do I get my girl-card revoked because I don't like to cuddle? no, seriously. please stop. now.

When Mini-J, Rose, and I all lived together I ended up with the room that you had to walk through to get to the bathroom. This is how it pretty much went down:

I had been at work when Rose and Mini-J went to look at the place. Mini-J, who has powers far beyond normal and can convince almost anyone of nearly anything called me beside herself with excitement. "The house is perfect! It has hardwood and crown-moulding and ALL the original tile in the bathroom!" (trust me, when you're a renter in this city those things are all what you really, really want). She went on to describe the bedrooms: "So, since I don't like sunlight and I don't have as many clothes as you guys I thought I could take the little basement and turn part of it into the sitting room. Rose can have the big front room because it has so many windows and natural light." (Rose turns into a monster without her sunlight, true story. Often I just don't see her between December and March). I had pretty much figured out how this conversation was going to end from the moment it started. Having found the house and looked at all the pictures online already, we ALL knew that the main bedroom was the only access to the bathroom, so somone was going to be stuck having her bedroom constantly invaded by people who needed to pee, or brush their teeth, shower sex?, get ready for work, puke, etc. This is how Mini-J sold that room to me: "And you can have the room with the ceiling fan and HUGE closest!" (the closest wasn't huge. I mean, I'm sure when that house was built it was obscence but that bitch wasn't even big enough to hold my boots). But yeah, that ceiling fan was pretty sweet.

Since I ended up in the no privacy room, Mini-J, Rose, and constant others were continually invading my room, meaning they pretty much had unrestricted access to my love-life, such as it was. Most people who know me realize that I'm not a very...affectionate person. I mean yeah, when I'm in a relationship with someone I adore I love spending hours in bed snuggled up...but for the life of me, I just don't understand the NEED that so many GUYS have to continually try to spend the night, to cuddle, to hold hands, to nuzzle...ugh. Barf. Mini-J said she would frequently walk into my room at night to get ready for bed and find me curled up in the corner of my bed with no blankets, scowling in my sleep with some dude glued to my side with his finger in my hair. What is that?

I've recently been re-introduced to this practice, and I still basically hate it just as much. I'm sorry, we just met, and you're SORT OF ruining my badass reputation by continually trying to hold my hand. And what's with awkward back pats? I've been getting tons of those lately. If you're going to insist on touching me, at least make it worth my while and give me a massage or something. Geez.

At least this time there isn't an audience for my irritated sighs.

Dating is not for the weak-hearted

In honor of my recent decision to 'rip the Band-Aid off' and dive right back into the sometimes (often?) hellacious world that is dating in my lovely little mountain city, I thought I'd share some of my all-time favorite dating stories.

Rose and I were single at the same time once a few years ago. We also (although both unaware of it at the time...hindsight, right?) were both prettttty manic. It was our 'Summer of Love', and it was pure crazy mixed with a hearty dose of alcohol. To paint the picture, this Summer included me missing our flight to Portland because at 8 AM the day of the flight I was still so drunk that I couldn't stand and slept through ten to fifteen phone calls and my friend knocking on the door to rouse me. Once I finally made it up I was convinced that I could make it to the airport to catch my flight that left in forty-five minutes. Oh, and yeah...I hadn't yet packed. I ended up realizing half way through my packing job that I wasn't going to make my flight so I passed back out after booking myself on an afternoon flight. When I woke up, much more sober and refreshed, I opened my suitcase to find I had only packed fifteen pairs of panties, a camera, and every single piece of make-up I owned. Later that Summer Rose and I were outside of our favorite bar. I was drunk and crying and my purse had spilled out all over the sidewalk. A homeless man hit me up for some cash and I LOST it. That night ended with me yelling obscenities at the man as he ran away from me, telling Rose and I to "GO MASTURBATE YOURSELVES OR SOMETHING!". This was the Summer I introduced 'road vod', the handle of vodka that I kept in the trunk of my car, for emergencies? Like I said, pure crazy.

Between the non-stop partying and holding down full-time jobs as well as tutoring on the side, Rose and I were also serial daters. It never ended. Date after date after date. I should also note that this single status was newfound for both of us and came after our first very long-term relationships. We were like two innocent baby does thrown into the wild with no means of survival. No one warned us that well, to be frank, dating sucks. It sucks hard.

• I once was walked to the door (against my wishes, which I had verbalized) by a young man who literally walked into a pole and then pretended like he hadn't. He then gave me his business card.
• Rose was once followed home by a guy she had met in a bar. I was passed out in her living room, wrapped in a blanket. As she saw him walk by her window she dropped to the floor, spy-style. He came to the door and after I opened it in my blanket and confirmed with Rose that she did NOT want him coming in, I informed him that he was crazy and slammed the door in his face.
• Rose and I once had a crush on the same guy. Everything came to a head one night at a party he was throwing, when Mini-J had to referee a tear-filled argument between Rose and I over both of us liking this guy and both yelling about why we liked him so much: "But he's so smart and loves math!".
• I once had a guy tell me: "I really like you, and I want you to meet my cat, I think she's ready to meet you too!".

The saddest part? I actually dated cat guy for a few months.

Here's to another (much less drunk and dramatic) Summer O' Love!

friday night conversations

Rose: "So, basically, I have to get a second job and the first 800 dollars I make is going to my parents."

Rose and I have been friends since before I can remember. She says she was out shoveling snow with her dad in their new neighborhood, and I was across the street at my house doing the same thing with my pops. She came over, asked if I wanted to be her friend, and the rest was history. We have the relationship that only close girlfriends can share, one that is strengthened by the fact that it took root in the early stages of our life when we were completely innocent.Those were the days before we knew that broken hearts physically hurt or that life is full of amazingly diffcult decisions. Before we found out that people die, that the world stretches far beyond the boundaries of our old neighborhood, and that love is not in fact all we need.

When we lived together, our little house that was shared with the other point in our triangle of codependancy (shout out to bestie numero dos Mini-J) became a homey little den of emotions and general irresponsibility. Por ejemplo (is that real Spanish? is it??), there was the year neither of us had the money to renew the tags on our cars, so we just...didn't. This non-payment led to problems, namely, we lived on an extemely busy street and with only one driveway spot one of us ended up parked on that street everyday, which of course led to multiple parking tickets. There were also the numerous arguments and deep, irritated sighs about who got to park in the driveway ("but I got three tickets last week and I don't have ANY MONEYYYY"). As you have probably surmised, the parking tickets didn't so much get paid as forgotten about under car seats with lost diet coke bottles and used as decoys that we put back on our windshield to avoid further ticketing.

This would be why Rose now owes her parents a cool 800 bucks. I guess she never went ahead and paid any? of those tickets, got a big 'ol boot on her car, and had to shell out nearly a grand to get it removed. Let that be a lesson to all of us irresponsible car owners. Naturally, after she told me about getting a second job as some sort of homeless youth counselor I asked what that would entail. "Oh, they give me a van. So I am going to drive around in a van all day and try to convince kids to get in it." The previous statement is humorous for a number of reasons, but mainly because it was spoken without a trace of joking. "So you're keeping the refugee after-school program, too?" I asked. "Yup. The one where I walk around the halls looking for black kids and then trying to get them to talk to me."

I couldn't make this stuff up. Well, actually...I certainly could. But that would be so stupid.