A Wee Bit of Reflection

It’s been a year since I started this little labor of love, my real-time coming of age tale. And oh boy, what a year it has been.

If you had told me last year that this is how I would end up, that this would have been my life, I would have laughed.

Going into my freshman year I was going to be the life of every party. I was going to be single. I was going to be an honor student, a super achiever. I was going to be neat.

Well, one of those things held true—I made dean’s list both semesters and landed the most rossome editor position ever (and I’ve already got my eyes and heart set on my next position). But neat? Single? Life of the party?

Not even.

I’m just as disorganized. I still fall asleep the moment I open a textbook. And while I’m fun to be around I’m never going to be the girl to get the party started. Instead, there have been plenty of times that I opted to stay in with a glass bottle of wine and some Hulu. And I’m okay with that. I’ve accepted that I’m a messy, semi-wallflower with narcoleptic tendencies.

And I’ve finally accepted my less-than-single status, too, which may have been harder than accepting that this co-ed isn’t the hardest of partiers.

Because while it seems almost nothing has turned out the way that I anticipated, I wouldn’t change a thing. And it took a night in Milly to make me realize that.

Saturday night ChiChi invited her nearest and dearest friends (and some randoms) to her new, gorgeous, big, old house (which is decorated exactly like her parents’ house) to properly warm it. Of course, Twin and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Twin brought Chihuahua. Green Bean and the Fertilizer were there with three of his friends from Boston.

We all went out to dinner at a place called the Pickle Barrel.

Then the ladies returned to ChiChi’s to pretty ourselves over a bottle of organic champagne I brought back from Paris.

The boys returned shortly after, along with ChiChi’s 2 roommates, so we mixed a tub of hunch punch and got the party started.

More people showed up later. We danced. We mingled. We drank.

I started my evening talking to an ex-Marine. We talked about men missing chunks of skull and the dangers of life after deployment (at which point I mentioned something Papa, always the insurance man, told me about military motorcycle deaths). Then I spent the rest of the evening talking to one of the Boston boys about their upcoming trip to Disney world, road tripping, cooking and being a crazy vegan. The more I talked with him the more pronounced my Yankee accent became. And when it came time to go to bed I threw myself on the most uncomfortable Ikea pull-out couch. The Boston boy happened to fall there, too.

Now before you begin chanting adulterer and demanding crimson “A”s, let me make fully clear that we did nothing, all of our clothes stayed on, and that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

The next morning I woke feeling better than anticipated, downed my trademark hangover cure (warm lemon water and oatmeal), helped ChiChi clean a bit while listening to her gripe about her first 8am class the next day, then returned to the homestead.

So what did I learn from my 24 hours in Milly?

That my family and my roots are important to me. That I don’t dislike the Dirty Dirty as much as I always thought I used to. That I actually really like the Minimalist. That I really, truly and completely love food and that my current food-related ambitions are not ill-advised. And when I heard ChiChi talk about starting back to school I got a wee bit jealous. Jealous of 8am classes and papers and mounds of reading?

Yes. Because College is where I belong. College is where most of my life is now. Twin and ChiChi, and the rest of the gang, are always going to be massively important parts of my life, but College is now. And, as strange as this sounds, all the work that comes with it is just icing on the cake.

So, cheers, friends. To a good year past, and another good year to come.

Burfday

Yesterday was my birthday. I am 19.

Last year I was cruising around town in Twin’s car sporting a plastic tiara and grinning like a fool as she snapped pictures of my celebrating my transition into legal-status by buying cigarettes, lottery tickets, and a Play Boy.

This year is decidedly less climactic. There was no party with all my friends. There’s nothing I waited until yesterday to do.

I woke up way too early yesterday to the sound of mother’s boyfriend grinding coffee. I ate a delicious, but ordinary breakfast. I did some yoga. I ate some lunch. I tried to go berry picking with ChiChi, but the farm was closed.

I was going to go out to dinner with mother tonight, but the restaurant we wanted to go to isn’t open Mondays, so I don’t know what we’ll do.

Today I think I’m going to Milly with ChiChi. GreenBean and The Fertilizer will be there.

Sunday night I made dinner for the family.

In a few days Papa and co will be in town and I’ll celebrate with them.

But that’s it.

Birthdays for me have never been a huge deal. Sure, during the days leading up to My Day I get a little more excited. On my birthday I have a little extra pep in my step. But I’ve never been one for big blowouts or parading around like a princess.

Maybe that’s because I didn’t have a ton of friends as a kid so there weren’t many people to celebrate with. Not to mention that my birthday always seemed to fall during the most popular vacation week so the few friends I had were rarely in town.

And ever since my birthdays have been characterized by a dinner with mother where I got to pick what take out we got. Dinner with Papa where I got to pick where we went. And a gathering of stepmother’s family. I’d always do something with my friends, but it was never anything major.

This year is a perfect example.

