The Only Thing Better Than You Is Me

My best guy friend in the whole world is a Sag.

That's us on the left. I can't even talk about the kid with the shirt stains!

It's both a blessing and a curse. I love him so deeply because all of my good qualities reflect right back at me. And I could slap the shit out of him at any moment because he always follows up the right thing to say with something completely ridiculous and outlandish.

Example: "J-Bird, I don't know why you don't have a boyfriend. I mean, you're so pretty, you can lose the weight!".

Do you see it? The place where he should have stopped. I see it. He's the Santino of my life. And I've stopped glazing over every time he goes too far because I realize that even though he said exactly what he meant, he didn't mean it the way I heard it. In the example above, when I asked him for clarification he said, "Just thank God you're not ugly! We can't fix that. Like if you were hit in the face? Nothing we could do".

Now, I laugh when he gets word vomit because it's hella funny. Plus, I'm one of three people that gets his jokes. I know when he's sad and make sure to say just enough to nudge him out of his funk. I mean, he's a Sag so I know he'll come out eventually but it always helps to know you've got support in your latest excursion.

He's also my travel buddy. We hit a rough patch when he went to Mykonos 5 months early and without me. I jumped so far up his ass he tasted my toe jam for a week! But then I realized that he'd just gotten the bug and he had the funds and most importantly, I probably would've done the same thing to him. It's not like Greece is going anywhere, right? So we had lunch and I paid and he knew I was sorry and I knew he was sorry and we went right back to the way things were.

That's the other thing. He totally gets my need for space. He's never hurt (for long) when I don't want to do something or go somewhere. He knows when to keep his mouth shut about my boys. And he's never yelled at me for chasing away his girls. Probably because he knows, deep down, that if she were meant to stay I wouldn't be able to scare her away so easily.

And I'm pretty sure that ALL OF THAT is why Nat thinks we'd be so perfect for each other. She's been pressing me for years to get with The Sag. And by "pressing", I mean that once a year, usually around our birthdays (because I'm 4 days older than him) she'll say, "So what are you and The Sag doing to celebrate?". I'll tell her our plans and she gets this shit-eating grin on her face that exudes the confidence that this will be the year that her big sis gets her mind right and marries the man that's just like her so she can be the cool Aunt already. But she's always wrong.

The love I have for The Sag is completely platonic. We met in a call center during the time in my life when I worked two jobs and went to school part time. He sat a whole two rows over, by himself, everyday, because he was the last from the mid-shift to leave. So for two hours after I'd get to work, he'd be in a row all alone staring out the window. And he's too fine for that. I held a mini-summit with my row and we decided to invite him over but I had to be the one to do it. It went like this:

Me: "Hey."
The Sag: "Hey."
Me: "D in my row wants to know if you date black women."
The Sag: "What?"
Me: "She thinks you're cute and if you promise not to make this awkward you can sit with us instead of by yourself for two hours every night."
The Sag: "But only because she thinks I'm cute?"
Me: "Well, it's not like we know you! You could have a horrible personality!"
The Sag: ...
Me: "Are you coming or not?"
The Sag: "Yeah. Just let me take this call."
Me: "Cool."
The Sag: "Hey?"
Me: "Yeah?"
The Sag: "I don't like D, I like L"
Me: "Whuh? Ew! You don't want her! She's hott and all but her boyfriend's a douche and she's gonna marry him anyway because he's rich. I already know you're better than that."
The Sag: "Damn."
Me: "You still coming over?"
The Sag: "Yeah." *kanye shrug* "Why not?"

See? It's a beautiful story. I will say that they year we turned 23, Nat had gotten all in my head and tequila was all in my blood stream so I thought maybe, juuuust maybe, The Sag and I could make this work. I was drunk, he was drunk, and my room was clean so I said "Let's do this!". And then he responded, "Do what?". And I was all drunk sexy and he took his shirt off and I was like "You have a fur coat! Bahahahahahhaa!". Which by the way, did you know that men with body hair are totally self-concious about it?

Anyway, he admitted that he was a virgin, I buckled under that kind of pressure, and we fell asleep laying the wrong way across my bed, over the covers, with him rubbing my back while I dry heaved. No one should start a romantic relationship on that kind of romance so we just let it be. We've never actually talked about that night and I think it's better that way. There's no underlying tensionn from it because we didn't make what would have been a major mistake.

We get to love each other in our own way and it's working for us. At least until he asked me to dinner, took me to my favorite restaurant, and said he wanted to talk...

The Story of The Volunteer AKA The Hottest Neighbor EVER!

image found here

I had a life long before I took to coming on here and telling you all my business. And that life included living like a nomad and moving at all hours of the morning. Which is how I met The Volunteer. He's 6'3", 210, blonde, blue-eyed, fun, outgoing, optimistic, gentlemanly, and all sex. This man oozes sex and he knows it but he doesn't abuse so it only makes you wanna give him your sex. Does that make sense? Yeah, it makes sense.

