Drama Queens

Everybody enjoys drama. Just look at TV. We have scripted drama, comedies with dramatic cliff hangers and even reality shows aren’t worth watching if there isn’t an element of drama involved. Couch potatoes of America know... drama is what sells.

Aside from entertainment, though, drama is present in everybody’s life. Even if you’re a hermit, drama will find you. It’s inevitable. Yet, when drama comes knocking at our doors, we all act surprised to see it. And at some point, no matter how much drama tends to be your guilty pleasure, everybody claims to hate it. But we don’t hate it... we love it. We’re just afraid to admit that we love it so much.

It’s been my experience that when a person says they don’t "do drama" they are often the main instigators of drama. It goes back to that old saying of when you’re pointing your finger at somebody, you have three more fingers pointing back at you (or if you prefer the playground saying that involves rubber and glue).

Big time drama instigators will blow things way out of proportion. They’ll over react to something mundane or down right silly. Their over reaction will cause a battle of insults and blame which may or may not turn into an all out war where rules are cast aside and grudges last forever. Friends will be lost, sides will be chosen and lives can be changed.

Another instigator of drama is gossip. Don’t look so innocent... you know you’ve partaken in a juicy secret or two. Who’s sleeping with whom? Who got fired and why? Why did they break up? Why did they show up or go home together? Who’s she and why’s she with him? All in all, it’s rarely any of our business, but we make it our business because we’re bored and have nothing better to talk about.

When secrets get out, fingers get pointed and blame gets passed. Sometimes the reaction is granted and sometimes it is not. But when it gets piled on thick, we all blame drama because it is the easiest scapegoat.

To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, right? That’s one of the basic theories of life. Drama doesn’t just happen. It’s a reaction to events that have been happening over a long period of time. Drama is a direct result of your personality clashing with somebody else’s. It’s the epitome of our darker selves rattling the cage and wanting to get out.

Drama is a mirror into your soul and a lot of times you don’t want to look into that mirror. If we accept drama into our lives and utilize it to figure out how to become better people, perhaps we won’t hate it so much. But it is the human condition to not want to see those things about ourselves that aren’t so pretty... and these are the things that drama usually centers around.

The answer to your drama problems, people, is love. Love yourself and love those who deserve it in your life. Nobody’s perfect. Nobody’s ideal. We all try to put our best foot forward, but sometimes, it’s inevitable that we stumble over that best foot and land face first into the ground.

Violence

I’ve never been in a physical fight. When I fight, I use my words. Being a writer I like to think I have a pretty good vocabulary (there’s always room for growth), and I tend to use words that will cut right to somebody’s core.

Also, for some reason, people always confide in me and I know a lot of deep dark secrets. God help the person who really crosses me and is looking for a confrontation. Because, if I’m left unchecked I will pull out those deep dark secrets and throw them in their faces. I usually only do this, though, as a defense mechanism. Somebody has to hit me below the belt before I’ll reciprocate those actions.

When Nola and I had our argument that night I moved out three years ago, I hit below the belt with my words. Beyond that, I can only think of one time I pulled information out of a file I promised to keep confidential. It was with my ex boyfriend after he told me he had hoped I would get mad when he was making out with Julie after we broke up.

I told him he doesn’t deserve two women fighting for his attention until he becomes a man worthy through his actions. Then I brought up the child he doesn’t support (and refused to admit actually belonged to him), and another dark event from his past to prove my point. He cried. I walked away and left him to cry alone. I told you... I fight verbally.

No matter how angry I get, though, I don’t think I’ll ever throw a punch. Beyond that, I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally abuse somebody just to keep them down. I don’t believe in tearing others down in order to feel better about yourself. If you’re in a confrontation and things get heated, that’s one thing, but to constantly remind somebody of their faults is a sin with a hefty fine.

