Tag Archives: party

7 days

16 Nov

It took me 7 days to fall in love with my husband.

I think that is as realistic as ‘love at first sight’ is going to get. And to be honest, it was hardly the first time I had seen him. It wasn’t even the first time that I had talked to him or hung out with him. So I guess ‘love at first sight’ doesn’t really, actually apply here. And I believe that ‘love at first sight’ is pretty illogical anyway so I’m sorry I even brought it up.

Burny and I actually met in high school. I get asked that question all the time; ‘Where did you guys meet?’ When I say ‘high school’, people look surprised. And that surprises me. I heard a statistic once that most people already know the person they are going to marry by age 20. I heard that statistic when I was about 22 and I thought they were crazy. I just could not imagine marrying the guy I was dating when I was 22 and naturally when someone says that you already know the person you are going to marry, you assume it’s going to be the person you’re dating at that time. Well, I know I did. I don’t want to say I always assumed I would marry who I was dating, but I did often wonder if I would wind up with whoever the guy of the moment was at that particular moment. So when this person told me this statistic, I really hopped that they were wrong.

But guess what…

I do actually remember the first time I met my husband, and it’s kind of a funny story. I was dating LemonBass at the time, my high school sweetheart, and LB and I were sitting in the dark in the living room of his mother’s house and we were watching a scary movie. We had been dating for some time by that point so there was certainly no hanky panky going on. We were actually just watching the movie.

Que Burny’s entrance into my life.

Burny marched into the dark room, gave a rather strange look around, and curled up under a blanket on the other couch. Lemon and I looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t seem too concerned with giving us an explanation as to who he was or what he was doing, so we just went back to watching the movie in silence.

Come to find out later, that weird kid was one of Lemon’s brother’s friends who had been forced to smoke too much weed in the back yard.

Who could have ever guessed that so many years later I would have walked down the aisle towards that same kid? Certainly not me.

Burny was a year behind me in high school and he didn’t show up on the scene until my senior year, so our time in school together was limited. We weren’t what you would call friends, although I certainly thought very highly of him… once I got past the whole stoner thing. You could say that we knew OF each other. We had mutual friends. His best guy friends were my best guy friends, but I actually only have a few memories that include him.

One of which takes place at my high school graduation. A few weeks into our relationship, Burny and I just so happened to walk in on my sister and Mom watching home videos. The video that was up on the tv was of my graduation party. I was filming and I was scanning the back yard, commenting on all my crazy friends that were jumping around in the pool and all of a sudden… there was Burny. Right smack dab in the middle of a water fight with my step brother. I would never have remembered that he had come to my graduation party. Surely he was there not for me, but for our mutual friends who were also graduating that day. But seeing him on the video tape did bring back a very interesting memory…

Burny made out with my cousin that night. I remember my sister telling me all about it in the morning. I don’t think he will ever live that down. Life is really funny sometimes.

2 years later, after I had moved down to San Diego for college and had ended my relationship with LemonBass, I was home for Spring Break and a very close friend of both Burny and mine invited me out to see a band play. The band was called ‘Burn TACtics and the Loco Focos’. Maybe you’ve heard of it? 😉 Burny was the leading man of course, but I was mainly there in support of our mutual friends- aka the other band members.

But I have to tell you… I took notice of Burny for the first time that day. I leaned over to KayTown, who just so happened to be there with me and I told her that I was getting a major crush on the lead singer. What I was really saying to her was: Years from now, you are going to be a bridesmaid in our wedding. How strange.

After the show, I told their manager and close friend that if Burny ever broke up with his girlfriend- whom I knew he had been dating for years and definitely expected him to marry- he should give me a call! My friend told me that I had no chance. Apparently he expected Burny to stay with his girlfriend too. Little did he know that he too would be toasting at our wedding only a few short years later.

The next memory I have of Burny before I started my decent into love, happens to be a mere 6 months before our fated re-connection.

I was home for Christmas- home from San Diego that is- and  it was the night of my families annual Christmas party. If you have ever been to said Christmas party, you know that it is an epic time. Each year manages to trump the previous year and it’s greatly looked forward to by those who attend regularly. Needless to say, there is a lot of alcohol assumption going on. And this particular Christmas party was no exception.

Now, to be honest, my memory of this night varies somewhat drastically from Burny’s so let me just give you a quick run down of both.

My version goes like this:

I called one of Burny and my closest friends, PCharm. PCharm and I go WAY back. I have to say, PCharm is one of my oldest friends. I met him when I had just turned 5 years old and I’m proud to say that he was in our wedding. (That’s the cool thing about small towns). I also have to say that at this time, PCharm and I were somewhat… complicated. (That’s the weird thing about small towns). So when I called him to leave a message, I never would have expected that Burny would be the one to call me back. But alas, he did.

I remember having a brief conversation with Burny which went as follows:

Me: Come on over if you want, we are still partying.

Burny: Okay. We will try to stop by.

Granted, I do remember being a little bit excited that Burny was calling me. As I mentioned, I had always thought very highly of him. I knew he was an amazing guy. To this day, I’ve never heard anyone say a bad thing about him and at the time, he and I had never really had a very direct conversation so I was a bit flustered. And I will also admit that I had been drinking and that I am naturally a flirt. But I am pretty sure Burny is exaggerating in his version, which goes something like this:

Burny: Hey there… Is the party still going on?

Me: Yes. You should come over here and have sex with me.

That hardly sounds like me!!

Burny didn’t make it to the party that night. I wonder how my  life would be different now if he would have. What would be different between us? Would we still be together? Would we have ever started dating at all? Clearly,  it wasn’t our time quite yet…

That Christmas was the last Christmas I called San Diego my home. I moved back to Northern California the following June. I think I always knew that I was not going to spend my life in San Diego, however, it ripped my heart out to leave. When I graduated college, the plan was for me to move back home with my mom. But then I met Sinkin’ Ship and my plans changed. After my going away party, I changed my  mind and I stayed in San Diego.

After Sinkin’ Ship and I broke up for the last time, I put my tail between my legs and decided that the time had come at last for me to leave the beautiful San Diego weather. After my second going away party, MacTen convinced me that my place was still in SoCal. I moved into her dinning room and stayed. I just couldn’t make myself leave. It wasn’t time… Fate was working it’s magic.

Burny and I talk all the time about how timing has EVERYTHING to do with us getting together. If I would have moved home either of those first two times, we probably wouldn’t have reconnected. And if I had decided to stay in San Diego any longer than I had… he would have gone into the military and I would have probably never spoken to him.

But alas…

The third time I decided to move home from San Diego came along side my third trip to Europe. I had been toying with the idea that perhaps it was time for me to just bite the bullet and go home to pay off some debt before returning to San Diego of course. When I bought my third round trip plane ticket to Europe on a charge card I decided that that trip was going to be my last irresponsible action. I went to Europe in April and moved home in June. They say the third times a charm… but I wasn’t so sure. By the time I had my third going away party, my friends were kind of wondering if maybe I just had a drinking problem and needed an excuse to throw parties. I had cried wolf so many times that no one believed I would actually go… but I drove a uhaul up the state of California for the last time that year.

It was a Tuesday.

I had been home in Northen California all of one day. I was unpacked. I was miserable.

The ONLY thing that I was looking forward to was Friday. Why?

About a month before moving home, fate made another appearance in the way of facebook. Guess who popped up in the ‘people you may know’ section?

Burn TACtics.

Apparently my sister had recently befriended him and so facebook decided that perhaps I would also enjoy being his friend as well. Of course facebook knows all! When I went to click on his picture, an amazing thing happened… I noticed that his picture wasn’t a picture at all. It was an album cover! And I wasn’t excited because he had made it to the big time… I was excited because the album was entitled: Goodbye Emily Jane.

Goodbye Emily Jane????

That could only mean one thing! He was single! Everyone knew that his high school sweetheart and all around perfect girlfriend was named Emily Jane. Now was my chance!!

And PS… clearly, up until this moment I thought that he was still in a relationship and so I would never in a million years have been so flirtatious and forward the previous Christmas, knowing full well that he was off the market. But that’s neither here nor there.

I made my move.

I messaged him.

I told him that I was moving home and that we should hang out sometime. I made up some sob story about not having any friends back home and so he should feel sorry for me. I, of course, suggested we hang out the first Saturday that I would be home- many of my friends had agreed to go out that night already- but he had a wedding to go to that night. So, like the gentleman that he is, he suggested an alternative night. He suggested we go get a drink on Friday, the night before the wedding.

Perfect.

So as I said, the only thing that kept me from moving straight back down to San Diego that first week, was my ‘kind of’ date on Friday night with my future husband.

And I mean that 100%. Fate is a tricky thing. I really believe that if it weren’t for something potentially exciting in Woodland-aka a boy- I would have packed my car right back up and moved right back down to SoCal.

When Friday came around, I took the chicken way out and I decided to text message Burny. I have never been much of a phone person and I feel like texting just seems more casual. So I text him to see if we were still on for that night.

He called me right back. Like… RIGHT back.

And of course I didn’t answer. I was totally freaking out. I just sat there and watched the phone ring, thinking of some dumb excuse as to why I hadn’t been able to answer the phone that had clearly just been in my hand about 1/2 second before.

After laying by the pool with my newly re-established, oldest friend, Lark- I called Burny back and told him that I had jumped in the shower and had missed his call. LIES! He confirmed our plans, we set a time and a place, and now all there was left to do was wait.

I talked Lark into coming with me on my casual meet up as my wing man. She had just gotten married not even a month before that and we joked that maybe Burny and I would end up hitting it off and getting married ourselves. Life is just really really funny.

Burny and I met up later that night at a little place called Morrison’s. We exchanged hugs like we were old friends, but really, we weren’t. We weren’t friends meeting up to talk about old times… but since we had both brought along friends, we weren’t exactly on a date either… the boundaries were fuzzy right from the get go.

But I remember having a really great time that night. We talked about break ups and high school friends. We talked about San Diego and Europe. We basically just talked for the first time in any sort of real way. And I really liked him. I knew that right away. However, being that I was such a recent transplant from San Diego, I was still so used to the ‘straight to sex’ type of bar conversation. So I wasn’t sure if Burny was even interested in me in that way at all. He was being respectful and friendly and sweet… which were three completely foreign concepts to me at the time. Unfortunately, I had truly begun to associate my self worth with whether or not I thought the guy that I was talking to wanted to sleep with me. I’m glad I got out of San Diego when I did… imagine the giant mess I would have become if I would have stayed.

