no. But thanks."
I was not going to be apart of some attention seeking tactic. That was not going to be my story that evening. Meanwhile, another story was about to unfold. (And I lived my gay guy makeup sesh dream months later and it wasn't too story-worthy.) Now to add some flavor to this story and for you to truly understand, I must tell you side some facts. Because a real story is never straight forward. The party host, Michael*, had a thing with my best friend earlier on the during the year. He also had developed a current interest for me. This would obviously never work out because this girl here (points to my fabulous self) is loyal. You want to know who else had an interest in me? Michael's best friend, Tommy. And Tommy was indeed a very cute, tall, older man. Many checkmarks, if you will. The only negative thing about Tommy was his hoe-ish reputation.

Tommy and I were having a very engaging conversation about something that wasn't probably that interesting because I can't remember what we said. My best friend was somewhere, doing something interesting...maybe a keg stand. And her thirsty friend had caught a prey in that net of hers and was seeking for a spot to chop his head off. And then, Tommy semi-asked / semi-suggested me this--"Want to go for a walk?"
"Walk where?"
"Just around."
The thirst queen inserts herself into our very A & B conversation, "we'll walk with you!"
So I guess we were going for a walk. If we die, we all die together.

We walked away from the magnificent house. This walk seemed innocent enough. But of course, it wasn't. Why would it be? Because if it was, this story would end there and it wouldn't be worth a drunken story moment at Ten Degrees. So we took a stroll down a suburban side street. And the next thing I can recall is--somehow I was straddling Tommy on a stranger's lawn and we were playing tag with our tongues. To my left, the Thirst Queen had already pounced and was working on devouring the rest of him. Gross. And then, Tommy started to get a little feel-y. To which, I sternly gave a hard "No." To which he replied, "Just let it happen." With a natural reflex to the most disgusting phrase ever invented by man, I stood up, hovered over this 6 foot man, and said, "Do you know WHO THE FUCK I AM!?" And left.

The end.

Truthfully, that phrase had never came out of my mouth before then. I didn't always posses or, perhaps, knew I possess such high regards for myself. Everyone should, I know that now. But at 15 years old, it was hard to fully understand and consciously choose to be respected, to make an active and strong choice, and to walk away. It came out because it felt right. And from then on, that moment solidified my self-worth. I left everything I didn't need back on that lawn including that girl aka Thirst Queen, including Tommy. So from that day forward, I gained a hilarious story. After telling this story a hundred times, I have collected a variety of feedback. Some called me a feminist, some said I was lucky because it could've clearly gone sour, some applauded me even, some thought it was hilarious, and some called me a badass bitch. Metaphorically, they're right. I like to think that I'm all of those things. This specific story just foreshadowed my entire life at the tender age of 15 years old. Currently, I am an intimidating bad ass bitch who has feminist values and am often lucky but I like to think that I now make safer decisions after ten years of wisdom and practice. 

So now that we're about 6 drinks deep at this bar, want to go somewhere else?

Photos by Erika of Hague NYC