Ok, that is freakin' IT! I am SOOOO on the wagon...And I'm not talkin' about layin' off the sauce either, mind you (although that too, is probably imminent) I'm talkin' about taking a requisite, self-imposed hiatus from SEX...until further notice...I fucking broke my bed! Or rather......I broke my bed......fucking...
It practically makes no sense at all, that Willow and I should have cultivated such an effortless friendship. For one thing - she is a gym teacher and a coach at the school which my children attend. One might expect it to be awkward or uncomfortable for my kids to have to tolerate a teacher from their school, hanging out at their house a couple of nights a week sometimes, for cocktails with their mom and dinner and reality TV with them...not so. In fact, my son Jamie asks, every Wednesday afternoon when I pick him up from school, "Is Willow coming over tonight?" and if for some reason she's NOT able to join us, he always humphs, "That sucks, it's always so boring when she doesn't come over". (He's undeniably smitten with her...)
As far as looks go, Willow possesses an altogether preeminent beauty - next to which my own mediocre looks are even more diminished. I should HATE her...seriously. But for some reason I never feel the least bit self-conscious whenever juxtaposed to this spectacular human specimen, despite that fact that I become virtually invisible to men when I'm in her company. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that Willow seemingly has no concept of how gorgeous she really is, and so for me, it is relatively painless to concede to her dominant, yet humble beauty. Her statuesque, athletic frame which is sheathed in unblemished, naturally bronzed skin (as well as killer clothes...always) commands positive attention from nearly everyone who casts eyes upon her. And she has the most exquisite face humanly possible, I swear to goodness! Her "soldiers courses" smile barely knuckles under to her triumphant opalescent green eyes with which she cluelessly slays everyone...man, woman or child (just ask little Jamie...boing!) And I believe that part of what makes her transcendental beauty even more pronounced, and simultaneously makes Willow surprisingly approachable, is her magnetic, party-girl personality. The fucking bitch has it all...and I love her for it!
Of course, there is also our exaggerated age gap which should negate any semblance of a social middle ground between us, but since my maturity level is retarded at best and Willow is inordinately sage, (per her mere 24 years on this planet) we meld together pretty well. We spend boatloads of time, commiserating over our parallel idiosyncrasies in regards to men. One such example; we are both hypercritical to a fault of nearly every guy we meet. I was chastising myself for horrible behavior towards some poor soul one time, and Willow minimized my dismay by saying, "Ha! That's nothing...I declined an invitation go out on a second date with this one seriously HOT guy, simply because he showed up for the first date, wearing Crocs"...Ahhhahahaha! Loved that!
Anyway, all logic aside, Willow and I do get along famously. And although my appearance is radically incommensurate to hers, I simply shift gears when I'm out with her. I can count on always having a great time, but I never delude myself into thinking that I could ever possibly bag a babe with Willow there by my side. And the weird thing is, that instead of becoming all bunched up about my physical inadequacies, I tend to relax a bit more than usual and catch myself laughing and goofing on the dance floor, rather than obsessively searching for a man.
A couple of months ago, Willow and I made the usual rounds down in Old Town, traipsing about, from bar to bar until we wound up at the obvious hotspot of the night. Within minutes of our arrival, Willow had a choice target in her cross hairs. Only problem was...she was too bashful to make a move (she is still human, after all) So I - dutiful friend that I am - and with no designs of my own on any potential victims...devoted most of my evening to playing cupid...and it worked.
After last call, Willow and I followed her handsome jock to a small party in town and while the two of them wiled away the hours getting better acquainted, I entertained myself by learning how to fall down a flight of stairs. I would stand at the topmost step facing forward, pretend to lose my footing, take a header, barrel roll the rest of the way down and ultimately crash into the drywall at the bottom. I even learned how to do it backwards...It never hurt, not once...ever (which could've been due entirely to the excessive amount of alcohol coursing through my system...maybe) Anyone who saw it for the first time, believed that I had actually fallen down the stairs...accidentally. At some point, after most of the partygoers had gotten wise to my prank and subsequently insisted that I STOP such nonsense, a chivalric young man with whom I had enjoyed a delightful repartee (mainly centered around his daffy assertion that his dick was the size of a blade of grass) in between tumbles down the steps and while Willow was indisposed, decided that it would be prudent for him to sit at the bottom of the staircase to catch my fall, not only to spare the sheetrock wall any more undue harm, but also to prevent me from suffering injurious repercussions...awwww, what a sweetie! After about my 20th trip down the flight of carpeted stairs, Shane (24 years old, 6' 5", 250 + lbs., big, bright, inquisitive blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor) determined to break my lucky streak (as well as quell his anxiety), by curling me up like a warm, little cinnamon bun in his post collegiate, basketball-playin' arms and bestowing upon me, an unexpected kiss. And even though I had been highly entertained while perfecting my kooky, new stunt, I have to say that making out with Shane far surpassed the alternative...that youngin' can KISS!
At around 5 a.m., Willow and I realized how godforsaken late (early?) it was and after exchanging cell #'s with our adorable boys, we bid all, farewell...
A couple of weekends later, I drove into Alexandria to meet up with Willow and some of her equally wild-ass lacrosse buddies, to make an appearance at a party before hitting the town in the (bigger than Willow's and my own) city. It turned out - that a new (way too young), online guy with whom I'd been chatting for no more than 24 hours, lived within blocks of the apartment where I was to be crashing that night and so I conveniently got him on board to come hang out with all of us gals. One of Willow's friends was particularly interested in meeting my "date" after I informed her that he was mid-20's, Jewish and an online dater, as was she. And since Joel was definitely closer to her age, I willingly offered him up to her, sight-unseen...I had no attachment to the guy and it just seemed to make sense.