Nat and I were moving into an apartment together that was going to be much closer to where I was working at the time. It was 1 in the morning on Friday, May 30, 2008. All the big stuff would be moved in by the boys on Saturday and - as is my nature - I was too cheap to rent a U-Haul for more than one day and fill it with more than one tank of gas, so we were driving the mom van and my car getting as many boxes and clothes over there as we could.

It was our third or fourth trip of the day and we were banging around as little as possible when he came outside. The night was bright and his gorgeous smile glowed in the light of the moon. He ran his long fingers through his blonde hair and welcomed us to our new place. Then he promptly inquired as to why we were moving all of our own things and where the hell our (apparently) good-for-nothing boyfriends were.

Nat and I were not amused. Not only was he drunk but he was still drinking. And for all the boyfriend bashing he did, he didn't lift one box. Not one. It was only after we had both vehicles emptied that he stood there sheepishly and proffered the now lukewarm beers he'd brought for us when he first emerged from his cave. In all the years I'd lived away from home, he was the first neighbor to ever reach out to me with any sort of gesture; I was smitten.

We sat in the mom van's hatch for at least an hour telling stories from our childhood. It turns out that we shared a military upbringing and while I'd spent so many years trying to put it behind me he seemed to revel in it. I saw every new location as another temporary prison sentence where he had used it to develop his skills of adaptation. Then he told us about his foray into college at the University of Tennessee and how weird it was for him to call someplace "home" for five solid years. He worked his way through school by working for a shipping company and when he left he was the youngest Operations Manager they'd ever seen. Which is how he ended up here - our neighbor - bunking with a friend from college for the last four months.

By Sunday we were great friends and our doors were always open to one another. Mornings were spent scaring the crap out of each other as we exited our apartments simultaneously. Evenings were spent in camping chairs on our 4' x 3' piece of grass with beers and good conversation. Weekends were always spent apart until it was time for the "Sunday Night Recap".

 I always thought The Volunteer was a good guy but I never realized how good until the first major thunderstorm of the season. There I stood, in my doorway, under the shelter of our awning, staring up into the night wearing nothing but a tank tops and panties. Then I hear a creak and low and behold if he doesn't usher out some petite blonde (who obviously didn't know her days were numbered) out to watch the same storm. For a moment, I was so stunned to see a master at work that I had forgotten all about the storm or my dreadful state of undress.

That was the first of our more intimate encounters. All summer I took to cutting his hair. I helped him pack for a trip to L.A. We dry-humped on the roof of his truck because he didn't have a parking pass and didn't want to get towed. He played my wingman when I was being backed into the proverbial corner by that night's guest of honor. Who waits until he gets back to your place to ask if you've ever slept with a white guy? He yelled my name and threw rocks at my window anytime he wanted to watch a movie. And we really did watch the movie. No quotation marks here. He woke me up after he'd partied too hard and asked if I had a soda can he could use as a bong. And he helped me break up with The Australian when I couldn't muster the courage on my own.

We had one big fight because I was a lot too drunk and he just shook his head, murmured an apology and let me win until I woke up feeling like leprechauns were using construction tools in my brain. He showed more grace that next morning than I've given my whole life and reminded me that forgiveness was never required between friends. And then, on September 17th, he told us he was moving out. In a week.

I remember being heartbroken. I knew I'd never find another neighbor like The Volunteer. Hell, I might not ever find another person like The Volunteer. People that open and men that strong don't walk by everyday. He's a special breed and that's why I was high as a kite when after two years and almost four months, I spotted him across the bar...

Iiiii Wanna Sexx You Up!

Ed Note: Please do not pretend like you don't know this song or this "band". I never realized how lame I was back then until I looked at this picture and was all, "Ha! These guys are a bunch of douches! LOL". I feel like this guy. Wishing I hadn't just spent my morning watching the ridiculousness that is Color Me Badd videos.

This morning whilst in the shower, I took a look at my gams and was all, "Holy shit I need to shave!". But I didn't. Because I am super awesome. And I want to find a cure against cancer. So, I decided that the best way to do that was to be a part of Movember. Secretly. I'm not like this guy, putting my biz out on the innet (yes, I know and we will get to that later) for the whole world to see and get all judgy about.

If you think that I'm all pissy about my legs being hairy then you don't know me well. I'm upset because my leg hair is patchy. Like high school freshman patchy. There are openly bald spots on my legs. And a wayward follicle that seems to represent a cow lick.

All I could think about was how glad I was that I decided to forgo shaving my legs and not my pits. I'd never get laid if my pits looked like this! But then I remembered that I'm not exactly getting laid anyway. Which only made me more upset. You know what they say. Sex is like air...

So now I'm fantasizing about that time I was hitting the streets every weekend and should have been getting paid for my valiant efforts. Which made me think about my sneaky days when I still lived at home. Which made me think about the time I witnessed my mom having sex. *vuuuuurrrrrpppp*

It's not my fault. It was my boyfriend's fault. I was so young and impressionable. He was older and on the football team. And he was all freaky and wanted to do it in my parent's bedroom. I protested but then he looked at me all melty-eyed and I forgot my own name.