I spent the day with ChiChi and the night in one of my favorite places in the Dirty Dirty—Adult’s house with Grill Master, ChiChi, Twin (who came to town just for the occasion) and a bottle. We danced. The men played Call of Duty Live while ChiChi and I dirty talked the nerds on the other end of the microphone. Twin and I attempted to play Call of Duty, but failed miserably. Grill Master talked about how lucky he was to be surrounded “by such beautiful women.”

(Apparently, Adult’s neighbors asked him if he was running a whorehouse because there were always so many girls coming and going. This made me giggle.)

Low key?

You bet.

Fun?

Always.

Special enough to be how I spent my birthday night?

Maybe. Maybe not. But I was happy as a clam so special be damned.

PS-It was also my pup, Rocky's birthday yesterday. He turned 14.

Returning to the Ville

Woah boy!

Saturday night was amazing.

No, it wasn’t just any old success. Success is an understatement. It was an unbelievably, ridiculously amazing smash.

As you know, I was wary about this night. The closer I got to their swinging bachelor pad the more uneasy my stomach began to feel. Upon texting Twin that I had arrived I also texted ChiChi. The text I sent her started with “I’m freaking.”

Obviously, not the best start to a long evening.

Some of my nerves were relieved once I got inside and was greeted with a comfortingly warm hug and a genuine smile from X-Man. I always knew I liked that man.

From there the festivities started.

First on the agenda, some pong on the table Twin painted.

Considering the success I’ve experienced at pong tables recently we decided that we could totally take Blue and Mr. Milly. We were wrong.

After people had their fill of pong someone bonged a beer and all the guests headed down to the water.

Oh, did I not mention that Mr. Milly and X-Man live on a lake, with water, a dock and a boat steps from their porch?

Well, they do. So everyone donned their skimpy suits and grabbed some floats for some fun in the sun. And this is where some of the annoying drama started with Little Girl*.

The word on the street is that her and Blue were doing it and maybe possibly kind of dating. He hadn’t been paying attention to her all day, so of course she decided to have a few drinks and loudly proclaim that she was going to swim across the lake (not a ridiculously far distance, but populated by rushing crafts) without a life jacket.

Everyone protested (thus giving her the attention she wanted), but she did it anyway. Strike 1.

Once the sun got to be too much (and everyone’s cups got too dry) we returned to the house for more ponging and bonging.

At some point we realized one of the guests (who’s name I never really knew) was missing. He was found passed out on the floor of the bathroom. It was only about 6:30.

No need to worry, though. We woke him up, gave me a few bottles of water and he finished his nap in a bed upstairs.

While he was napping Little Girl was crying in another spare bedroom. Blue was intermittently comforting her. And they may or may not have had sex. Strike 2.

At some point in the night Mr. Milly and X-Man decided that if we were going to finish the keg by the end of the night we needed to start taking drastic measures. And so the keg stands begun.

First, X-Man took his turn.

He lasted 21 seconds.

Next, after a little convincing, Blue decided he needed a go.

He lasted 6 seconds.

Then, after the birthday boys had their turns, Mr. Milly (who was manning the pump) turned to the person closest to him. That person just happened to be me.

So up I went.

And 10 or 11 seconds later (once I was sure I had beat Blue) I came down. Victorious.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. We drank. We mingled. We found a Sharpie and everyone proceeded to get tat tat tatted up.

At some point I got a sudden, splitting headache. So I chugged a bottle of water, took an Advil and asked X-Man if I could pass out on his bed for half an hour. He, of course because he’s wonderful like that, said yes.

I thought I set an alarm. I’m pretty sure I set an alarm. But somehow, I woke up at 10am, still in X-Man’s bed, with a half eaten Larabar next to me.

Go figure.

Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have freaked out so much. Quite a bit of time has passed since all the shitty shenanigans of last summer went down. All the people that were involved (including myself) are mature and fully capable of letting bygones be bygones. And we did.

By the time I said g’bye X-Man wasn’t the only person to give me a hug. I got not only a hug, but also an invitation back from Mr. Milly. Blue, of course, didn’t acknowledge me much, but that’s always been his nature so I’m not too terribly surprised. He was too busy babysitting Little Girl, anyway.

*Little Girl- a ridiculously annoying and immature 16 year old girl. She’s chock full-o-mental problems, one of which is her willingness to cause herself harm (or pretend to) or flaunt her issues in order to get attention.

Tripping

Tuesday I spent a thoroughly enjoyable night in the A-T-L at Twin’s apartment (does that make her an adult?) with ChiChi. We dined. We reminisced. We drank. We shopped. We invented a serious drinking game (“Chug your drink and we’ll play Go Fish”).

It was a marvelous time.

Now I’m home for a few days before heading off to another night away. This time, I’m far more nervous than excited.

I’ll be heading to the Ville to party hardy with Twin and Mr. Milly for Mr. Milly’s roommate, X-Man*, and Baby Blue Eyes’** joint birthday party. X-Man is turning 25. Blue is turning 24. I have a bit of history with each.

