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.

BITCHES

Julie’s wedding day is over a year away. It’s going to be a long, long, long 15 months.

Allow me to introduce myself a little, here. So far I’ve told you about my friends. I’ve offered you an unprecedented view into my life and my friends’ lives. I’ve attempted to de-construct their personalities and their tendencies. Yet, the only thing you really know about me so far is that I’m chock full of opinions.

Back in the day I verbalized my opinions left and right. I didn’t give a shit whose toes I stepped on. It’s cost me some friendships, and I had a little growing up to do. I’ve learned how to pick and choose my spoken opinions around certain individuals, but just because I’ve learned how to take use of my filter, that doesn’t mean the opinions have stopped forming.

While there are plenty of things I love in the world (the scent of lilac, fresh cut flowers, dancing to ABBA... you know, the simple pleasures), there are also plenty of things that I really have a low tolerance for. For instance... I can’t stand it when a child is throwing a fit in the check out lane at any store. I don’t care if it’s a grocery store, a toy store or the local Wal-Mart... if you’re going to bring your kids out in public keep them in line. My mother had a way of gritting her teeth and threatening to spank me right there in the store if I acted up. And you know what? I believed her. She never did it, but I never tested the theory. In fact, I can only remember being spanked once or twice in my life. But, that’s all it took.

That’s just one thing I have a low boiling point with. I could easily have a bitchfest on a whole range of topics, and I figured out more items to add to the bitch list: wedding plans, wedding planners, future brides and women who’ve recently been a bride.

If you’re one on one with a BITCH (Bride In The Conversation Hemisphere), it’s not so bad. She’ll offer small updates about her planning thus far, but really only if you ask (unless she’s too close to the date... then it’s no holds barred). She might fill you in on a color scheme or a church location. She might vent about loopholes she has to find or plans that fell through or the nasty vendor she had to deal with, but she generally keeps to topics that you can somewhat keep some interest in. Any more than just one, though, and it turns into wedding planning mania.

I sometimes feel like I’m the only person I know who’s not planning a wedding. Like I’ve previously mentioned, I’m not in a hurry to walk down the aisle. I don’t mind waiting for the right guy. I’m not financially ready for anything like that either, so even if I did find Mister Right, it would be a long time before I married him. Because I’m not at the point in my life yet, I really don’t share the interest of these conversations with my friends when they start talking about preparations.

Laura and Julie are getting married a month apart from one another next year. Naturally they’re both at similar steps in the wedding planning process. When they’re in the same room, the conversation will inevitably turn down Wedding Road. I’ll pay attention at the beginning, and I might even ask a few questions. And I will admit, sometimes I get swept up into the conversation and I start thinking about what I’d do differently or what I’d do similarly. But after 20 or thirty minutes I go into la la land. If we’re at the bar, it’s at this point that I find somebody else to talk to or I go outside to smoke.

Julie by herself will be guaranteed to talk about it. Laura by herself will only talk about it if asked... she’s more low key. Jennifer will only talk about weddings if she’s around Julie or Laura. She did have one completely planned, after all. Just because she didn’t walk down the aisle doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a story or two about planning the big event. Since I have no stories to add, I end up staying silent and getting drunk faster because my drink turns into the only thing I’m really interested in.

I’m not in either one of my friends’ weddings. I don’t mind, really. I couldn’t afford to take on the commitment, anyway. Laura has informed me that I will be handing out programs and taking care of her Unity Candle. That’s cool with me... as long as I don’t have to cut the cake. I won’t do that job. I think that job should be saved for the cousin or aunt you really don’t like. In my family, I think it would be my Grandmother... or my Aunt Beth. I’m glad to help, really.

I realize it’s natural to talk about something so important to you, and that’s why I don’t stop them. I understand why they talk about it all the time, really, I do. I’m happy for my friends and I think they should have the best day possible. But I have a fear.

Their weddings are so far down the road, that I know this is only the beginning. I fear as the date draws closer my friends will turn into Bridezillas. Laura’s laid back enough that she’ll probably be okay, but Julie will allow the stress to get to her. She does, after all, strive for perfection.

I’m just not looking forward to mundane details. I don’t want to be a bitch, but sometimes I just don’t care... at all. On the other hand I don’t want to alienate my friends, so I’ll smile and nod or find somebody else to talk to when they get to clucking about dress material, caterers and flowers.

To Laura, the only friend who might read this... Sorry honey, and no offense. But please don’t become a Bridezilla on me... I’m afraid I might bitch slap you. And if I bitch slap you, who’s going to stop me from bitch slapping Julie?

The Dinner Party

At the beginning of June, the nameless roommate and I decided to throw a dinner party. The day before this event, her fiance of seven years dumped her for good. He'd been pushing her away for a while, but that day he drove the final nail into the coffin that was their relationship.