Either way, after the bar, Burny and I headed over to a friend’s house to continue chatting. We hadn’t had much to drink at the bar- which again, was a new idea for me- and so when we left for our second location, we both felt perfectly safe and ready to leave our wingmen behind.

That night, I am sad to say, Burny and I paid homage to our very first meeting all those years before. Burny and I smoked weed together. Gross, I know. Trust me, I hate that about our first date… but I guess it all happened for a reason. Because up until I smoked, I knew I was really winning Burny over with my charm. After I was high, all I could think about was how dumb I was acting. Needless to say, if we hadn’t have gotten high together that first night, we wouldn’t have addressed the fact that neither of us wanted to smoke weed ever again. And quite frankly, if we hadn’t have had that conversation, we probably would have broken up. I knew that he had smoked a lot in the past, and I also knew that I wasn’t ready to be dating a stoner… and so the conversation presented itself very early on, which looking back… was a blessing.

So anyway… we hung out until 4:30 am that first night. We didn’t kiss. We just talked. But I walked away a little more committed to staying in Woodland than I would have liked.

That was day one. We made plans to go on a hike the following Monday.

Day two: Saturday.

Burny had a wedding to go to. He had invited me to come with him as his date, but I had already made plans with the rest of my friends to go out on the town in honor of my return. But I knew it was already too late for me; I would have much rather have gone to that wedding with Burny than anywhere else with my friends. But alas, it was not meant to happen that way.

Before the wedding, Burny called me just to say hello. I thought that was very sweet and I appreciated that he wasn’t a game player and didn’t think that he had to wait any certain amount of time to call me because guys,… girls hate it when you do that! But even still… despite the great night, the invite to the wedding, and the phone call… I wasn’t so sure that Burny was interested in anything more than friendship.

That night out at the bars, I found myself in somewhat of a predicament: I had been left behind by my friends. I have to say, it’s not the first time that it’s happened to me, but it is the first time that I literally had no one to come and rescue me. I tried to call Burny, which is a HUGE sign that I was already in too deep with him, but he text me to say that he was drunk and was unable to drive.

I figured it out, don’t worry readers… I always do. I found my way safely back home without making TOO many bad decisions.

But anyway, the next morning when I woke up, I already had a voice message from Burny. He was checking on me to make sure that I had found my way home safely. I decided that I was not going to be afraid of the phone, and I gave him a call back instead of texting. You should be proud of me!

I asked him if he would like to come over to go swimming. He agreed. We both invited friends over and we made a day of it. Again, I found myself a little concerned that I was breaking all of my rules and I was going to get myself attached… but I figured that I had had my heart broken before and I could probably stand to have it broken again if he just wanted to be friends in the end. What the hell!

But just for good measure, when I hung up the phone, I looked at my Mother and asked her:

‘Are you ready to meet your future son-in-law?’

It’s frightening, I know.

Burny stayed for dinner that night. Non-date number 2 and he was already meeting the folks. I’ll never forget sitting across the table from him as he talked with my mom and step dad. My mom kept shooting me these looks like she was trying to say: Don’t screw this one up! It goes without saying that I had never brought home anyone even remotely close to Burny. He was just in a class all by himself. I mean, I wasn’t worried about him meeting my parents. I knew he would impress them. But I found myself even more impressed by him because of how actually IMPRESSIVE he was. And to be honest, it was really starting to freak me the hell out…

What if he really did just want to be friends? For some reason, I just could not get that out of my head. But I had no choice but to continue to fall for him. There was no turning back.

After dinner, Burny and I got back in the hot tub. He sat on one side and I sat on the other side and we talked. No hanky panky. We just talked about everything. I can’t even remember it all, but we just couldn’t seem to be silent. There was too much to know.

After the spa, we laid in our wet clothes on the floor of my mother’s living room.  We were both wrapped in towels, our heads propped up on pillows, and we talked some more. Burny kept telling me that I had these ‘looks’ as he called them. He told me he was trying to learn them all. And each time he noticed a new ‘look’ he would point it out to me. He told me I was beautiful. He told me that I had the face to be in movies, which by that point he knew was my dream. But he didn’t kiss me. He didn’t even touch me.

When he left, it was 4:30 in the morning again. We hugged goodbye.

That was day three.

Day four: Monday. Our hike!

Remember? On Friday night we had planned to meet up Monday and go on a hike. We hadn’t planned to see each other on Sunday and so now that we had, Monday definitely felt more like a date than I think either of us had really intended it to be. It was the first time that we would actually be alone from start to finish, on purpose. I was pretty confident that if we were going to cross over into the dating category, we would need to have our first kiss on this, our third non-date.

He came over to pick me up around 10am, only 5 1/2 hours after he had left my house. We hugged good morning, but there was no kiss. We made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and hopped in the car. He knew where we were headed. He had a plan… I could only hope his plan included him busting a move. I’ve never been one for sober move busting and since I knew we had not packed any BudLight… it was going to be all up to him.

We had discussed hiking at length on Friday. He asked me what I was most looking forward to doing now that I was back home and my answer was hiking and camping. It’s true that I love the outdoors, but it’s also true that I’m a girl and I need to take things slow. When we agreed to hike on Monday, we also agreed to hike something mild and relatively easy. I hadn’t been doing much hiking down in San Diego.

He said he knew just the place.

It didn’t take me long to realize that his ‘mild and relatively easy’ was a LOT different than mine. OH MY GOD! I thought I was going to die. It didn’t help that the temperature was a ripe 109 degrees, or that the trail he had planned for us to take was now under water. He hadn’t accounted for the snow melt.

So as he tried to figure out a way for us to get to this magical location that he said we could hike to, have lunch, and return from all within about two hours… I did my very best to keep my mouth shut. I had said that I was an outdoorsy girl and I knew for a FACT that he was a very outdoorsy guy and so the last thing I wanted to do was complain. As a matter of fact, the last thing I wanted to do was talk… I was so out of breath from the incline of the trail that I knew if I were to talk, my breathing would have given me away as a rookie in no time! I was so embarrassed.

About 30 minutes into the hike, we found ourselves hiking along what I can only describe as a cliff side. We were walking along the cliff parallel to the steam below us. The ground was like quick sand. Every step I took filled my tennis shoes with dirt, and sent me sliding just a little bit further down the cliff face. I was grabbing on to bushes and trees and dirt and logs… whatever would keep me from sliding down the hill and/or falling on my ass. I had so many splinters in my hands and my shoes were so full of rocks that I thought I would never get through the day without crying. But Burny was moving so quickly that it was all I could do to keep up.

We weren’t talking to each other and I wasn’t quite sure why that was. I knew that I was too out of breath and too pissed to talk, but I wasn’t sure why he was so quiet. I figured he was either annoyed at my slow pace or best case scenario, out of breath himself. I never dreamed that he was actually thinking the exact same thing I was:

‘If we don’t quit soon… I’m never going on another date with this person again.’

I of course meant that I would rather not date this amazing guy if it meant that I would have to be subjected to this on a regular basis.

And of course he knew that if he didn’t abort mission, and abort it quick… I was never going to agree to see him again.

So true.

Alas, as we approached the 1 hour mark, Burny turned to me and said:

“This is not going as planned. Do you want to just go back to your house and get in the pool?”

Sweeter words I had never heard.

Relationship saved.

As we headed back to the car, the flood gates opened. We both started complaining and laughing openly about our disastrous first hike. He agreed that he was just miserable and he commended me on making it so far without saying a word. I promised him that it had not been easy.

As it turned out, during the entire hour hike, we hadn’t made it more than 100 yards away from the car.

And furthermore… about 6 months later, we attempted the same hike again. It took us 2 hours to hike in, we spent the night where Burny had intended for us to just have lunch, and then we hiked back out the following morning.

I have no idea what he was thinking.

Back at my house that afternoon, Burny and I picked up on our conversation where we had left off the days before. It felt like we just had so much to say to each other. We just couldn’t know enough or share enough. I was just hungry for information. I wanted to know everything about him. I couldn’t get enough of it. And it seemed like he felt the same way, although we maintained our pattern of no kissing, no touching, no sitting next to each other… just talking. Just words. But there was something there… or so I thought. I hoped.

It was on that day that I realized that I wanted to marry him.

I had already decided that I wanted to date him; be his girlfriend. Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I want that? He was perfect to me. He was attractive, he was kind, he was a gentleman, he was well spoken and intelligent, he was interesting and interested, he was real. He was honest. And I wanted him to be mine. But it was in that pool on that Monday that I realized I wanted him to be my husband.

I asked him what the most important thing in the world was to him.

His answer?

Becoming a father.

I just knew. I knew in that moment that he wasn’t like anyone else I had ever met, let alone dated. He was different. He was so different. And I knew that if he would have me, I was going to marry him.

They say ‘when you know, you know.’

Day five.

Tuesday.

I didn’t have a job yet. I had just moved home the week before and although I was supposed to be job searching, my new infatuation was completely interfering with the rest of my life. I basically lived to talk with Burny. And Tuesday I woke up in a little bit of a panic…

Tuesday was the first day that I didn’t already have plans with Burny!

Friday was the drinks, Saturday he had the wedding, Sunday I had a reason to call him first thing, Monday the hike… and then TUESDAY! Crap! Nothing. No reason to call, no plans to see each other. It was torture, I assure you.

When we first starting going on our non-dates, Burny was working for his dad which meant that his schedule pretty much worked around what he had going on. However, because he had taken Monday off entirely for our horrendous hike, I knew that he was going to have to put in some extra time on Tuesday to catch up. So I came to the very difficult decision that I was going to just have to wait until he called me.

Although I was completely worried that Burny only thought of me as a friend, I was pretty sure that he was going to call. If nothing else, I was very confident that he at least enjoyed spending time with me. If we weren’t going to end up in a relationship, surely I was going to be the best friend that everyone knew was really in love with him.

Burny didn’t call until nearly 5 o’clock, which in hindsight, was a perfectly normal time to call. He said he had just finished work and that his family was expecting a family friend for dinner. My heart dropped. Did that mean…

“I won’t be able to do anything tonight, but we should meet up tomorrow.”

Devastated.

I have to be honest, I was truly heart-broken that I wouldn’t be able to see him. I mean, it was only going to be one night but I felt like it might as well have been a year. Burny had already become my addiction and now he was just asking me to quit cold turkey. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with myself.