Joel arrived at the party just in time to catch me boisterously engaging in my wholehearted attempt to fudge mad wrestling skills on a half-serious opponent. My inspiration? The Pay-Per-View MMA fights hypnotizing the bulk of those in attendance. (If you ask me, I fairly well held my own, especially considering the fact that my challenger was a trained fighter and easily twice my size) Anyway, once I finally (begrudgingly, grrrr...) admitted defeat, I struggled to catch my breath, and then introduced myself to Joel. His face was...unique, but not totally off-putting. And since I was somewhat ambivalent about his looks, I remorselessly lived up to my promise, and promptly introduced Joel to Willow's friend. It was immediately and painfully obvious that there was clearly no spark between the two of them, in fact, they quickly showed signs of literally detesting one another, whoops. Their conversation escalated into a minor tiff in a jiffy and I broke it up before they commenced their own MMA fight. After all of that, I figured it would (and rightfully should) be up to me to babysit Joel for the night. I definitely did not, however, let his presence cramp my style.
The entire party relocated to a raucous dance club/bar where I flitted about the dance flo' at will, with Willow and all of her friends, but made sure to check in with Joel (who apparently preferred the bar to the dance floor, which was not necessarily a bad thing) every time I returned to order another drink. And you know? The more I looked at him, the cuter he got, which could've had everything to do with my steady alcohol intake. But no matter how much THEY drank, Willow and all of her friends NEVER found Joel attractive. Every time I tried to endear him to them, they shot me down with wrinkled up noses and sourpuss grimaces, blaming their disapproval on what they unanimously considered to be his alarmingly vampire-esque appearance and demeanor, all pale and skinny and aloof...but whatever - I was drunk and he WAS a great kisser, fangs and all!.
When it was time to hit the road, Joel asserted that I should go back with him to the house where the party had been, so that we could fetch his car together (wink, wink) and I was like, "Umm, nah. I think I'll just go back with the girls, to the apartment where I'm staying" He got instantly seriously pissed off, like ridiculously so, and the rest of us were all so relieved when he quickly left in a huff in his own goddamn cab. The good news?...I didn't really give a shit AND...it looks like mama finally made a good judgement call, for once.
And now, for the big climax (get it?)
So, a few weekends after my fun time in Alexandria with Willow et al, I was away out of town and got a text in the middle of the night, from Shane. His message was indiscernible (hic!), but the next day when I called him, he explained that he was back in (my) town and asked if I was free to hang out over the weekend. I told him that I was heading home right then, and that I would call him when I arrived. In the meantime, I called "finger-on-the-party-pulse" Willow to find out what those boys were up to, she gave me the skinny and within hours, I was on my way to reunite with brawny Shane.
For the sake of expediting the conclusion of this entry, I shall paraphrase...
I met up with Willow and Shane early in the evening, at the same house where I learned how to fall down the stairs...got into an argument with some stupid punk...went downtown with Willow and the cute boys to check out the cheesy Apple Blossom Festival midway...pissed off a "carney"...hopped a cemetery fence and slunk around until Willow and the boys alerted me to the fact that the night-watchman had called the cops...climbed back out...walked the boys back to the party and got into an even more heated argument with the dumb, under-age punk (who had made off to a neighbor's party with MY bottle of vodka, the prick) as well as the puerile members of his entourage...left Shane at the house while I drove Willow to her car which was parked downtown...nearly T-boned a cop...narrowly avoided getting a DUI...texted Shane to ask if he wanted to blow the party and come to the country with me...returned to the fucking party...waited in the roadway in my cute, little car while Shane collected his shit and fielded negative rhetoric about his "date" the whole long walk out to my car...drove Shane's adorable ass out to my place where we doinked like a Great Dane and a Chihuahua...annihilated my bed and both of us, along with my two space-invading doggies, all squished together in the low spot of my collapsed bed...finally got some freakin' shut-eye...
Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to have to call the catalog company from which I had ordered my bed frame, unconvincingly act all shocked and surprised that my bed had bottomed out without incident and then have to grovel for them to send replacement parts, pronto...The girl on the phone was like, " " and so I broke her silence by asking if this had happened to anyone else, before and she was like, "Uhhhh...Not to my knowledge..." And then she gave me the news that my particular model of bed frame was backordered for the next month and a half and that its arrival date in the warehouse would be the soonest that I would be able to get my new parts...So now, every time I crawl into my bed, (these days, simply a mattress on the floor) and then turn my eyes over to my crippled bed frame, leaning against the wall, I can't help but wonder if maybe my bed was just a fucking lemon. But then again...I suppose it really truly could have buckled under strain from my inordinately enthusiastic and somewhat large lover. I just can't accept that I might've racked up such an exorbitant amount of mileage on the derned thing, over my crazy year of online dating, that I plumb wore the fucker out...not possible, right?
The long and short of this entry is this...instead of giving myself mad props for turning the head of such an eligible, young stud (and in Willow's presence as well as a slew of other more age-appropriate girlies', to boot!) I considered my broken down bed as a sign, that enough was enough already...time to take a little breaky poo from a whole loooong year of excessive wear and tear on my bed as well as on myself...Plus, it did cross my mind that if there ever was to be a "next time", if we weren't a bit more careful, my partner and I could be on pace to crash all the way through the floor and clear on down to the living room...and THAT might be a bit more tricky to gloss over...
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