Foolish Thoughts

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“A statement.  Jeff just left with lucky hoe number two, leaving me stranded with no car and no place to sleep.”

“Of course, you know you are always welcome.  But you know how I like to sleep, in the middle.  Can you handle that?”

“It’s never bothered me before.”

“Good.  Another shot?”

“Another shot.”

This conversation, with a very close, dear friend took place around 2:00 AM in a bar downtown.  Actually, it was bar number two.  Now, I know the three of us, Friend 1, Friend 2, and I walked from bar one to bar two.  Where at bar two, Friend 2 (Jeff), leaves with a young, attractive, yet easy girl.  Who, Friend 1 and I all night long refer to as, “Hoe number two.”  However, I don’t remember our exact transportation back to bar one, where my car was parked.  We were a good six blocks from bar one.  I just remember being back there, taking more shots of tequila.  I don’t remember what time we left, how much we had to drink, or who drove home.  The last coherent conversation I remember is the one stated above.  I remember friend 1 and I flirting like teenagers all night, like we always do.  Taking shot after shot of tequila, trying to prove to each other who could, hands down drink more (I believe I won, I’m almost positive).  Then, somehow, someway, just like in the movies we were suddenly at my front door with me struggling with my keys.  How we got home is still a mystery to me.  A miracle, I tell you.  The Gods must have been in our favor because not only did we both get home safe, but so did my car.

After focusing and giving myself a little pep talk, I manage to open the door.  Once inside I kick my shoes off, throw my keys in the mail basket, and I lead our drunken butts upstairs.  At this point we are both stumbling over our feet and our words.  He goes straight to the bathroom; I make a b-line for my room.  I don’t bother to turn on the light.  I take off my jacket, my shirt, my jeans, toss them in the floor and I throw on a t-shirt.  I take my hair down and I literally fall into bed.  I lay there for what seems like hours, begging the room to stop spinning.  Bargaining with myself, “I promise never to drink again, just please, PLEASE don’t get sick.”  I’m almost asleep when I hear and feel him slide into bed.  I say good night and roll over.

(Now, I feel I need to remind you that we are friends, good friends.  This is not our first time sharing a bed.  No, this is just one of many.  We know the routine: climb in, say good night and roll over.  That’s us.  That’s our friendship.  Yes, we flirt like mad, but that’s it, just flirting and teasing.)

Now, the room has stopped spinning and my body is finally starting to relax and I calm down.  When out of no where he rolls over, pushes up next to me, and slides his hand on to my hip.  I can feel his warm breath against my neck.  In my head I think, “Ok, he’s a snuggler.  I’m not.  But if he wants to cuddle, ok but I’m going to be comfortable.”  So, I back up into him and reposition myself; close, but comfortable.  Finally, we are both situated and I start to fall back asleep.  Then, I feel his strong, soft hand start to head south.  He slowly slides his hand over my hip.  Then, with out any invitation or warning, his hand glides straight over my hip, across my stomach and down my panties.  WHAT?  The only thing my drunken mind can register is, “Wait, what is going on here?  This feels wrong, but REALLY GOOD.  I’m confused.”  I was half in shock, half excited, and half drunk.  I know, I know, I have one-half too many, but that’s how I felt.  Of course, “REALLY GOOD” won out, 10 to 1.  In my self-pleasing mind, pleasure always triumphs.  It had been a long time and it felt good, so I jumped at the opportunity, or rather it jumped at me. 

I slowly reach down, wrap my hand around his and guide him inside me.  I slowly turn and face him and our eyes meet.  There is so much intensity in his eyes, that I hold our gaze, just starring at him.  He whispers, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  I shake my head, and then ask, “Are YOU sure you want to do this?”  Then with that beautiful big smile, he shakes his head, yes.

…….2 minutes later…….

“I can live with that” 

I’m a sucker for…

Orange juice with ice and lots of pulp
Old vinyl records
Hot relaxing baths
White shirts
My sisters
Post cards
Lili’s laugh
Arsenal (best English soccer, sorry football team)
Fresh clean laundry
Expensive white sheets
Jaymez’s humor and singing,
Old people
Drinking and shopping with Molly
Frozen chocolate Pop Tarts
Paula Dean and anything she makes
A guy with an accent
Old, family photographs
Shoes, any kind
Face wash
Dirty talk
Old buildings
Foreign films
Starbucks, even though I’m not supposed to have it anymore, unless it’s decaf.  And really, who wants decaf?
Sunday afternoon naps
Flirting
Good white wine
Themed movie nights
Texting
Hard wood floors

Maybe I’m dreaming.