Up until our first night out for drinks, only five days previous, all I had been doing was thinking about San Diego and how stupid I had been to move home. Now, after Burny, all I could think about was him. I had been in deep water before, but never quite like that.

I called my sister that night and I told her that I THOUGHT I was dating Burn TACtics. She knew who he was, of course, from high school and she was more than pleased, although she did find it hysterical that I managed to get myself anchored to Woodland in less than a week. It was no secret that my previous string of boyfriends had been less than tolerable. Burny was a giant LEAP in the right direction. I could tell that she was excited for me, but I just couldn’t seem to convey to her just how excited I was!

I told her all about our non-dates and how badly the hike had gone. And then I told her:

“If he likes me… I’m going to marry him.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, but I don’t think she realized how completely serious I was. I knew that if he and I ended up together, I would be off the market for good. But I just couldn’t seem to figure out whether or not he really liked me… or just liked being around me.

I analyzed the situation with LoDown over the phone as well that night. She was scheduled to come up for a visit that Thursday- only a few days away- and so I was hoping that I could introduce him to her and she could help me shed some light on the situation. She said she was pretty convinced, based on the evidence thus far, that he did actually really like me, but I just wasn’t ready to come to that conclusion.

It just felt like that would be too good to be true. People like Burny didn’t like people like me. I wasn’t lucky like that…

By the time Wednesday night came around, I was chomping at the bit to see Burny.

It was the sixth day.

He came right over after work and we sat on the couch upstairs and talked for 8 hours straight. We came down for dinner of course, and enjoyed another lovely meal with my family, but we returned to the upstairs couch to continue our riveting conversation. Like I said, I cant’ remember all the juicy details about what we found to talk about for all of those hours in those first six days, but I do remember that on that Wednesday he told me that he had missed me the day before. One day apart and he missed me. I was sure that was a good sign, but we were still sitting on opposite sides of the couches, with our feet touching in the middle. If he did like me so much… where were all the moves? If someone didn’t do something quick… we were going to turn into Mormons right there on the spot. Poof!

There was one other fairly major sign that night, that he really did like me in that way…

As we were chatting on the couch, I mentioned that my good friend LoDown was going to be coming to town the following day. I told him that we should all go out and that I was very excited for him to meet her and vice versa.

And would you believe it… in all that talking, Burny had failed to even mention to me the fact that Thursday morning he was scheduled to go down to Irvine with his family to watch his sister graduate college. All those hours of talking and the topic of ‘what are you up to this weekend?’ never made its way into the conversation.

I was shocked and completely bummed! I was so excited at the thought of one of my closest friends from San Diego, mixing in with my new reason for staying in Woodland. Not to mention, I desperately needed her to tell me that he liked me for real.

How was that going to happen if Burny wasn’t even going to be around? TERRIBLE!!

I guess my disappointment was pretty obvious because Burny took quick action. He made a quick call to his dad, jumped on the internet and BOUGHT A PLANE TICKET for Friday morning to fly down and meet his family in Irvine. Just like that. He actually purchased a $150 plane ticket just so that he could stay in Woodland an extra night to meet my friend.

I mean, I was pretty convinced by this point… but I just couldn’t be sure if he was really into me. I didn’t want to assume. You know what they say about assuming!! And besides, this grand gesture could still be interpreted as him just really liking to be around me. I mean, come on, I’m a good time.

But after all, we did make it the rest of the night (until 4am again) without even a goodbye kiss.

It was getting pretty ridiculous. I had already begun planning our wedding day and he hadn’t even reached for my hand under a blanket. And now, looking back, I think that the speed that our relationship picked up once we actually realized we were in one, directly correlates to how slowly I felt that we moved at the very beginning.

Day seven…

Three years and five months ago to this day (I started this blog on the 15th)…

LoDown came up for her visit. I quickly explained to her that Burny had purchased a plane ticket so that he could stay in town an extra night to hang out with us. She nearly smacked me in the head. LD felt that it was becoming painfully obvious that he liked me, but again, I just couldn’t be sure.

So that afternoon, while LD and I were out and about, we stopped by his house to say hello. He was very friendly towards LD, making an amazing first impression, and because he just so happened to be playing guitar when we stopped by… I got to hear him play for the very first time that day.

Well… that’s not entirely true. I had heard him play live that one time so many years ago… and I had heard all three of his albums… but I had never heard him play just for me.

He played ‘Long Goodbyes.’ If you are a fan and know the song, you know that it has a lot of cuss words in it and it goes so quickly that you have to struggle to make out the words and in a nut shell, it’s about ‘assholes and whores.’

To this day I have no idea why he chose that as his first song for me to hear him play…

He was very nervous, which I took as a sign that he really cared about what I thought. But of course it could have been because LD was there too. I didn’t want to get cocky. He didn’t look at me the entire time he played. But I was looking at him…

LD and I left and went about our business for the rest of the day. We gathered up a group of people and decided to make our little night out, a big deal. As LD and I were getting ready to go pick up Burny, I told her that I was going to get a little liquid courage under my belt and I was going to make a move! The time had come. I had stacked up enough evidence to convince myself that he wouldn’t turn away if I went in for the kiss and so I decided that tonight was the night! I was going to make this non-dating thing… a real thing.

And so we went out. To Morrison’s. It had been almost one full week and we were returning to the scene of the crime. I figured that this would be the perfect time to make my move. It almost felt serendipitous. Like we had come full circle or something romantic like that. But of course… I just couldn’t get enough beer in me fast enough.

We had a great time…

San Diego meets THOMAS!

But I just couldn’t work up the nerve…

So we headed to the next bar…Getting serious in the backseat

Kenny’s! Lucky for me, Kenny’s had BudLight too!!

And Karaoke:

Random old men love them some Wendy

So with a little bit more of that liquid courage running through my body, I asked Burny to marry me.

I kid you not. I used those exact words. I asked him to marry me.

I was flirting of course, but I think he could see the seriousness in my eyes because he laughed at me. He laughed!

I asked him again and he said no. He just flat out denied me. I was crushed.

He makes me laugh, what can I say?

I couldn’t believe he said no. I mean… at least flirt back and say yes. But no… he just wasn’t that into me. But he did reach for my hand and then before I knew what was happening to me, he had pulled me onto the dance floor. Yes… at Kenny’s. Where there is no dance floor.

Kenny's

I was obviously embarrassed, one. Crushed that he had not accepted my proposal, two. And three… too drunk to dance.

We left shortly there after and headed home. The night just wasn’t quite working out how I had planned.

Burny got LD and I a cab home, but I told him that he should probably just come back to my house with us. I had promised him a ride to the air port in the morning and so I figured that we could at least salvage the night by having one of our all night chats. If he didn’t want to marry me, I was still totally open to the ‘friend’ category in hopes that I could eventually sway him in my direction over time.

He agreed to come back to my place.

Now let me please point out to those of you who think you know where this story is headed… WE HAVE NOT EVEN KISSED YET, he has turned down my proposal, and the fact that he is at my house late into the night has not exactly been unfounded before this point! Keep your minds out of the gutter!

So while we are in the cab… LD and I in the backseat and Burny in the front…

Cab ride...

I decide that I am going to text message Burny… even though he is literally two feet away from me…

Hey… I was feeling a little disheartened after the denial earlier and although I was not completely ready to give up, I was still feeling shy.

I text him:

I have a crush on you.

I heard his phone go off. I saw him pull it out of his pocket, look at it, and put it away again.

He didn’t look over the seat and give me a look. He didn’t text me back. Nothing.

Strike two!

When we got home, the three of us sat on the floor of my kitchen and ate the taco bell that we had paid the cab driver to take us to go get. After taco bell, I stormed up to my room in protest. LD and Burny followed, and they both crawled in bed with me.

Please people!! This is not going where it seems to be going! This is the first time that Burny had even seen the inside of my room!!!  It was perfectly innocent.

So I was laying in the middle of my great friend LD and the future love of my life, Burny. We were quietly pretending to go to sleep when I decided to make one last-ditch effort at a love connection.

I LOUDLY whispered:

“Lo!!”

Lo answered back with a giggle and a ‘what?’

“I really like this guy… what should I do?”

Lo giggled again, but I felt Burny smile on the other side of me. I could hear his head moving on the pillow in the dark.

“I think you should kiss him,” LD suggested.

“What if he’s a bad kisser?” It was a legit concern. I mean, he was wonderful in every other way… how could he possibly be any good at kissing?

“You should still try it out and see,” LD urged again.

And so I did.

I made the move. I kissed him. And I assure you, he was a perfectly wonderful kisser. I even went so far as to give the results of the kiss to LD, who was still waiting on the other side of me for a full report.

Don’t worry… Burny and I went back out onto the landing and left LD alone to go to sleep. We didn’t put her through the awkwardness of hearing us making out for long. But before we left the room, I made sure to make one thing abundantly clear to Burny:

“I want you…” I started, unsure of how exactly to phrase what I wanted to say and yet, pretty sure I was off to the wrong start…

…”But I want to be your girlfriend.”

Burny smiled again and kissed me. It felt like we had been waiting years for that first kiss…

“Okay,” he said…

“Starting now.”

And so it was. We were boyfriend and girlfriend. It was the easiest relationship I’ve ever gotten myself into. No games, no gimmicks. Just pure excitement and honest intentions. And just as I had anticipated, I’ve never returned to ‘the market’ since that night. Exactly one year and one day later… I became his wife.

My wedding vows:

Thomas-

Four days after our first date, I said to my sister and my Maid of Honor, “If this guy actually likes me, I’m going to marry him.”

Six days after our first date… I asked you to marry me. You laughed at me and said no. But later that same night I tried a different approach and said: “I want to be your girlfriend.”

You didn’t say no and you didn’t laugh. You said: “Starting now.”

Today, almost two years to the day of that first date, I ask you again: Please marry me, because I want to be your wife. Starting now.

Falling in love with you has been the easiest thing that I’ve ever done. And I have only just begun to know what it is to love you. I never dreamed love could be like this. You have made me believe that I deserve love like this.

Loving you has never been the question; it’s always been the answer. The answer to my dreams, to my prayers and to every other question in my heart.

Thomas, you have shown me that romance is in the jokes and in the mishaps, and wrong turns, and even way out in the wilderness. Romance doesn’t have to be a preconceived notion. I know love isn’t perfect. But you have given me romance. And you have given me love.

You have taught me that it is okay to rewrite the old fairy tale, to find my own happily ever after. Who knew that a small town country boy, with a gun and a guitar would turn out to be my Prince Charming?