We only invited four people to this dinner party, and, truth be told, our apartment couldn't comfortably fit much more than that. The four guests included Julie and her Mitch, and Laura and her fiance Nathan.

Knowing that my roommate was dealing with the issues of her ex, I knew it'd be hard for her to be around two happy couples. Hell, I've been single for years and it's hard for me to be around couples at times... happy or unhappy.

Don't get me wrong... I'm happy for my friends, but sometimes when I hang out with their significant others I want to shoot myself. I don't mind being single, but I do mind my life long friends introducing me to people who make my skin crawl.

Mind you, I'm not talking about Nathan. I like Nathan. He makes Laura happy, and he's a great guy. They were the first couple to arrive that night. When they knocked on the door I stashed my weed and tried to pretend I wasn't high (the weed was a precautionary measure -- trust me... it's best that I was high for this event).

Laura and Nathan are dog people, and within seconds Nathan was rolling around on the floor with our two huge mutts, Drake and Lizzy. It wasn't long after that when Julie and Mitch came walking in.

Upon initial sight of Mitch I have to stop myself from vomiting (usually). He's not (THAT) ugly on the outside, mind you, but his personality makes me prefer the sound of nails on a chalkboard to his company.

His inaugural request was some fru-fru drink, while I grabbed a beer for myself and Laura. As soon as Mitch was settled with his cocktail (seriously.. I think I saw a maraschino cherry in this "straight" man's glass) he started taking up all the air in the room by insisting that he be the loudest and most frequent speaker.

Much eye rolling ensued from Laura towards my general direction... which Mitch either didn't notice or ignored completely.

So, we decide to start cooking and drinking while Mitch continuef to talk about the house that he and Julie (mainly Julie) just bought and how excited he is to finally own a home (eye roll). He spoke at great length about the wonderful job he has at the newspaper (he's a sport's editor for a VERY small town paper... you know the once weekly circulation types -- eye roll). And after he regaled us on the adventures of tee-ball (eye roll), he started making jokes. Allow me to correct myself... he didn't make jokes... he openly offended people and laughed while thinking everybody thought he was joking (eye roll/glares of discontent). I guess he didn't notice that he was the only one laughing.

His comments were attempted to be ignored by myself, but he persisted on trying to push my buttons. He said I wasn't allowed over at their new house... they have standards after all (solo laugh inserted by Mitch). He made a comment about how I've been single the entire time he's known me (solo laugh inserted by Mitch). He pointed out how my problem with men is I'm too outspoken, and perhaps I should think about toning down a bit in order to meet Mr. Right (insert yet another annoying, high pitched, deep throat chuckle by the asshole named Mitch... also insert glares from Laura in my general direction). By the time the burgers were ready to eat, even Julie seemed annoyed by Mitch.

In the middle of dinner the nameless roommate and I had to search for candles because the power went out. Most of the guests were patient as we tried to remember where we'd put them. One guest, however, became impatient with not being able to find the pepper shaker on the table, due to the lack of light, and persisted to search until he knocked my drink off the table. Way to go, Mitch.

After dinner, we saved the dishes for later and reconvened in the living room where we'd planned on playing a board game that involved the DVD player. Since the power was out, we had to come up with a plan B to keep our guests entertained. We used the trivia cards from the game to play an impromptu question and answer session. Mitch, however, had a few suggestions about this.

Instead of randomly answering questions, why don't we keep score and each person gets questions asked to them?

Okay, Mitch, we can do that. You are, after all, the guest, and we appreciate your input (eye roll). Let's keep score, shall we?

That worked until Laura (not very book smart) started missing all of her questions. Laura didn't care either way, but Mitch wanted to steal her questions and rake in the points.

Okay, Mitch, we now have a method for stealing questions (heavy sigh of annoyance because you basically just called my good friend, Laura, a dumbass).

After we started to get into the game, Mitch insisted on having an update of the score every three minutes or so (eye roll). When the nameless roommate forgot to add a point to his tally, he got upset (seriously). He claimed the game was stupid (you're the one who wanted to make it into a pissing contest) and wished the power would come back on so we could really play.

As if on cue, the power came back on. Seriously... I can't make this shit up.

Mitch was very pleased with himself, as if the power coming back on were the product of his temper tantrum and not mere coincidence. So, as he wished, we popped in the DVD and continued to play the real game.

Damn... I was just about to whoop Mitch's ass at impromptu trivia, too (you should have seen his face when I stole one of his questions).

As you can probably guess by his behavior during the made up "stupid" game, Mitch isn't exactly a good sport. When we split up into teams, Laura and Nathan started excelling (they really are the power couple). The more Laura and Nathan won, the more Mitch pouted and became the dictator of the game. He claimed they were cheating (insert solo laugh by Mitch and a general look of wierd from me to nameless roommate, Laura and Nathan). He seized the DVD remote control from my hands when I wasn't clicking on options fast enough for him. He even insisted on timing people for their answers (collective sigh of annoyance).