…she felt the way you do at night, lost in a dream you have had before and are now beginning to dream all over again: certain that it exists and certain that it will end, and you want it to end because you’re not sure you’ll be able to bear it, and you also want it to go on so you’ll know how it comes out.

-Story of O, by Pauline Reage

I was tagged by Meg…months ago.  Sorry, Meg.

 Post five things about yourself that you have never posted before:

1.   I have an obsession with buying white shirts.  Mostly from J. Crew.  It’s a serious problem.  The good thing is, I have confronted it, and I realize I have a problem.  But I’m not sure what kind of therapy to seek out.

2.   The only reason I joined Girl Scouts in third grade was so I could go to the pizza party on Friday.  Ironically, I was kicked out of Girl Scouts at the pizza party for un-Girl Scout like behavior. 

3.   I have a girl-crush on Rachel Weisz.

4.   In fourth grade I used to get really tired during class.  So, I started going to the bathroom, locking the door, sitting between the wall and the toilet and taking little cat naps.

5.   I talk to myself constantly.  Some people find this disturbing.  However, I find it entertaining and intelligent.  But then again, that’s coming from the girl who talks to herself.

We made a life together.  It wasn’t perfect but it was ours.  We talked about life and money.  We talked about marriage and babies.  We talked about commitment and the years to come.  But that was the beginning and in the beginning we talked.

You were sweet and spontaneous, always doing little things.  In the mornings after your shower you would write me notes on the bathroom mirror, telling me to have a great day.   You would call me several times during the day, just to say hello.  You always rubbed my back before bed no matter how tired you were. Do you remember making love, then singing me to sleep?  You always knew how to walk me into a room, keeping one hand on the small of my back.  If we were separated at a party, you always found my eyes.  You always made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.  Do you remember the night at Claire’s, sneaking off to the upstairs bathroom, and when we came back down everyone was starring at us?  Apparently we were loud.   We went home and had sex.  The next day we sent Claire a card, apologizing for breaking the towel rack.  Do you remember our walks in the park and you holding my hand?  Do you remember all of the good we had?

Though, we had our problems. We fought about my frivolous spending and my bad habit of leaving clothes and wet towels on the floor.  You couldn’t understand why I needed so many books and journals, and why I left them strung all over the house.  You got tired of yelling, so you hired someone to come clean up after me every week. I hated the way you folded laundry and the fact that your mother called three times a day.  I hated sleeping alone when you were away. I remember fighting about the scratch on your car.  I lied, convincing you that I had no idea how it got there.  Then later, feeling guilty, I confessed and told you that I had accidentally bumped into it with a cart at the store.  You were mad for about an hour, but you caved when I sat in your lap and I apologized with kisses.  But eventually all this ended.

You became distant, started working late.  You always had some place to be.  Private phone calls and conversations pulled you away at dinner and then randomly throughout the day.  We stopped touching and started fighting.  You hated when I questioned where you’d been.  You reassured me that you loved me and that my assumptions were wrong, and I naively I believed you.  But then I saw you one evening.  You were with her.  And finally, everything made sense.  Late nights at the office, phone calls in the night, and many nights of not coming home.  You were with her.

I was hurt and I was angry, though not sure of what or how to feel.  I was shocked, but somewhere in my heart I knew.  I wanted to know why and every detail.  I wanted to know for how long.  I wanted to know if she was better.  I wanted to know if she knew I existed or if I was a joke the two of you shared.  I wanted to know if you whispered to her gently.  I wanted to know if you sang her to sleep.  I wanted to know if you held her after sex.  I wanted to know where and when and how many times.  I wanted to know when you kissed my lips, if you tasted her.  I wanted to know when you held my hand, if it was her that you felt.  I wanted to know when you looked in my eyes, was it her that you longed to see. I wanted to know everything.  But then I didn’t want to know anything.  I just wanted it all to go away.  I wanted you to come home and hold me.  I wanted to forgive you, but I couldn’t.

You told me that you were sorry, and that you never meant to hurt me.  You said it wasn’t something that you planned.  You said that you loved me, but that you loved her too.  I told you I didn’t want your apologies that you needed to pack your things.  I didn’t want to look at you; I didn’t want to see your face.  I told you if you loved her, then you should be with her.  Though, it was only because I didn’t know what else to say.  I cried until it hurt to breathe.  Then everything went numb.