But most importantly, you remind me everyday that love is a journey not a destination. It’s hard and rough and sometimes we get lost, but as long as we have each other, we will find the right path for us. This is our journey, Thomas. Starting now.

You are the best man, the best friend, the best partner that I could ever hope to find. And I promise before God and our friends and family that I will work everyday to be a better woman, a better friend, and a better partner for you.

I love you with all of me.

I will always stand by you, Thomas, no matter what our happily ever after brings. Through hard and harder times, through children and grandchildren, through life and through death, I will be there with you.

I will be the one to hold your hand. Forever.

Thank you for loving me, Thomas. I will make you glad everyday that you do.

You sent me this quote in a text message the night you graduated basic training and it really sums it all up: Love never gives up and its faith hope and patience never fail.

 

 

Our original witnesses:

Old, old wooden ship

1 Nov

So it’s official.

I’m old.

I knew 27 was going to be borderline… I mean, I’m now in my late twenties. It’s funny how that works. 20-23, you are in your early twenties. 24-26 are mid and then starting with 27… you’re in your late twenties. There is no MID about 27. I mean, we might as well just round-up and call ourselves pre-thirty.

To be honest, although I joke that I’m getting old, I hadn’t really given it TOO much thought until the world started throwing it in my face! All of the sudden it’s as if the world is telling me to run inside and get a face lift! I mean, lately I’m hung over no matter what I do. I get tired before 2am. I find myself in pj’s on Saturday nights. I hardly make any reckless decisions… it’s just like “ok world… I see what you’re trying to say!”

But before I go into that, I have to say that there is one un-ignorable ‘clock’ that has been ticking away, louder and louder each year, since about age 24, but I am hoping to quite that down here soon enough. And yet something tells me, even when I do become a mother… I’m not going to feel any younger.

But regardless…

The first time I knew I was officially getting old was back in Texas. I kind of talked about this in my Sept. 11th blog but it bares repeating. When Burny was in tech school in San Angelo, you can imagine that it was flooded with 18-year-old kids, fresh out of high school. Burny and I were in our mid twenties still at that point, so we were the old kids on the block. I mean, it was really a struggle to think of what to do with people who couldn’t go to bars. What did I used to do? I couldn’t think of a single thing!

It was during a conversation with these underage kids that I realized, they were in 6th grade when Sept. 11th happened. They could hardly remember it! I was in college. If that doesn’t make you feel like you are in a whole different generation, I don’t know what will.

A while after we moved home from Texas, I performed in the musical: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I was actually asked to join the chorus after casting because they were short on voices so when I went to the first reading, I was painfully aware of that fact that I was going to fall into a weird age bracket.

There were the 15-year-old, high school kids playing Tom Sawyer, and his friends. There were the adults in their 50’s cast to play the parents of said kids… and then there was me. The twenty something who didn’t fit in either group. Too old to be a kid… to young to be old.

I sat down next to a girl who seemed to have found herself in the same predicament. She was quietly sitting on her own and she looked to be about my same age. I was relieved to see that I wouldn’t be the only one feeling out of place.

As we began to read through the script, I struck up a bit of a whispered conversation between myself and the twenty something next to me. We were both chorus so we didn’t have any lines. We were just there for looks basically.

About half way through the reading I realized that the story line in the play was strikingly similar to the movie plot of the 1990’s film: Tom and Huck.

I leaned over to share my findings with my new, twenty something friend. I said, “This play is exactly like the movie ‘Tom and Huck’.”

“What movie?” she asked.

Clearly she just hadn’t heard me. ‘Tom and Huck’ was a pretty well-known movie when I was in jr. high school. Namely because of its leading actor: Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

I leaned back into her and said, “‘Tom and Huck’ with JTT!”

And then she said something that just BRANDED my age so plainly across my forehead that I could feel the burn…

“Who is JTT?”

Say WHAT?

Who is JTT??? Come on! I mean, how do you describe who JTT is without a BOP magazine for evidence. I have to admit that it did occur to me at that point that BOP magazine likely no longer existed, and that didn’t help my cause much.

I said his full name to her in one final hope for recognition but it was clear to me. She wasn’t my age at all. There was just no possible way.

“He was in Home Improvement,” I tried…

Still nothing. Not one ounce of recognition in her face. Not even for ‘Tim the Tool Man Taylor.’

Finally, after a few minutes of consideration she came back and slapped me in the face again…

“I think I’ve seen re-runs of that show. Which one is JTT?”

I just left it alone. I couldn’t explain it. There was no point. I asked her age. 17. Sigh. She looked so mature…

The final blow came just the other night. I mean, there have been several ‘you’re getting old’ moments in my life since turning 25, but this one the other night really sealed the deal. I believe it’s official now and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

I’m 27 now, obviously. I went to a Halloween party on Friday dressed as a Red Headed Slut. Burny went as Mike’s Hard Lemonade:

I have to tell you that when discussing costumes with my 23-year-old friend she said: “I’m too old to be slutty for Halloween.”

Hmm… perhaps I should have reconsidered my costume at that point, but instead I decided that I looked dang good! Not just for 27 but for any age! I was going to celebrate that! I was going to be slutty! I was going to wear my boots and show cleavage and I was going to rock it out! And that is just what I did.

So, once at the party I quickly realized that married couples must not regularly go out. Everyone was asking me if Burny was my boyfriend…

“You could say that.”

We’ve been married for 2 1/2 years… it’s just not something I’ve been asked in a while. And then the real kicker happened…

I was talking with this girl about make up. I had never met her before and I guessed (correctly this time) that she was probably in her early twenties. She mentioned college and I said something back about ‘when I was in college’ and then she looked at me very strangely…

“How old are you?” She asked appalled. I mean, it wasn’t like she was a young guy I was trying to deceive into thinking I was some hot young thing… it was a girl and we were talking about make up. I wasn’t aware I should have said my age before sitting down.

“I’m 27… can I still sit and chat??”

“Seat’s taken!”

So I answered her: “I’m 27.”

Her eyes widened, she tossed her head back in surprise (and a little bit of disgust I have to admit… like she could catch the late twenties) and she said:

“Wow… you look great! What do you use?”

Really?

I mean… really??

First of all… how old am I supposed to look by now?

What product do I use?

I was really thrown by that one. I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I should have given her the card of my plastic surgeon. It was the weirdest comment. And I can’t say that it felt good… Even though she really meant it as a complement, and I’m glad that I don’t look like I am really the ripe old age of pre-thirty, but still… the idea that I was old enough to have to use product to look this good… it hurt.

Perhaps I am too old to be slutty for Halloween.

Perhaps I’m too old to be going to parties…

But maybe… perhaps not too.

And by the way… if you’re wondering… I use Arbonne of course!

Percocet… the best pain killer

3 Oct

In the case of this blog, Percocet is in fact, a blog name for a good friend of mine. And I feel that it’s very fitting, especially in the context of this blog. I just googled it and this is what came up:

Percocet (Percaset) is used to relieve moderate to moderately severe pain.
I think that works well, actually. My friend, whose blog name shall be known from here on out as Percocet, did relieve my moderate to moderately severe pain. He is one of those very unique and complex friends that, if you are lucky enough to have one, stay with you for a lifetime.
I was driving to Yuba City today, and if you don’t know, most of the drive is a two-way highway. Today, nearly the entire way, I was stuck behind a lifted Toyota Tacoma. There was a FOX sticker on the tailgate, as well as one of those grenade stickers that I’m not sure what it stands for. But I AM sure that it means you are too cool for school.
There was a lot of traffic coming the other way, and I am such a chicken when it comes to passing, so I just drove behind this truck for a long while… wondering about the driver.
In another lifetime, these stickers, this truck… that would have been a sure bet that the driver would be someone I would have had a crush on. And when this truck and I finally approached Yuba City and came to a stop light… I noticed that he was talking on the phone- a law breaker- and he had his hat on backwards.
Again, this would have been love at first sight for me. In another lifetime…
All this immediately made me think of my friend Percocet. And then I laughed out loud in my car. I laughed out loud because I remembered how Percocet used to endlessly tease me about this, back when I lived in this other lifetime.
At the time, it felt like Percocet was the first guy in a long time that had really SEEN me. Really understood me. And not only that, but he was totally willing to call me out on all my faults and stupid ideals. I knew I had a pattern, but he was the first one to point out how stupid of a pattern it was.
It was liberating.
I met Percocet in the same fashion that I met so many other friends; at a party. But this wasn’t just any party… this was a party at Arosa. If this doesn’t immediately set off bells and whistles for you, let me explain further.
Arosa is a legend.
Well, technically, Arosa is a street in San Diego. But on this street, there was a house. And in this house… there were MANY a party. And these parties were epic. These parties were themed, these parties were huge, and these parties were parties even when it was just a few friends gathering in the living room. Arosa was THE place.
Now, during college, the party spot was MY house… but this was post college. Arosa is only known by those few of us who didn’t know what the heck to do after graduation. The few of us who stayed.
So anyway, I digress…
I met Percocet at one of the many parties at Arosa. He was well known, I was well known, but we didn’t know each other. So I introduced myself. Well, that’s hardly true either. He had my sister perched on his lap and so I sat down beside them to talk to her, when he realized that we were, in fact, sisters. This is always a very appealing thing to a drunk man. And so before I could do or say anything about it, Percocet had befriended me.
Now, there were two very unique facts that made our friendship… unique… right from the start.
1) I was about to move in with him.
When Ship and I broke up, I was homeless. I lived on Mac and Raps floor for months and months, but when they moved into a much smaller place… I was once again on my own. It was summertime and EMoney and Dewip were planning to get a place with me in September and so for the summer, I was a wanderer. I slept where I could. And a lot of the time, that was on my mattress- my last possession besides my clothes- on someones living room floor. For the month of July, I rented out a room at Arosa. Consistancy for an entire month!
Sidebar: Arosa usually only housed boys. I believe that LoDown and I are the only two daring girls who have ever dared to call ourselves roommates. This place was disgusting. It was one party on top of the next… and just one bathroom. It was the kind of house you can’t walk around in barefoot. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And so I had no choice but to move in. Perc already lived there… in what would normally be considered the dinning room.
And the second thing was…
2) Perc had just recently found out that he had cancer.
I can’t speak for Perc, but this might have been the hardest thing that he has ever had to go through. And at that time, we hardly knew each other, but I was going to be one of the people he came home from chemo to. It definitely started our relationship off on an interesting note.
When I met Perc at that party for the first time, you would have never guessed in a million years that he was sick. Not at all. Drunk, yes, but sick… not a chance. He was lively. He looked healthy. He had a ton of dark hair and a full beard. He had my sister on his lap and not a care in the world… or so it would seem.
This is Percocet. This is how he does it…
By the time I moved in, maybe a month later, a few things had changed. From the waste up, he looked perfectly normal, but from the waist down… well, that was a different story. I’m 96% sure that it was lymphoma, but Perc just called it ‘Bob’. To this day, I think I’ve only ever heard him say ‘cancer’ maybe 4 times.
So by the time I moved in, Bob had already started wreaking havoc on Perc’s leg. It had only been a month and the tumor had gotten huge. He wore jeans all the time, but it was painfully obvious that one of his legs was literally 3 times the size of the other. The tumor had started to prevent the fluids in his leg from escaping… and so they were just building up. He could hardly move it. It was difficult to walk. Difficult to shower, get dressed… everything. But it wasn’t difficult for Perc to laugh about it…
I hadn’t lived there more than a day when he lifted up his jeans, poked his leg and joked as the indent from his finger stayed in his leg.
This is how Perc does it.
Maybe four nights into my living at Arosa, Perc and I found ourselves alone in the house. The other roommates were gone and he and I had no plans for the evening, and so we figured what better way to break bread and get to know each other than over a few Red Stripes?
Hooray Beer!
Perc and I sat out on the back patio, the site of our first official conversation maybe a month before, and we got to know each other. To be honest with you, I can’t even remember what all we talked about but I can tell you this: Perc KNEW me. In an instant. He just knew who I was. It was so surreal and unnerving, but SOOO welcomed at the same time.
Like I said, at the time, I had been separated from Ship for maybe 9 months and yet, things still felt so fresh. I had so totally lost myself in that relationship that I hadn’t even really begun to put myself back on any sort of a track yet. I mean, I was still sleeping in people’s living rooms for crying out loud. The dust hadn’t settled. At least not for me. And Perc just SAW that. Maybe it was his having cancer that allowed him to see the cancer in me.
And it was just that simple. Without meaning to, Perc had totally put things into perspective for me. Next to Bob… Ship was nothing. He was insignificant. If Perc could nickname his cancer… couldn’t I find a way to move on in my life?
Talking to Perc that night relived my moderate to moderately severe pain. The kind of pain that I didn’t even really realize I was still feeling. And I think that maybe, just maybe… I helped do that for Perc as well. Everything seems less scary when you have someone on your team.
During a break in the conversation, we decided to move our bonding indoors. It was getting late. I used the restroom and went into the living room to talk some more, but Perc wasn’t in there. He was standing in the doorway, looking down at his pants. They were wet.
“I either peed my pants or my leg is leaking.”
Interesting.
Perc went into the bathroom to investigate further. While he was gone, I cursed myself for being drunk! I was supposed to be the responsible roommate who was going to be able to safely and calmly react and assist in any Bob related needs! SHIT! Was I really going to fail as a friend on night one?? He had just given me a bandaid for my stupid problems, and now he was going to die in our living room because I was too DRUNK to help!!
Perc came out and reported that the site of his biopsy was, in fact, leaking. Hmmm. We kind of looked at each other, both drunk, and contemplated what exactly to do about that. It wasn’t blood… it was clear. Water? Vodka??
I voted to call 911.
He called his doctor. It was almost 3am, but his doctor answered. Perc gave the doc the info and together they decided that it would be best if I could drive him to the hospital first thing in the morning. I was clearly much more concerned about the leaking leg than Perc was. He thought it was quite the incident! And I assure you, it has been the subject of many jokes since.
In the morning, Perc woke me up early and I drove him to the hospital.
I waited, and wiated.
It turned out to be nothing.
Nothing, but the start of a very strong friendship. I mean, how can you not be bff with the person who helps you with your leaking leg??
On July 4th weekend, Perc drove himself home to Northern California. Half way there, he called me to report that he had stopped at a grocery store to use the restroom. On the way to the bathroom, he slipped on a grape and fell all the way to the ground. It looked like he peed himself. It was just his leaking leg.
This is how Perc does it…
After he started chemo, I came home one day from work and Perc called me into the living room. He stood up and said:
“Guess what happened today?”
I wasn’t really into guessing games…
Perc reached up, grabbed a hand full of his dark hair and pulled it out. It came out easily, in one big chunk. I swallowed hard, preparing myself to be the caring friend…
“It’s time for a Mohawk!”
I video taped as our other roommate shaved Perc’s hair into a Mohawk.
This is how Perc does it…
Finally it all started to come out and we had to shave it all the way off. We didn’t video that time. But Perc made jokes the whole time. The whole way through…
He went through several rounds of chemo, and then one extra one just to ensure that Bob would never come back. And although he transformed before my eyes from a guy who didn’t have a care in the world… to a guy who had lost all his hair, his eye brows, his health… He never went a day without smiling. Without laughing. Without making ME laugh.
His hair grew back. His palness dissappeared- well, mostly. Perc made a full recovery. And you know what? So did I. And it started that night with the Red Stripe. Something about that summer has stayed with me. I moved into that house in the middle of MY chemo. I was still trying to flush the cancers out. I hadn’t turned the corner yet. I still felt sick. And when I left… my hair was growing back in. I was on the mend. And I really, truly feel that I have Percocet to thank for that. I think I was meant to be his roommate that summer. We needed to help each other.
In so many ways, his cancer saved me.
I’m thankful to say that even to this day, despite the distance, the changes, the passing time… Perc and I are still good friends. And I feel very lucky for that. There are very few relationships in this life that are like this one; People that we meet that we instantly click with. We instantly know them. And we are instantly able to tell them the truths about themselves that they aren’t always willing to admit.
And sometimes… that’s all we really need.
Perc and I still exchange inside jokes. I still think of him as a dear friends. And I know I always will…
Afterall… he’s my percocet.

“It’s time to go home”

29 Sep

It’s WoopsieDaisey Wednesday!

I always have trouble thinking up a tale for these days, even though I’ve had so many ‘Woops’ moments in my life… however, today it just came to me. In my most recent blog, about SinkinShip, I referenced a particularly crazy night and I feel that it most definitely falls under the Wednesday category and therefore, should be completed today.

As is the case with a lot of these stories… please keep in mind that my memory has been blurred by that devil alcohol. So try to keep up.

So the day I am referring to is the day/night of my college graduation. My high school graduation has many a fun story attached to it as well, but again, that must be saved for yet another of the never-ending blogs.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I was dating Ship at the time of my college culmination. This was more or less, right smack dab in the middle of that relationship, and if you will recall, I was pretty much desperate for his attention and affection by that point. So just throw that in the back of your mind and keep it there.

The day started out like any other busy, important day of one’s life. I woke up early at Ship’s house. My family was in town, as well as my ex boyfriend, LemonBass, and so there was literally no room at my house for me. I’m sure that that is the only reason Ship agreed to having me over to his house in the first place, but that is neither here nor there. We woke up to a call from Ship’s superior on the Naval base. Apparently, Ship was supposed to be on base that day but had filed his paperwork either incorrectly or too late because there was definitely a communication error. He yelled, they yelled, and basically he decided that he was right no matter what they said, and he wasn’t going to go in, regardless. This was great news to me, because it meant that he was ‘choosing’ me over work, but even still… I would never have talked to my boss the way Ship spoke to his. And, well, because he was in the mood to yell, he decided to bring up AGAIN the fact that my ex boyfriend was in town to come to my graduation. I said it had been an argument between the two of us, but I didn’t mention that it went on and on. So after getting the brunt of his anger on that subject, I decided that the day was off to a great start.

I got up, got dressed and headed home. The original plan was for me to get ready in time to go see one of Ship’s MMA fights down in Pacific Beach. I’m not sure if I mentioned that in the previous blog… he was a Mixed Marshall Arts fighter… doesn’t that just add to his douche bagery? Anyway… so of course I started out the day stressed out, on a timeline, and nervous. It ended up, with all the showers of all the people in my house, that there was absolutely no way that I was going to be able to make it to his fight. This worried me very much. I really, honestly thought that if I didn’t go to this one fight, there was no way in hell he was going to show up for my college graduation. As if the two are even comparable. So I begrudgingly gave him the news that I was just running too late to make it to his fight. He didn’t even answer me back.

Side note: The cap and gown… totally not flattering. It doesn’t matter how big or little or tall or short or cute or whatever you are… it just doesn’t look good. And how the hell are you supposed to wear those hats anyway?? Hell if I know. I mean, I really struggled. This was supposed to be a day that would be photographed and looked at for years to come, and I couldn’t figure out one suitable way to wear that damn hat so that my hair didn’t look hideous.

Alas, I opted for the curly hair, down, and the hat pinned back on the skull of my head. Still not cute, but at least it didn’t smoosh my bangs.

So I headed, with my beloved roommates DMo and KayTown, my mom, he-who-must-not-be-named (Step dad), Lemon, D’Monk and my cuz to graduation. No sign of Ship.

We got to COX Arena on the SDSU campus about an hour before the ceremony, and there were quite literally 100 million people there. I think that was the official count. And it was right around 100,000 degrees as well. Again… what’s with the heat retaining, black bag that they call a gown?? So hot! Kay and I, and the rest of the graduation crew headed down to where our major was gathering, while the rest of my family- sans my noticeably absent boyfriend- headed to their seats.

The actual graduation ceremony at COX Arena was very impersonal. There were hundreds of us crowded onto the floor, where the basketball floor would normally be, and hundreds more ‘fans’- so to speak- in the stands. Out of all of those hundreds of people… no Ship.

We heard from speaker after speaker, all off which had a similar message: Shit gets real, starting now. And then we each stood up, as a major, and switched our tassels from one side to the next. We went through the motions, we followed protocol. The guy sitting two seats down from me was so moved, he fell asleep. It was magical. And all through the 20 hour long ceremony, Ship did not make an appearance.

However, the real ceremony, the one that mattered to me, was the one that followed the giant, impersonal one. It was JUST for MY major, which of course, was theatre. So after we were released from COX arena, and after I found my family and friends in the masses, we made our way across campus towards the second ceremony. Maybe Ship would show for this one? In truth, it was the only one that counts in my heart… even now.

