Saturday, March 26, 2011

12:50 PM

The Emerald City

Ahoy y'all,

I don't know about you, but I have a huge issue with jealousy. I get jealous of all sorts of ridiculous things, but the aspect of my jealousy which really gets me into trouble is when I get jealous of my friends' time. I don't like people often, but when I do, I want them around often. And when my time is cut into by a sport, job, new friend, or significant other I get angry. Typically, if the entity stealing my time is a sport or job, I suck it up because it would be silly to act out. If it's a new friend, I either play nice and let the thief get jealous or I wage a war of wills. The latter option doesn't always end well.

Now that my friends and I are (almost) all twenty-somethings, the time stealing sluts tend to be significant others. Luckily, I've found a stellar way of dealing with this:

I bag the significant other as my new bestie.

It's like a twisted and wonderful yet subtle form of revenge when your friends complain that you're too close to their significant other. That's my opportunity to scream "now you know how I feel" and play the victim and complain about the loss of me + friends quality time just because they've found someone to sleep with on a regular basis.

Sometimes I wonder why people put up with my antics.

Unfortunately, my friends usually get the last word: when they choose to end relationships I have to deal with their depression and the loss of a new bestie.

One of my best examples of this hails from college. I had this wonderful stoner friend--let's call her Ella. Ella was dating Jack, a guy from a neighboring school. Jack was probably the easiest significant other bestie  I'd ever made. That boy taught me how to work a peace correctly and from that moment on, we were Mary Jane soul mates. Jack used to show up to campus, drop his stuff in Ella's room, and find me so we could get our munchies on. To give Ella credit, she wasn't so much jealous of my relationship with Jack as she was mystified by our dedication to our shared hobby. I hate smoking and Jack hates sharing, but somehow, between the two of us, it all worked out.

Fast forward to spring. Summer's approaching and as we're getting ready to go take exams and pack up our school year lives, Ella snags me for a heart to heart. That's when she drops the bomb: she's dumping Jack. She's maturing and he's not, she's focused on school and he's not, she's got goals and he doesn't. Basically, she's over it. Jack won't be on campus anymore and she'd appreciate it if I don't invite him 'round because she doesn't want to know where he goes from here.

My 'lil heart was broken.
And I never saw the kid again.

Is there a lesson to be learned from my loss of Jack and countless other significant other besties over the years?

Of course there is: if my friends would just keep pockets of time booked for me whether they are in relationships or not, they wouldn't have to get jealous when I befriend their significant others and I wouldn't have to childishly complain about missing said significant other while my friend is trying to survive a serious breakup.

Friday, March 4, 2011

8:41 AM

We're All In This Together

Ahoy bitches,

Don't get offended. I use bitches as a term of endearment.

Do you know what I love? I love when I come upon the chance to do something sketchy with other people. You know, it doesn't seem quite as sketchy to pull the hinges from a door to get into a forbidden room if there are six people involved. Lighting a cement post on fire? Almost normal if fifteen girls are doing it. And talking your friend's little brother into stripping at a classmate's birthday bash is totally not weird if four other people help you decide between the firefighter and policeman costumes. 
(Firefighters always win with male strippers. Girls make great policewomen though!)

The only negative aspect of group sketchiness is that, sometimes, I become a participant unwillingly. And that's when sketchy becomes risky...

We're All In This Together

So. It was my senior year of college and I needed a break. Seriously, being on a campus of 700 or so all the time and seeing the same people day in and day out can be kind of intense.

Arla could see that I was cracking (I'd begun waking up at 10am to watch Judge Judy and drink Natty Light in my underwear until my classes began at 1pm) and so she suggested we go on a road trip. We needed somewhere we could get to in an hour or less because, lezbi-honest, I couldn't go longer than that without a drink. I called up an older friend of ours, Breana,  who had graduated the year before, and within a few minutes we had a place to stay in a neighboring city and the promise of a crazy night out at the local gay bar.

(This is my fantasy. The bar was no where near this fancy.)

Classes ended at 4:30 P.M.  so Arla and I rolled up to Breana's home around 6 on a Friday. Of course we began drinking right away. Breana had invited a few friends over and they were more than happy to help us drink our cares away. After a few rounds of Kings, Arla and I were sufficiently tipsy. Breana loaded us into her car and we began the journey to the bar.

In the backseat, I began pulling mini-bottles of Captain Morgan's out of my purse. To this day, I don't think I can tell you how I got them. I'm sure it was sketchy, some way, some how. But however they came to be, I was more than happy to share them with my lesbi-bestie and the two other girls smashed into the backseat with us. When we hit the bar half an hour later, the whole backseat was on cloud fucking nine.

Throughout the night, Arla and I rotated the beer-buying duties. Luckily for us, this was a complete dive and all beers were only $1.75. Well, all beers but one: Coronas were $2.50. Drunkenly, Arla and I discussed upgrading our Bud Lights, but we decided $2.50 was just too much for a beer.

About half an hour after we made this agreement, I was across the bar from Arla, dancing with some old guy and his glow-in-the dark wands. Straight bars will never match the Whatever Goes vibe of gay bars. Suddenly, Arla begins walking towards me with a big grin on her face. In her hand was a beautiful, sweating, cold, fizzing Corona. "I got that hot chick to buy it for us," she said, nodding towards an middle-aged woman in leather pants. "Riiiiiiight..." I took a swig and felt the delicious chill of fresh-from-the-icebox-beer roll down the inside of my back before I gave the bottle back to Arla.

"Actually," Arla continued, "that woman agreed to buy it for us, but then some guy just handed me his. He said he didn't drink from it though." I began to respond, but Arla had even more to say, "My mom always told me not to drink beverages provided by strangers because they might be drugged. That's why I'm sharing this with you. If we get raped, at least we'll go through it together."
A Little Princess (you already knew that, right?!)

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me.

That's what you're thinking right?!

Because that's totally what I was thinking.

So I said as much.

"No," Arla smiled and put her arm on my shoulder, "I really love you enough to do that. I would never make you go through anything alone." I examined Arla's face for some sign that she was joking, but that girl was drunk and she sincerely thought I was thanking her for (possibly) sharing a horrible roofied future with her.

I grabbed her arm, excused myself from the man with the wands, and dragged Arla through the bar until I found Breana. "You've got to take us home NOW." I told her.

I was just finishing the recount of Arla's logic to Breana when Arla began hugging the older man behind me. Breana and I exchanged a look of confusion before Arla explained, "This is the man who gave us the beer!"


To answer any questions: Yes, we left the bar. No, no one messed with us. And Arla only barely remembered her actions the next morning, so I couldn't be as angry with her as I wanted to be.

Now, what would you say was the point of this ridiculousness? Suggest away in the comments.