I love my friends, and I’ll do anything for them. I have a mamma bear instinct that makes me want to protect those I love even if they don’t think they need protecting. This is the instinct that kicked in when Jenn called me last week and confirmed the fears Julie, Laura and I have had about her ex-fiancé all along. He’s been beating her.

Jenn was drunk when she told me, and then said she’d never had told me when she was sober.
Her ex still lives with her because of a strained financial situation. In a perfect world we’d all be able to pick up and go when things got rough, but that’s a luxury not all of us can afford.

She still has to live with his ridicule. He tells her she’s ugly, fat, and unlovable (all of which aren’t true). He tells her that she made a poor career choice, and she should do something that makes more money.

He still tries to control her. If she has a date and it doesn’t go well he uses it as proof that she won’t find anybody else to love her the way he did (let’s only hope).

Anybody who raises their hand to somebody else deserves to be ass-raped. Anybody who uses tactics of control over those they supposedly love doesn’t deserve to find love or be in love. Any body who uses physical violence to make a point is obviously unintelligent and needs to be re-educated on how to handle themselves when they have a problem.

This guy needs anger management, and he better hope he never sees me face to face again. I’ll tear off his balls and show them to him. Treat my friends with respect, or you’ll have the same fate.

Battle Lines

It would seem that the Nameless Roommate and I have re-entered the battlefield. That’s just great. I just love walking on eggshells in my own home.

The difference between this fight and the last fight is that I’m deciding not to deal with it. The last time we went through this I was apologetic and open for communication. I wanted to face it head on, fix it, and move on. This time, however, I frankly don’t give a shit. If she wants it resolved (I don’t think she does), then she’ll have to put forth the effort. Until then I’ll continue to be the roommate who pretends to live alone.

Let me lay out what this means, exactly. This means when I come home from work early in the morning, I’ll clean up any messes that are the direct result of me. While doing any dishes that are mine in the sink, I’ll make sure to bang the pots together loudly. When I’m digging cleaning products out from under the sink, I’ll slam the cabinet doors shut. When scooping the litter box, I’ll dig and dig and dig loudly around the bottom of it until I have every last clump out of there. I’ll clean my room and vacuum thoroughly (especially by the door that connects the two bedrooms. I won't worry about waking her up, as I'm sure vampires sleep soundly.

When I’m in the common living space, and she walks into the room I pretend I don’t see her, hear her or feel her presence. She does the same. I let her mess accumulate until I can’t stand it, then I pick it up and pile it outside her bedroom door in hopes that she’ll step on it and pick it up. This includes any empty cups or soda cans, empty cigarette boxes, wrappers left strewn by the computer, old fast food bags and cups, and the dog crap her dog left on the floor that she neglected to remove.

Oh, and if her boyfriend doesn’t quit leaving the toilet seat up, I will speak up about it. But it will be an announcement (if we had an intercom that would be great) along the lines of, "I don’t live with a man. I live with a woman. If men visitors cannot put the toilet seat down, then the female occupants of the apartment need to check behind them to make sure it is done." By the way, Dave has spent the night several times and he’s never left the toilet seat up. It’s nice to know I can pick a guy I don’t have to clean up after.

What the fight started over, to me, is stupid. I spilled a soda in her car when I swerved to miss a jackass on the railroad tracks. I told her about it. I apologized. I even offered to pay for carpet cleaning materials and to clean up the mess. She took her keys back.

I don’t have a car. I moved in with her because she had nowhere to go when her ex kicked her out on her ass. The agreement was that I got to use her car for work and errands. It would seem that she’s gone back on that word.

So I am living with somebody who doesn’t keep promises. Essentially I’m living with somebody I can’t trust. I can’t believe anything she says.

The family downstairs is getting fed up with her, too. Her dogs shit in the backyard, and she doesn’t pick it up. In the lease it says they are responsible for maintaining the yard, and I don’t blame them for not wanting to mow over piles of dog shit. But, hey, if she can’t even clean it up off the carpet inside the house, what makes you think she’ll clean it up out of the yard?