But then we heard the front door slam. And there was so much banging and thrashing about. My parents were home! And we were in their room. So he jumped into the closet and I went about trying to straighten up. He leaned out and grabbed me right as they burst through the door. Undressing. Kissing.

I wanted to scream but my boyfriend put his hand over my mouth and whisper-yelled, "Shut up!". There was much silent crying. The boyfriend was fascinated by mom's agility. I was trying to dig out my eardrums with her stilettos. We both just sat in the closet and waited.

It seemed like it was three years later when they finally let up. And I thank God every day that my step-dad is a dirty whore who doesn't shower and change after sex. But I can never seem to forget that day, not even with intense therapy. Couple that with the time after her divorce when Nat and I walked in on her humping a Mexican and you can see why I take prescription meds.

All that to say, my Mom's a freak. And I was preoccupied with that thought when I went out to pre-heat my car this morning. I was fully clothed sans overcoat but the guy standing by my dumpster had no shirt on and looked like the kind of person that would not have his wireless connection password protected therefore allowing me to pilfer his "innet". He had back boobs, jelly rolls, and... a hump! A bonafide, oh-my-gosh, that-can't-be, am-i-sure, it-so-is-a hump. Right over his tail bone.

Horniness - 0. Trauma - 2.

Oh! My! Gaaawwwwwddddd!!! LOOK AT THIS!

Something Old - Snakes With No Name

Lately, I've been spending a ton of time at home doing all sorts of homemaker-y things like crocheting winter hats and scarves, making applesauce, canning said applesauce, and planning my garden. The level of time I've spent away from other people is intense. This makes for what can be considered a boring life. At least there's nothing going on for me to write about. Which unfortunately gives me tons of time to reflect on the way I used to live all raucous, drinky and pukey. Aaahhh... good memories.

Anyway, on the drive in to work this morning, I remembered a story from my college days...

***************** fairy tale music and pixie dust ***************************

It was the spring of 2002 and Spring Quarter was in full swing. It felt so good to be wearing open-toed shoes and no coat! I had been drinking since my last class ended at 4:30p and it was now bedtime for reasonable people. I won't deny that I was schwasted and probably couldn't have gotten myself home if I wanted to but I was cognizant enough to know what I was afraid of: truckers, bugs, my stalker, and snakes. Definitely snakes.

We, my roommate and I, were at a house party in some dude's apartment. I can't tell you who invited me because that was never important. I've always been that person that will accept every invitation and make a solid effort to attend all events because you never, ever want to be forgotten. (It's hard to get back into circles that you've pulled yourself out of.)

She was off playing beer pong with the last few guys that were still there. Most people had hooked up and dipped out. I had no plans to hook up with anyone but she wasn't ready to go yet. She didn't get out much and didn't often get hit on so she would take full advantage of my shenanigans.

I was obviously drunk and was standing in the front room looking at an aquarium with no water trying to find the fish when a deep voice asked me what I was doing. I spun drunkenly and fell into him. He was so cute or I was that drunk. He caught me and said,

Nick: I'm Nick.
Me: I'm J-Bird.
Nick: What are you doing?
Me: There are no fish! *exaggerated arm movements*
Nick: Yeah, it's a terrarium.
Me: A-whuuuuuuttt? *squinty-eyed and scrunchy-faced*
Nick: It's not for fish. It's for turtles and stuff.
Me: Pssshhh. How would you know?
Nick: It's mine.
Me: Whuuuuuuutttt? *excited-faced and way too happy*
Nick: Yeah, see? There he is.
Me: Mmmmmmm. *swaying and trying to stoop*
Nick: I've got a snake too.
Me: Ew-ah! I hate snakes.
Nick: You'll like this one.
Me: No.
Nick: Come on, it doesn't bite.
Me: Where is it? I don't see it. *still stooping and squinting into the terrarium*
Nick: It's upstairs.
Me: Oh! No!
Nick: Come on. I won't let it get you.
Me: Nooooo!!!! Roommate! ROOMMATE! *stagger running*
Nick: Where are you going?
Me: *grabbing roommate and ready to cry* Roommate! We. Have. To. Go! WE HAVE TO GO!
Roommate: What's wrong?
Me: He has a snake! *hyperventilating* He. *breath, breath* Nick. *breath, breath* He. Has. A. SNAKE!
Roommate: *laughing* I don't think he really has a snake.
Me: Yes! He said! He has a snake. It's upstairs. *breath, breath* He tried to get me to go see it. *doubled over* Oh, God! Oh, God! I can't be here. I can't be here with snakes!
Roommate: Are you going to be ok?
Me: Oh, God! *awesome display of vomit*
Roommate: Wow.

The next day, Roommate was kind enough to recall the previous night's events and assured me that Nick didn't have a real snake. "Boys in college", she said, "sometimes refer to their penis as their 'snake'. I think that guy wanted to sleep with you. But don't worry, he's not gonna call you or anything".

********************fairy tale music brings us back *******************

And that is how my fear of snakes kept me from getting an STD.