And sure enough… there he was. He showed! I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be SURPRISED when your boyfriend shows up for your graduation, but I really was. Kay and I had to go into a special room before the ceremony began, so that we could all make a breath-taking entrance as one graduating unit. And as soon as I walked into the room, I did what every other girl does on any special day in her life… I looked for my Mommy. And there he was, sitting right next to her. He was standing and cheering and grinning, ear to ear. I was in heaven.

So this ceremony, unlike the first, was totally moving. DMo, and three other great friends of mine sang ‘For Good’ from Wicked, which if you’ve never heard it… is the PERFECT song for a graduation.

It was so beautiful that I ugly face cried.

Another good friend of mine was class speaker and her speech was very pointed. It was totally different than any of the first speeches at COX because these were MY friends. They were people I had gone to class with. They were MY teachers. These lessons were really MINE to take. It was really a great ceremony and I’m very sad to report that due to the economy, these separate major ceremonies no longer go on. I think that cheats the grads out of a very memorable experience. I remember looking over at KayTown and laughing at the inside jokes. Jokes that were ours. And I cherish the fact that our house, the party house, was brought up more than once by the speakers. It felt very personal and real… like we were really moving away from something, reminiscing. I’ll never forget it.

But either way, after this second, magical ceremony, I again reunited with my family and friends. I was given a sash to hand to the person who had most influenced my life during my college years and I gave it to my mother. We cried some more. At that point I was really wondering why I even bothered to spend any time on my hair. My face was a giant, sloppy mess.

After pictures…

… we headed to dinner at one of my favorite Mexican food places in Old Town San Diego. What better place to celebrate? When we got there, Kay’s dad pointed out the sign leading into the restaurant which announced mine and Kay’s names and congratulated us on our success. I thought that was very special and I just love to feel special.

The only down side about celebrating anything at a Mexican restaurant is the margaritas. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love myself some margs but when they come in pitchers… well, that’s where things get messy. And so we began. We took shots, we had mixed drinks, and we had many a pitcher of margs. Needless to say, by the time Kay and I left the place, we were more than special… we were ‘special’. It was scary.

First stop: Home. Or so I think. We had large plans to go out on the town, but for some reason I remember heading home first. Perhaps there needed to be some dropping off of things. Perhaps some changing. Again, I asked you to bear with me on this so I hope you are. In any respect, at some point in the evening we were at my house. The house where Kay and I both lived, and the house where everyone who was anyone was staying. And by that point, the emotion of the whole event was hitting me. We were done with college. We were all moving on. A lot of us were moving AWAY. Kay was nearly packed and she wasn’t just moving out… she was moving to NEW YORK! I am talking about the soul mate who had lived just across the hall from me for 4 years!! (Figuratively). It was very difficult. And we hadn’t really allowed ourselves to talk or even think about it. But the time had come for no more time. I hate it when that happens. Kay and I were closing a chapter. And all of a sudden, drunk as all get out, it hit me. And what did I do? I broke down crying, climbed into my mother’s lap and insisted on her rocking, and singing to me.

I’m not crazy.

I just reverted back to my childhood years. This is exactly what she needed to do for me when I was upset as a child. And apparently, it still worked. I felt much better afterwards. Ship, however, might have been thinking twice. Too bad he had no room to talk because I’d seen him far more intoxicated than needing to be rocked by his mother.

So after I was settled down, and keep in mind it is possible that this portion of the story did in fact take place prior to us coming home, we went down the street to a little bar called Bourbon Street. If you’ve never been there, let me just say… it’s a gay bar. It’s not just a gay bar, but it’s a gay bar that shows gay porn on all the tvs. Now, of course this didn’t bother Kay or I, or even my mom or sister for that matter, but my step dad, cousin, ex and Ship… they felt somewhat out of place. Ship felt even more awkward when I handed him my purse to hold onto.

Why did we choose this place? Can’t be sure. I know that I had gone there on my 21st birthday and had a blast. I never had to deal with getting hit on but at the same time, men still bought me drinks. And, quite frankly, I love myself some gays. I think it was just one of those things.

So at the bar, as I mentioned, men were just lining up to buy the two grads some shots. And of course I felt it necessary to accept. I had just graduated from SDSU- one of the largest party schools in the country! How could I turn down a free shot? I only remember taking one, a blow job shot of course, but I’m sure I took many. The thing I do remember best about that place was this: As soon as I finished my shot, I reached over with shot glass, and dropped it right on the floor as if I were placing it gently on the counter. Nope. No counter… just a long drop to the floor. So it shattered of course and no one was more surprised than me.

At that point I decided that I had to use the restroom, and as is the case with most drunk girls, I didn’t decide that early enough to hold it while I waited in a line. And what a line there was. At a gay bar, they don’t actually see the need to have a girls restroom other than the law, and so the line was absolutely astronomical for the one stall. And I just could not wait. I asked my friend, a gay man of course, for assistance and he opened up the empty boys room and said,

“Not like anyone cares in here.”

So true.

In most mens room- and not to insinuate that I’ve been in many- there are a few urinals and generally only one stall. I don’t understand this. If anything, men are much more likely to crap in a public place than women are, and yet they only get one option. And of course!! A guy had to be taking a poop just as I was in desperate need of a stall!! SO again… what did I do? I did what I think anyone else would do in my situation… I popped a squat over the urinal. Luckily for me, it was one of those floor ones. And my good friend helped hold me up so my bum didn’t touch the porcelain.

It was yet another ‘bet you haven’t done that’ moment that I can add to my long list of moments.

We might have been there an hour, it might have been 5 minutes, there is no way of knowing. But either way after the urinal, it was time to move to the next place. Truth be told, it was time to get my butt to bed, but no one likes a quitter.

The next stop was Tripple Crown which was also in walking distance of my house. Actually, it was on the way BACK towards my house so at least we were moving in the right direction. And although I was unsure earlier about the order of events, I know for a FACT that this bar was last.

Tripple Crown is a good, solid pub-like bar. It was close to our house so we knew it well, but at the same time, it was always packed with new people. And that night was no exception. The place was jumping. And again, it could have been 1am or maybe it was noon, but it was packed and we were ready to have a good time.

I sat down next to my mother, at the bar that faced out into the street. That was the other cool thing about Tripple Crown. There was a bar that faced out towards the street, and there was a huge sliding door that was open so that we could just reach out and touch the passers by- if we so chose. I always thought that was very cool. And so my mother and I hopped up onto the bar stools that were facing out towards the passing cars. Ship, who was a smoker (strike 100 against him), was standing on the other side of the bar- actually outside on the street- smoking. He was chatting with LemonBass, ironically enough, who he just so happened to really like. Go figure!

We hadn’t been sitting there more than 5 minutes and we hadn’t been in the bar more than 7 when I fate-fully reached for my mom’s Bud Light (aka B minus). I remember this part very clearly. I reached for the beer, which was positioned just out of my reach to the right and directly in front of my mom, when the most outrageous thing happened. I can’t explain it. I was reaching to my right and suddenly, without warning, I fell straight backwards off my bar stool. I was leaning right…….. and fell backwards. Still don’t get it. And don’t worry… I totally blame this trick of gravity for my fall and not my alcohol consumption.

But don’t let me sugarcoat this fall for you.

I fell backwards. Head towards cement. Legs sprawling for the ceiling, still in my graduation dress no less. And I slammed down on the ground. I broke a record-breaking THREE glasses during this epic tumble. One was the beer in my right hand, which had caused the whole fall to begin with. One was the glass in front of me that I had kicked whilst falling. And the third was my cousins. He was less intoxicated than me at that point and so he had seen me start to fall from across the bar. He made it all the way across the room just in time to get his drink knocked out of his hand by my passing arm. I broke that glass by FALLING on it.

Amazingly, I did not have a scratch on me. And also AMAZINGLY, my mother managed to SAVE MY LIFE. She saw me start to go- it must have been in slow motion… or at least that’s how it felt for me- and so she grabbed my two hands at the last minute. She knew there was no saving me. My feet were well over my head by that point. But her intention was simple: Keep my head from slamming into the cement.

And although I did break 3 glasses, one by falling on it, at the last minute my arms extended to the max and my head was saved. I had a wicked case of whiplash the next day, but my brain was intact! Or at least mostly.

Now, this is where I did what most people wouldn’t do. Instead of being embarrassed and mortified… I laughed. I started laughing my ass off! People were encircling me, strangers were picking me up off the ground, my mother was pulling my dress back down over my crotch and I just thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen.

At that point I looked at Ship who was standing directly in front of me, still outside the bar, and I’ll never forget what he said:

“It’s time to go home.”

And so it was…

Once we got home, it was as if nothing embarrassing had happened at all. I was causing quite the drunken scene. I was very insistence upon Ship taking me home and home meant his house. As it stood, my mom and step dad were sleeping in my room, the fold out couch had already been claimed and the only thing left for Ship and I was a blow up mattress in the dinning room. I found that totally unacceptable. But Ship refused to drive me because he had been drinking and he didn’t want to make a bad impression on my mom. (Way to see that through). And so he did everything in his power to keep me laying down on the mattress. And trust me, I was putting up quite the fight. I was yelling at him and I was calling him every name in the book. I kept telling him that he was the worst boyfriend ever, when in fact, this might have been the ONLY night in our entire relationship where he actually was a good boyfriend.

And to top it all off, I went off on my step dad about how much he had been drinking. Apparently, he hadn’t had anything. Nope… just me. Great.

So that is the story of the night I graduated from college. It would appear that the only thing I learned in my four years… was how to party.

Blame it on the A A A A A Alcohol

7 Apr

Way back when I was twenty years old, just beginning my REAL adventures, I made a bad decision.

Major Woopsie Daisey moment!

Can you believe it? After reading this blog so far, I know you all just can’t imagine ME making a bad decision. But alas, it is so. But I had company in this bad decision. As always, I was riding right along side my very own side kick, MacTen when I made this bad decision. And she made it too. And to this day, we are not sure why…

It was a Sunday of all days, and MacTen and I, and a good friend of ours The Mayor, had just finished watching the second part of a VERY long play called Angels in America. If you are familiar with this play, you can immediately sympathize with the length of the show. If you are not familiar, let me just tell you this much: This play is TWO parts in total. Most theatre companies only ever attempt to do one part, because each part is three hours with two intermissions. Of course my college decided to attempt both parts, and they did this by offering the option to watch part one as a matinée and then part two, three hours later as an evening performance, or you could watch part two the following day on Sunday. This play, however long, is brilliant and I encourage you all to see it if the option arises. I saw the six hour show two times during this run, so you can see how committed I am to my trade. Anyway…

MacTen, The Mayor and I, decided that after such a long day in the theatre, we needed to go right home and embark on a ‘Friends’ marathon. (‘Friends’ like the show). And so we did. Believe it or not, this is not the bad idea! The bad idea is yet to come.