I’m not going to do into detail about exactly what history means. But I will say that seeing them this weekend (the first time I’ll see/actually spend any real time with them since the fight between Mr. Milly and I) has the potential to be unbelievably awkward, silly, or straight up disastrous. I really don’t think there’s any gray area between those possibilities.

Can you see why I’m nervous?

Not to mention this will be the first time I’ll be spending the night (let alone going to) Mr. Milly’s house since the now infamous night I don’t remember. Twin says he’s past it (and has now shifted the entirety of his hatred onto someone else), but I’m still wary.

I just don’t want to get back in that situation and immediately shift back to last summer. Let’s be honest here. You didn’t know me last summer, but I was a straight up immature skank with skewed priorities and probably a tad bit of a drinking problem. I don’t want to go back to that. Not even for a night.

I like to think (and correct me if I’m wrong) that I’ve grown up and matured a lot over this past year of college. But like an alcoholic (thought not nearly as severe, so don’t freak on me) there are just some situations that test everything about yourself and the new self you’ve created.

And maybe I’m just being overly dramatic. Maybe I’m getting all worked up for nothing (I did just drink a cup of coffee so that could have something to do with it) and everything will be just fine. Maybe we’ll all get along splendidly and if we mention last summer at all it will be in a sincerely joking, no way under-handed, back-handed, or any other-handed, manner.

I hope that’s the case. So far things have been some wonderfully drama free I think any drama now would be a massively unpleasant shock to my system.

On a much lighter and happier note—I’m planning a quick trip up to the Boro to visit the Minimalist and all the other summer school kids. He already said he’d come down during the break between sessions, but I figure that since I’m not doing anything better I might as well go visit. Maybe I’ll even try and time it was a Spirit of the Sit-In Movement happening, so I can keep supporting all that much needed work.

This summer is really starting to shape up.

*X-Man-a big, hearty man who seems to fully embrace “go big or go home.” Between his excessive hook-ups, drinking every night, very adult job, and a few other things, this man never seems to “go home.”

**Baby Blue Eyes-a Starfucks barista that has known me, and mesmorized me with his strangely random statements and ice-blue eyes, since I was 15.

My Sketchy Friends

Since coming home I’ve been spending a good amount of time with Adult. And after hanging out with him the handful of times that I have, I once again realize how much I treasure his friendship.

I know I sound mushy and sentimental and borderline ridiculous, but it needs to be said.

There’s a reason that Adult is the only ex I hang out with—there is an ease to our relationship that can’t be forced. We’re friends. I don’t constantly think of him as the guy I used to date and screw. I don’t wish we were still dating or get jealous or compare his actions now to his actions then.

We just are.

And it is wonderful.

One thing you should know about Adult is that he’s had a bit of a sordid past. Without getting into the nitty gritty of it, he was forced to grow up quickly and then abruptly kicked out of the grown-up club. When we dated it was right after his forced return to normalcy. That, without a doubt, was still throwing him for a loop.

But now, over a year after our short but sweet relationship, he is a completely different person. Maybe this is the person he would have been had it not been for his bumpy road. Maybe this is his slight rebellion against those bumps.

Whatever the reason for his transformation, I thoroughly enjoy it.

Last night is a perfect example of that new approach to life.

I showed up at his apartment with ChiChi and Greenbean, ready for a night of debauchery. There I met Adult’s new best man, Grill Master*. Together the 6 of us took shots of Kraken rum then piled into ChiChi’s car to make a quick beerstop before heading downtown to a house show hosted by “this guy with a house downtown,” as ChiChi described it.

While at first this seemed sketch beyond belief, it turned out to be a marvelous night.

The apartment was a super cool renovated loft, decked out in interesting art and Christmas lights. Despite the fact that there was no air conditioning and I seemed to attract just about every creeper in the place (including a guy that graduated from my high school a DECADE before I did), the music was good, the company was better, and the dancing was great.

Adult and Grill Master were silly drunk. And Adult may or may not have peed out a second story window…twice.

We left after the first band and returned to Adult’s bachelor pad so he and the Grill Master could grill up some tilapia (which they had been drooling over the whole ride home). Grill Master lit the coals, Adult didn’t defrost the fish so he put it on frozen and before the coals were ready, Grill Master kept lifting up his shirt and Adult kept freaking out about his neighbors seeing his bellybutton, Adult put far too much Old Bay seasoning on the fish, Grill Master poured some of his PBR on for good measure, and finally the fish was done.

Despite it being far too salty (and possibly not fully cooked) everyone thoroughly picked it over. I ate saltines.

I finally left around 2:30, much to the protest of Adult who kept trying to convince me that I drank half a handle and should sleep on his beanbag.

Like I said, a good night. Hopefully, there will be a repeat performance soon.

*Grill Master- a thoroughly tattooed guy who enjoys PBR, grilling while drunk, fishing and Southern humor.