Needless to say, after one game the party was over.

Julie headed to the kitchen to prepare her dish for the ride home, and Mitch followed her in there.

The nameless roommate noticed, from the living room, that Mitch was cleaning off the table from the dinner dishes. She told him not to worry about the mess, we would get it after they left. When he continued to clean, she politely asked him, "Mitch, why are you cleaning our kitchen?"

Mitch stepped into the doorway so I would be in his line of vision and he looked at me. Then he looked at the nameless roommate and said, "Because nobody else is."

The bitch in me wanted to punch him. I'd put up with his shit all night long, smiled and played the good hostess. The only reason he hadn't had an earful yet was because Julie is a good friend of mine, and I didn't want to disrespect her. It was obvious, though, that she had no intention of stepping in and stopping her man from being a rude asshole in somebody else's home.

The good hostess in me, however, prevailed and I simply said, "Don't clean our kitchen, I'll get it when you guys are gone," and smiled as he threw away an empty beer can. I sighed relief by the time he and Julie were gone... and I went to look for my pot.

The next day I called Julie and informed her that Mitch is no longer welcome in my home until he grows the fuck up. She was shocked, of course, because she's blind to his stupidness (even though her body language at the dinner party said otherwise).

But you know what? I haven't seen Mitch since that night. Put another tally on my scorecard, please. I worked hard to earn that prize.

By the way... Felix has dibs on being my date for their wedding... he can't wait to see this spectacle.

The Roommate... Nameless.

I'm a 25 year old woman living with another 25 year old woman. We live on the top floor of a big house in the middle of a small town. Downstairs from us lives a family in which the mom stays at home with the young kiddies and prepares to pop out another baby come November. If you made the setting more urban and had the eligible handsome brother of the stay at home mom move in down stairs... you'd have the makings of a sitcom.

But life isn't a sitcom.

I love my apartment. It's cute, eclectic, roomie and it's a great place to pass my time. It really feels like home to me.

I love my roommate, too. She's a friend of mine from Junior High. She moved away in high school, but came back to the area after graduation. We crossed paths about two years ago after not seeing her since she moved away at age 15. We hit it off and picked up where we left off in high school.. and then some.

She was engaged. And, I had a hard time deciding if I liked him or not. When I'd come over to hang out, he was always polite and seemed hospitable. The three of us would engage in long conversations, and he seemed witty and funny while entertaining his fiance's friends. He seemed alright.

It was when she called me after they'd been fighting that I started to have feelings of dislike for him. About a year ago he told her she was too fat (the girl's average sized). Instead of telling to shove it where the sun don't shine (my opinion), she went on a diet and started exercising.

When she lost her job last November he hounded her to get a new job, telling her she was worthless unless she was bringing in some cash. I agree that women should have their own money, but he made enough for the two of them... and if you love somebody they're never worthless, right? He even went so far as to tell her that until she got a job she wasn't allowed to tell him she loved him. She wasn't allowed to kiss him. She wasn't allowed to hug him. And she wasn't allowed to sleep in the same bed with him. This is when I would have left (scratch that... I would have left when he called me fat).

She stuck it out.

Fast forward to April. She calls me one night, frantic and crying. He'd given her two options. One... he pays to fix her car and gives her 500 dollars in start up money and she moves out by the end of the month. Or two... He'll have her forcibly removed. Great.. get out, or get out.

She took the former deal... regretting not having put her name on the deed to her great grandmother's house the two of them shared. She took the money he offered and moved in with me... and here we are.

To say the least, this girl is insecure. She hasn't been on the dating scene since high school, she's used to having her identity spelled out for her, and she's in a really, really, really fragile state right now.

It's been less than three months and we've had a few issues, and they all boil down to the fact that she doesn't love or respect herself.

I fear that she'll continue to let men walk all over her, because she's not giving herself any time to heal after this horrific break up. In fact, for the first month after she moved in with me, her "fiance" was coming over every weekend and fucking her brains out. He finally broke it off when he met a chubby, unemployed girl at a bar. She now lives with him... she's bigger than my roommie and she doesn't work... that's enough to make a girl go insane with questions, too.

I hope she grows up, soon. Because sometimes I feel like I'm living with a teenager. She has mood spells where she doesn't speak to me. During these spells she insists on communicating through notes. It seems she has a new crush every week, and she's constantly on the phone. Doesn't that spell out teenager to you?

I will admit, though, she is working and she does more than her fair share of work around here. Yesterday we had a good talk and I feel like she's growing everyday. In reality I'm proud of her. I hate that things had to get so bad with her ex for her to realize her own needs, but I'm glad that she's finally aware. That's what quarter life crises are for, right?

Are We Still in High School?