The piles of shit in the back yard aren’t the only complaints they have. Her new boyfriend and her have a lot of sex. Good for them. At least one of us is having a lot of sex. But she does it loudly with lots of banging. The little kids downstairs can hear this, as can the pregnant woman who’s been ordered to bed rest. She’s politely told her that she can hear everything they’re doing, and perhaps they’d like to keep it down when it’s late at night. The nameless roommate usually responds sympathetically and promises she'll keep it down only to return in full force even louder the next night. The result of this has knocked pictures off the walls downstairs and has caused the pregnant woman to become enraged with anger. The last time she confronter her, the nameless roommate claimed she wasn't even home that night. So she likes to lie, evidently.

Nobody’s telling her to stop having sex, just stop doing it so loudly so late at night. You know... it’s a respect issue (and she seems to know a lot about respect because she won’t shut up about how I've disrespected her car).

The solution, to me, is simple. Grow up. Take responsibility for your actions and your pets. And quit blaming everybody around you just because you can’t control everything around you. Oh, and maybe get your head examined... I'm starting to think you're crazy. And honestly, I don't know how long I can live with crazy before I kick crazy out.

The Return of Nola

Imagine the loudest friend you have. Imagine the most inappropriate friend you have. Imagine the most promiscuous friend you have. And also imagine the one friend you’ve seen naked most frequently. Roll all those into one and you have Nola.

I’ve known Nola as long as I’ve known my other friends (Julie, Felix, Nameless Roommate, Laura, Jenn.. the whole gang). The only difference between Nola and the rest is that I haven’t spoken to Nola in over a year. Well, I didn’t speak to her until last week, that is.

In true Nola fashion, she popped back into my life out of the blue. After a hiatus because of something I wrote about her on a blog (gasp), Nola decided to return as if she weren’t ever angry at me. The blog was a mirror... a mirror she didn’t want to look into. She didn’t like seeing the truth spelled out for her (as most people don’t).

Nola used to live with me. Back when I lived in a sprawling metropolis (my one attempt at city life), Nola, her boyfriend at the time, and I co-habitated together. Things ended badly when she tried to pawn my cat off to somebody else while I wasn’t home one day. Screaming ensued, and, like most fights, it wasn’t just about the cat. I moved out that night at 3 o’clock in the morning. We didn’t speak for three months until her boyfriend broke up with her (called it) and she came back home to small town life.

Once upon a time Nola was the life of the party. She was known for wearing her bra on her head and flashing her tits for everybody to see. She went through a spell where she swore she was a lesbian (or at least bi-sexual), but I think she only said that so she could sleep with women and not count them in her total number of people she’s fucked. She was always the drunkest, the loudest and the most emotionally disturbed member of the social crowd. And every time she moved away (lost count), she left a dent in the dynamic of the group.

Julie never liked her (shocker), and Jenn didn’t care much for her either. Laura loved her and still does. Felix thought she was awesome but could only handle her in small doses. Most people can only handle her in small doses.

If you’re going to hang out with Nola, there’s a few things you need to be prepared for. First of all, you’ll learn WAY too much about her sex life, her former sex life and her fantasies. Second of all she’ll reveal too much about her home life. She’ll tell you about her financial situation, as well. She’s an open book. Really, she’s an open book on tape and you’ll hear it read out loud whether you want to or not.

She’s funny, though. She always has me laughing. We feed off of each other’s energies, and sometimes the funny comebacks turn into bitchy squabbling. From an outsider’s point of view we look like two bitches going at it, but we both know when it’s joking and when it’s serious. And when it’s serious, look out. Hiroshima had nothing on us.

During our hour long conversation last week, she told me a few things that shocked me. For one, she’s engaged. Her days of sleeping around are over, it seems. Two, she’s in AA. She’s been sober for a year and a half. Her days of wearing her bra on her head are also over, it seems. Three, she’s forgiven me for writing that blog about her (just wait until she hears about this one... shut up, Laura). She supports my idea of writing a book about my friends, but she wants to make sure I clear it with her before I publish anything about her. I hope I can stick to that.