Once at my house, The Mayor put on the first DVD and very enthusiastically encouraged us to join him on the couch. Of course MacTen and I were a little restless. I mean, we had just spent an eternity sitting in the theatre. All of the sudden a ‘Friends’ marathon didn’t sound so fun. So MacTen and I came up with a new and improved version of the ‘Friends’ marathon. And this new version goes like this: The Mayor sits and watches ‘Friends,’ while MacTen and I drink. This is where the bad idea starts. Keep in mind it is about 5 o’clock on Sunday and we have class the following day.

Like I said, I was twenty which means MacTen was probably right around eighteen. So needless to say, we didn’t have a lot of options when it came to drink choices. And despite our efforts, no one seemed to be available to get us any alcohol on a Sunday, so we resigned to drink what we had. What we had to drink that day is the beginning and end of the bad idea.

We drank Popov vodka and Mountain Dew…. Code Red.

And we drank it as if it was going to disappear at 6pm. And disappear it did. MacTen and I did work on this vodka. I really, honestly do not know what our plan was exactly. Naturally things get a little fuzzy in this particular memory, but I seem to remember that her boyfriend at the time was perhaps going to bring us something better to drink a little later on and so we figured we better get rid of what we had in the house… something brilliant like that. So we did. We got rid of that vodka in record time. Literally, I wonder if The Mayor did not enter us in the Guinness Book.

As my memory goes, the vodka was completely gone (split between only MacTen and I… The Mayor was quite enthralled with ‘Friends’) in maybe half an hour. And the next thing I know, MacTen and I are beyond wasted and we are sitting on the kitchen floor, refrigerator door open, stuffing our face with left over CPK pizza. And that pizza was delicious, despite the fact that it may or may not have been in the fridge for longer than its expiration date. This was college. People didn’t throw out food just because it went bad.

And of course… everything we did was hilarious. This fact, has never changed I might add. To this day, EVERYTHING we do is hilarious, but it was especially hilarious on this day. And for some reason, The Mayor just could not quite grasp what was so darn funny. I remember him being rather annoyed, if you can believe that! I mean we were being seriously hilarious.

Well, in the midst of all this hilarity, MacTen gets the amazing idea to go to the beach. And clearly, I can not think of a better plan in the whole world. So we immediately petition The Mayor to drive us there. For whatever reason, he does not think it would be a good idea. I guess we must not have explained it well enough, because of course it was a good idea. It was an amazing idea. And we were not about to be thorted by The Mayor just because he was the only one with the ability to drive. No, no. I can’t remember who came up with our next idea, but it too, was amazing. We decided that we would just run to the beach. Now, I lived in Normal Heights in San Diego. If you know where that is, you’re laughing right now. For those of you who need a little more information… we are talking maybe a 15 minute drive on a good day to the beach from where I lived. But alas, this was not going to thort us either and so we set off.

I was wearing a pair of pink sleep shorts and a black tank top and MacTen was wearing something equally as inappropriate for outdoor wear. I wish I had a visual for you. I know there is a picture out there and try as I might, I can not find it. MacTen, help me out if you have it…

Anyway, I digress… MacTen and I burst out my front door and take off down the street. Now, if someone were to actually run from my house to the beach, they would have taken off in the opposite direction as we ran, but that didn’t really occur to us. Believe it or not, I think we knew somewhere in our subconscious that we wouldn’t actually make it to the beach. And that became clear about half a block from my door step. MacTen took a nasty spill. I am talking one of those trips that leads to an awkward run where you are trying to catch up with yourself when ultimately you know you’re just going to fall anyway kind of things. And of course, as soon as she hits the ground, I, who am following way too close, launch myself right over the top of her. Now this… was hilarious. At the time of course. The next day MacTen had a bruise that would put a plum to shame. But at the time… Well let’s just say The Mayor had to come and scrape us off the sidewalk and escort us back inside where he immediately returned to his marathon.

Looking back… it’s really a good thing that he was there. If he hadn’t have been, MacTen and I might be dead.

Well, after the fall, MacTen and I decided to finally give it a rest. I had two rocking chairs in my living room (I have a bad habit of rocking… well, I don’t really think it’s a BAD habit per say, but it is strange and it does rule my life a little bit). MacTen sat in one, and I sat in the other. Usually, that is exactly where I want to be if I am drunk or feeling yucky. My rocking chair. But on this particular occasion, the rocking motion really wasn’t helping matters at all. The rocking was making me think about all the Mountain Dew Code Red and vodka I had consumed… and the pizza… and the running… and well I just didn’t feel good all of the sudden. And no sooner had that thought occurred to me, did MacTen say,

“I think I’m going to puke.”

Took the words right out of my mouth.

“Me too,” I said.

And so we both retired into the bathroom together. We took our respective seats on either side of the commode. Ane we began the art of spitting.

Now, I have to take a minute here to let you all in on something. I do not puke. I do not get drunk and throw up. This strange occurence has only happened to me three times in my entire life. So you can understand how far this Sunday had gone. But if there is one thing I DO do, it’s spit. I will sit there and spit into a toilet all night long. I won’t puke, but I will spit. The relief you get from that purge is never mine… just the anticipatory spitting. And so of course, I expected nothing less when I sat by the toilet on this particular event.

But before I know it, a phone is ringing and then MacTen is gone and then nothing…

My memory stops.

It picks up again an undetermined amount of time later when MacTen had returned and was shaking me. I heard her voice first and I felt her shaking my body around, but I couldn’t see. The thought crossed my mind that I had drank myself blind, but that thought did not last long. No, all of the sudden, my sight was back but I could not explain what I was seeing. It would seem that there was a wood floor growing out of the side of my head. How strange. But of course the longer I pondered this vision, the further I could see. And then I realized that a ways down the hall, which I determine was what I was seeing, was my bed. I was seeing under my bed. How was I seeing under my bed? Where was I?

And before I could figure that out, MacTen sat me up. And now I was staring at the toilet again. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the toilet, just like that. Just like I had been before my memory stopped. Amazing. As it turns out, I had passed out and was laying half in the bathroom, half in the hallway (if you hadn’t figured that out yet).

Unfortunately for all parties involved at that very minute, the jarring movement from laying down to sitting up brought back all those unforgiving feelings of nausea. Of course the saving grace in all of this was that I was already sitting in front of the toilet. All MacTen had to do was heed my very quick warning, pull back my hair, and hold her breath. And out it came. My first puke from being drunk. Code Red.

After I was done, I finally knew what everyone was talking about when they said, “If you would just puke you would feel so much better.”

I felt on top of the world. But MacTen had had enough. She put me to bed, despite my insistance that I was fine and despite the fact that it was still light outside, and her boyfriend came and picked her up. Man, one throw up incident and the party was over! After all we had been through. I guess that part of the night was not hilarious.

Suddenly I was all alone, still hammered, and feeling much better. So I did what any other drunk person would do in that situation. I called everyone I knew, sitting in my bed, and I told them that I had thrown up. I felt like I had really accomplished something, and I really felt like people would want to know about it.

When all is said and done, I think that the major Woopsie Daisey moment in this story was the Code Red. I mean, really?

Not her finest moment

24 Feb

Since it’s a WhoopsieDasiey Wednesday, and I have been kind of indulging in the ‘fall’ stories, I thought I would change it up a bit. Let me remind you all that a fall is not the only time one might say ‘Whoopsie Daisey.’ For example, if someone were to make a mistake… or over do it on something like say, alcohol… that would be a ‘Whoopsie Daisey’ moment, now wouldn’t it?

This story is about MacTen. Yes, dear, you. Specifically a very large ‘Whoopsie Daisey’ moment that she and I shared back in Oxford, England. Well, to be fair, JumpSki was there too.

I believe I mentioned this program back in one of my travel blogs, but all the same, MacTen and I were lucky enough to attend the prestigious British American Drama Academy at Oxford University. I had just graduated college and she had not yet turned 21. But in Europe, you’re 21 when you’re born, so she was taking full advantage of that particular freedom during this ‘Whoopsie Daisey’ moment.

It was the final day of the program. All of our scene work had been presented, which was the culminating portion of the entire summer. We, as students, had been attending only 4 classes a day, but they were intense and they were taught by brilliant English and American teachers who were all MORE than qualified to be teaching us, to say the least. I can’t speak for everyone when I describe these classes, but I will give it a go all the same.

Shakespeare class. For me it was taught by a fiery women by the name of Irina Brown. She was Russian and she took being Russian very seriously. I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that. This woman was a nightmare, and the first half of the summer, I hated her. She embarrassed me. She called me out on my weaknesses. She was relentless. She expected so much. But of course, as I grew over the summer, both as a person and a performer, winning her respect became one of my highest goals. It might have taken me a minute to realize, but those are the types of people that are put in our path to teach us… more than anyone else, and I learned a great deal from that woman. I will never forget her. Aside from her erratic behavior sometimes, this woman wore only one thing the entire month of July. Every single day, I kid you not. JumpSki can vouch for this. She wore a floor length jean skirt, and an over sized, oatmeal colored, knit sweater. Her hair can best be compared to the main of a lion simply because her face kind of resembled a lion. So there ya go, there is Shakespeare class.

Movement class. Another teacher I will not soon forget but for entirely different reasons. I am smiling now as I think of him. He was completely opposite Irina. His name was Ben. Just Ben, can’t remember his last name, but we called him Big Ben or Uncle Ben. He was quite tall, impossibly thin and old as can be. There is something in the water in Europe because these people live forever. He was completely insane, but in a ‘I’m high on drugs’ kind of way. He called me Wendy Bendy- which I never quite figured out… because I am NOT flexible in any way- and he always spoke as if he were singing. Every word was drawn out. At the talent show that summer, he wore butt-less pants and played a song on his bare ass. And once in class, he spent the entire 1 hour 45 minute period running us through an exercise that required us to act like we were on a sinking ship. That’s it. For nearly 2 hours, he dictated the weather and we reacted as if on a sinking ship. Crazy but brilliant. That will make you think!