The Prom, Friday night football, pep rallies, after school organizations, parties, getting your driver's licence, and graduation. High school can hold some fond memories. Nothing beats that feeling when you're 16, and you have your very own car. You fill it up with friends and go cruisin down some back roads. You have the world at your feet, and you're too young and too immature to know what to do with it.

Just about everybody I know says they wouldn't go back to high school. Mostly, because they've changed since then and they don't like the person they were all those years ago. I think it'd be interesting to run into the 17 year old version of myself. First I'd give myself a hug and then I'd tell myself to buckle up because it's going to be a rough ride.

I'd also like to run into the 50 year old version of myself to see if I survive this quarter life conundrum. Much like the teenage angst years, though, I'm sure I'll survive this semi-charmed life.

It's sad to me, though, when I run into people from high school who haven't changed a bit. I see former football stars sitting at the bar swapping former stats with somebody who graduated ten years before them. They have a smile on their face as they recall the glory they felt when they went to state or won the big homecoming game, but the smile turns into a frown as they realize those days are long behind them. Those days can't be relived. But these are the few people who would like to go back. They walk a lonely path wishing they could be the person they were back then. It's sad to peak in high school.

I have a friend, Dave. He was the class clown. He was a jock. He was a hottie, and he was popular. He still lives in this small town, as do I. We weren't friends in high school. We ran with different crowds, and, as we all know, crowds don't mix well in high school. He did a lot of growing up, though, and it amazes me sometimes at how well rounded of a grown up he turned out to be.

Dave and I don't hang out too often, but when we do we manage to have fun. He gripes about the same things I gripe about and he's passionate about the same things I'm passionate about. It's easy for me to talk to him, and he makes me laugh. When we run into his old friends from high school, he's polite to them, but he never mingles with them for long. He knows they haven't changed, and as an adult he sees them as the adolescents they once were. He says he's almost ashamed to admit he was once one of them.

My friends in high school were the bunch who thought they were mature. They thought the rest of the class just needed to catch up with them. They yearned for the day when the jocks and preps would finally be mature enough to accept them. But, I hate to admit that we were guilty of the same things they did.

They looked down on us for being interested in the things we spent our time doing. But, we looked down on them just as much for being into sports. They never invited us to parties, but then again, we never extended an invitation to them either.

As I've grown into a woman I've let down that barrier and I have no qualms about hanging out with somebody I've "known" for a long time but never really got to know before now. Some of my friends aren't of this same opinion.

I've kept about half the friends I had in high school. I hate to admit that I've lost correspondence with some who were, at one point, very important people in my life. The ones I hang out with on a regular basis have grown up and adopted the same attitude I have. But, there are some who are still in my life who haven't. And, I found out recently that I live with one of them.

My roommate, who I have yet to introduce on here, has recently thrown slander towards Dave. She refuses to really get to know him. She doesn't care to try and understand how people change, even though, she, herself, has changed a lot in recent years. She won't trust herself enough to open her mind to the possibility that maybe he's not the ass he was back then. She can't see that he's grown up and turned into a rather fine man. She simply doesn't trust him with no real reason.

No, she does have a reason. The reason is this guy she's seeing (on the down low). This guy refuses to openly date her because he doesn't want anybody knowing he's back on the market after getting divorced. I, personally, think he's stringing her along and just making it as easy as possible to break it off with her in the future. She, however, sees him as a highly sensitive soul learning to trust again. He says he doesn't trust Dave, therefore she doesn't trust Dave. He, by the way, hasn't spoken to Dave in years. He's judging a man based on who he was as a kid.

This really bothers me, because my friends have, essentially, turned into the people we once despised. If I were easily influenced (like a teenager) I just might jump on the bandwagon and decide that I don't trust Dave as well. But, I can't do that. I like him too much. I like his company. I've seen nothing but proof that he's grown up, and I hate to admit that I haven't seen much in the way of proof that my roommate has grown up.

Sure she's a responsible bill payer and she holds a job. She understands the meaning of living a grown up life, but her mentality is still stuck in high school. She's easily led, and she's easily bothered. She has lower self-esteem than any 15 year old I've met, and she has the tendency to blow things way out of proportion. She, really, needs to grow the fuck up.

I'm getting tired of dealing with her constant insecurities. I'm growing weary of explaining to her that it doesn't matter what people say or think about you as long as you know what the truth is. I'm utterly exhausted with her constant state of boy crazy and her belief that every guy she goes on a date with is her future husband. And I've really, really had it with the fact that she insists on communicating through written notes as if we're in study hall.

She can't do confrontation, and I don't mind confrontation in the slightest. I like to talk out problems and find solutions, where she would rather write down what's bothering her, leave it for me in the living room, and put at the bottom of it that she doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to hear my side. She's allowed to vent, but I, alas, am not.

In short... I'm not a teacher and I'm getting sick of babysitting a 16 year old.