All in all, I’ve missed her presence in my life, but I’m leery about letting her in again. It seems she’s cleaned up her act, but back in the day she was on a path of destruction. I guess she finally got tired of destroying herself.

Let's Have a Sleep Over!

Remember the excitement that came from spending the night at a friend’s house?

Julie and I used to inhabit her basement and play make believe. We’d dress up in her sisters’ old prom dresses. We’d invade her mom’s beauty salon and do our hair and make up. Then, when her parents were asleep we’d raid the junk food drawer and watch Rated R movies until we passed out on the fold out couch. That was enough entertainment for us.

I think those little slumber parties were a good way for us to prepare for being good hostesses when adulthood hit, but there is one kind of sleep over where the rules for being a good hostess are a bit fuzzy. I'm talking about those impromptu sleep overs that happen when the guy you like is drunk and staying at your place, of course.

A few blogs back I mentioned Dave. Dave was the class clown in high school turned into a (mostly) mature adult. I ran into Dave a few nights ago while I was out with Julie and Jennifer.

Jules and Jenn remember Dave from high school, and they remember how his group didn’t mix with ours. When I told them he was my date for a wedding coming up next month, they were a bit shocked. Then when we showed up to Jan’s Bar and he was there, they got to see, first hand, the dynamic that happens between he and I.

First of all, he was super excited to see me. Despite the fact that it was probably the alcohol talking, I never get tired of a guy yelling my name to get my attention, and then cutting through the sea of people to give me a hug.

Dave and I have a kind of chemistry that’s hard to contain when other people are around. We dance, drink, talk, laugh and flirt with very little inhibitions whether we’re being watched or not. I like the fact that he’s a bit wild; it makes me look more tame than I am. I feed off his energy, and it’s nearly impossible to stay in a bad mood if he’s around to crack some jokes.

There’s been a trend ever since I moved into this apartment. It seems Dave and I can’t hang out together without him coming back to my place to stay the night. In fact, the very first night I lived here, he showed up to hang out. He couldn’t figure out which house my apartment was in, so he decided to stand out in the street and yell my name until I came outside to shut him up.

Looking back that story always makes me laugh (and when it’s retold I always get a chuckle out of people), but at the time I was very concerned that my neighbors would hate me. Here it was, day one, and at 1 o’clock in the morning this guy shows up screaming my name out in the street. That’s the kind of thing I thought happened only in movies.

The other night the trend continued. He came back to my place, and he opted to stay in my bed this time, instead of the couch. And I have to be honest, I kind of wanted him to stay in my bed instead of the couch.

When it comes to Dave, I’m not really sure what I want. One thing I know is that I’m in the middle of a really long dry spell, and a warm body in my bed isn’t an unwelcome thought. Naturally, I did what any girl in a dry spell would do. I refused to make the first move while trying to make myself as appealing as possible.

I spent half an hour in the bathroom making sure my breath was up to par. I slathered on this expensive cream that makes my skin silky soft and offers a wonderful aroma. I made sure I was properly prepared for the adventure that might be. When I entered my bedroom, he was sleeping while sitting up on the side of my bed. So much for wishful thinking.

The care giver in me simply laid him down while I crawled in next to him.

I will admit that it was nice just to even sleep next to a man. Sharing my bed is still sharing my bed whether I get any or not, and I kind of enjoyed waking up the next morning.

Like a good hostess I let him sleep in and I smiled and offered him some coffee (which I always forget that he doesn’t drink the stuff) when he woke up. If the neighbors pay any attention, they’ve gotten used to seeing him leave my apartment on occasion. I know what everybody thinks when two people go home together, but I have yet to receive the perks of any rumor that might be started because of this.

I’m not sure when sleep overs changed from stolen twinkies and midnight movies to frantic preparations and hoping to get laid, but they still have one thing in common... the excitement factor.