Audition Techniques. In this class I had my biggest break through as an actor. We only had this class once a week, so four times total, but we were expected to have learned a new monologue each week. That sounds simple enough, but learning a new monologue means reading the play from which it comes, researching the era, researching the character, blocking, practicing, memorizing and not to mention, FINDING a new one from Border’s books across the road. I did a monologue from “Tongue of a Bird” that I won’t soon forget. This class was very intense, but I can’t recall much about the teacher, specifically.

Modern class. In this class we worked on very modern, very obscure pieces. For half the month I had Barry… bless his heart. He reminded me entirely of what you would picture an older English gentleman to look like. He had a comb over and wore knit caps, as well as sweater vests. But he was so darling and brilliant. He taught me so much about character research and development, even for the most simplest of roles (if there is such a thing). And for the second half of the month, we had a lovely, young, black man as a teacher. I forget his name at the moment, but I know that he called EVERYONE ‘my baby’… but really it was one word: mybaby. “That was brilliant mybaby.” “No, do you see what you’re doing there mybaby?” Oh yes… his name was Leo, I remember now. He makes me smile too.

And of course Voice class. Not singing. Voice. Like speaking and accents and pronouncing things correctly and all that. This class was where I struggled the most personally. I have a hard time placing my voice correctly. One bad voice couch in college, and everything is ruined. But the teacher was Linda Gates. I’ll not soon forget her name. She was the most entitled, but lovely woman I’ve ever met. So pompous but loveable. I don’t know how she pulled it off. That class often got long and boring because we were sitting most of the time, and nearly running ourselves into the ground the rest of the day, so here and there we would ask her a question to get her off topic… she loved name dropping and getting off topic, if it meant she got to tell us a story about something amazing that had happened to her. She literally spoke with her nose in the air, but you had to love her. She was my only American teacher. Taught in Chicago. Some of the students actually had her as a teacher in the states.

So anyway, that is a taste of my favorite summer to date, but that is not entirely off topic. I had to kind of give you all a little back ground so that you might understand the weight that was lifted off our shoulders the final day of classes. No more scenes, no more rehearsing well into the night on the lawn while the bats dive at us, no more reading plays at all hours, or performing monologues to the walls… all was done. All was performed. We were free.

And in celebration of this, BADA put on a HUGE closing night dinner in the great dinning hall. And by great dinning hall I mean just that. We are talking Harry Potter style. 3 long tables of students, with the faculty at the table at the far end of the hall. Seriously, the movie was filmed just down the street.

Hp

We had a great meal- only the very first and the very last meal there were eatable… it was England after all- and all the wine and champagne one could drink. So we students felt that we could really let our hair down and have a good time. 140 kids, most of whom were under age, letting their hair down for a party with the faculty is a terrible, terrible idea. But alas, we had to comply. And party we did.

I can’t say that I remember dinner too clearly. There was great chocolate cake, but I can’t be sure if I actually remember that or if I only remember the pictures of it.

A well known actor spoke at the dinner- I’m not one for names, someone remind me who it was… he was in Shakespeare in Love- and I can’t remember anything that he said, but I remember being moved. When the time came for dinner to be over, even though we had been terribly over served as it was, MacTen decided that it would be a good idea to ‘barrow’ a few bottles of wine and take them back to our rooms before heading down to the dance, where more alcohol was being served. I think her logic might have been that they were charging at the dance, who can know for sure?

So about 10 of us went back to our room, MacTen the ringleader, and we had a few more glasses of wine before heading down to the dance.

I don’t remember the dance at all.

I do, however, remember telling MacTen that I was pretty sure I would be puking and her consoling me and telling me that it would be okay if I needed to do that. I remember going back to my room to drunk dial my boyfriend back in the states- this boyfriend is SinkinShip who will come into play soon as ‘cheat’ number 3- and of course getting off the phone angry. It was sometime in the morning for him, but don’t worry… he was drunk too. And I remember heading back down to the dance and sitting on the steps outside laughing at ALL the drunk people and watching the kids kiss whoever their crushes were throughout the summer. Alcohol has a funny way of lowering your inhibitions.

Then, all at once, MacTen told me that she just needed to throw up a little and she would be fine. Now, for MacTen to throw up… this is pretty much par for the course. For ME to throw up… well, there have only been 3 times that I have thrown up for drinking in my nearly 27 years. Age 20, Age 21 and Age 25. I am not proud of any of these. Surprisingly enough though, this night was not one of those nights, despite the fact that I had announced that it would be.

So anyway, MacTen and I head to the bushes, yes the bushes, and she ador places her finger down her throat. I have to marvel at her every time she does this. I have never been able to do it. My body fights throwing up like you wouldn’t believe. I have done the stick my finger down my throat game, I have even had someone else do it not believing I was doing it right, and nothing. Never. I just can’t make it work that way. But MacTen, she is a seasoned pro. So she handles her business in the bushes of Balliol college. But don’t worry, she was not out of place. As she was puking, a friend of ours comes up and pees in the bushes just a ways down from us. This is why, people, the legal drinking age should be 21. Kids just can’t handle their shit.

After this escapade, I decide to take MacTen back up to my room. As is sometimes the case, once the chamber is open, there is really no stopping it. It’s kind of a 50/50 game. It either frees up the rest of the night and everything is fine, or it makes everything worse. In this particular example, everything got worse. And if you have ever found yourself in a similar situation, you know that a best friend puking is as good as a shower and a cup of black coffee for a drunk person. I went from feeling sick myself to mom mode in about 20 seconds.

On our way up to my room, we stumbled across JumpSki. Now, at the time he was 28. Much older than the average student at BADA, but he was just as plastered as any one of them. This does make me think that perhaps it was not just the young age of everyone there… maybe there really is something in the water in Europe. JumpSki was like I have never seen him, and he was one of my closest friends. JumpSki had driven me home and held me up more than once in our past partying endeavors, so it was quite the surprise for me to find him in such a state. But what else could I do? I threw his arm over my other shoulder and led him up to my room.

Now, I have to take a minute to explain my room here. It was huge. Please take note of the pictures I have included. This college was built in 1212 by a group of magical gnomes. Well, that’s a lie, but it was magical.

My room was on the third and top floor. The winding stairway up to the third floor was cement and echoing like you would imagine a castle. And then of course my room was equally as imaginative; tall ceilings, fireplace, large open space, iron windows. It was beautiful.

In all these rooms there was a small sink. I tell you this because once we got in the room, both JumpSki and MacTen needed to use the sink at once. Luckily, an admirer of JumpSki’s and all around brilliant Irish lass, CrazyBuckley, came in at just that moment and was able to usher JumpSki to the bathroom in time. I, however, was left with MacTen and the sink.

This moment, and MacTen will confirm it, sealed our friendship forever. There is no way I will not love this girl for my whole life after what came next.

Vomit.

Lots and lots of vomit. Into the sink, yes, but just a little, no! And for some reason, she had to have the water running. I tried to turn it off, as it was filling the sink just as quickly with water as she was filling it with her dinner, but she insisted- between gags- that it be left on. And so it was. But this left me with somewhat of a terrible predicament. The sink was filling and there was no sign of letting up. There was only one thing to do, and I only had about 2 seconds to think about it…

Yes, I had to scoop the puke.

It was either that, or let it over flow onto the carpet. And if I let that happen, I would still have to clean it up and my room had a much higher chance of smelling like puke the remainder of the night, so yes, I decided to scoop. I am not ashamed. It was horrible, but I would do it all over again for her. Sorry to be graphic but once I got the chunks out of the drain, the rest kind of went down easier. And before long it was over… well… not exactly.

Shortly after this a series of events unfolded very quickly. A cute boy- the brother of one of my classmates whom I had been flirting with that night- came looking for me and I could do nothing but put him in charge of MacTen while I went in search of more towels. I peeked in at JumpSki, but he was in good hands with CrazyBuckley, so I tried to sneak into my hall mates room to steal some of her towels.

I opened her door, the light from the hall lit up her dark bed just in time for me to witness her throwing up into her garbage can. Shit. So I went inside, soothed her until she fell back asleep and then proceeded back to my room with the stolen towels. No sooner had I returned, did cute boy take off for good. But then, just as I was getting MacTen settled into the nice bed of towels I had made her under the sink, in comes her crush of the summer and up goes MacTen. It was as if she had never filled my sink. She was ready to rejoin the party, no problem. She doesn’t remember this part, but luckily neither does the guy. He too had been overserved.

MacTen finally passed out.

I moved to the bathroom with JumpSki. I must have spent a good hour in there with CrazyBuckley, while JumpSki apologized over and over again, not really sure if it were me or Buckley he was hanging onto. And as our bathroom was communal, and we occupied it for most of the night, we got the occasional head popping in to fill us in on the goings on of the rest of the students. As it turned out, most everyone was in rare form, and bad shape.

After a lot of coercion, I convinced Jump to leave the safety and security of the cement bathroom floor, as much fun as I was having in there, and brought him to my bed of towels to snuggle MacTen. Finally, the night was through. I slept in my bed, while my two drunk friends cuddled on the floor under the sink.

The next morning was… well… interesting. There were a lot of headaches and a lot of garbage, and unfortunately for the janitor, a lot of dried excrement everywhere. But it was also the day we all had to say goodbye… One of the harder days of my life I might add. Letting go of a summer like that, an experience like that, is not easy. The people you meet and the people you share that experience with are with you forever in a way. MacTen and I became the friends that we are because of that summer, but she was not the only one…

I had met another brilliant friend that summer: Will.

He doesn’t get a nickname. I have never seen him since, but I still count him in my best friends and because that summer was so huge in shaping me into the person I am today, he was a huge part of that as well. He was in my class and across the hall. I spent nearly every moment of that month with him and I got to know him better than most. When I think back to that July of ’05, I remember a lot of work. I remember endless studying and reading and never taking any shortcuts… always doing all the work. But I also remember hours and hours of conversation with Will and MacTen. I remember going to clubs. I remember trips to London, the bombings of London, and I remember scooping puke out of my sink. Truthfully, I don’t know how we fit it all in. But isn’t that always the sign of a truly good time?

So that morning, we all said our goodbyes. Looking back, I think those Brits are onto something, getting us all so drunk the night before we all leave each other. Everyone was so hung over and so worried about the brightness of the sun and catching their next mode of travel, that no one really spent too much time crying over those goodbyes. It was kind of just quick, like a band-aid.

It’s funny to think that that amazing program ended just that way, but it did. Random? I don’t know. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe I didn’t get to say all the goodbyes that I would have said, but who needs goodbyes? I was right where I was supposed to be, right Mac? I think so…

Mac, Me and Jump: