So You Are Her Only Friend, Aren't You?

I love Averi. That's not a secret. I've known her for almost as long as I've lived in this state but the crazy thing is that we don't really know each other at all. Every time she comes into town, we find out more about each other that's what makes our bond that even closer.

Actually, I think that's why everybody loves Av. She's so optimistic and hopeful that it just rubs off on you. She has complete trust in everyone she's ever met. Some people (*ahem! ahem!* *cough-yells "Staci!") take advantage of her good nature and kind heart. This is another one of those stories.

The weekend I met Peter Pan, I was only out running the street because Av begged me to go to our old haunt, Ye Old Haunt. So, maybe she didn't beg. But there was some serious pleading. We stopped going to this place in like 2006... for good reason. There was a band playing and I love live music so I was all 'meh. I guess so.' and she was all 'YAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!' because she was working double time to have all of her favorite people there and so far she was uber successful.

She pre-warned me that Aly would be there. Which if you knew the history between Aly and me you'd be all "GASP!" but it's really not that big of a deal anymore. Because I'm an adult and it happened THREE YEARS AGO.

Anyway, I'm leaving Steve's bar and driving in my car trying not to cry because I didn't bring backup mascara when I call to find out if there's cover. Honestly, I was trying to get out of it because I didn't feel like dealing with Aly or Staci and the idea of having the two of them in the same 30' x 45' beer-soaked proximity was more than my soul was prepared to bear. But Av told me not to act like I didn't know how to avoid paying cover and to get my ass down there already because I was her ride. Great.

I found an ATM that dispenses in fives (Totes!) and made my way to the side of Ye Olde Haunt. I found a middle-aged, clean-shaven guy wearing a sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and a lonely expression and asked to bum a cig. He gave me his OMG-I-can't-believe-a-girl-is-talking-to-me smile and was quick to oblige. I fake puffed, he made awkward conversation and then I sat on the railing, so I could straddle the railing, so I could just swing my other leg over when he inevitably asked me if I wanted a beer. Cover-free entry granted.

I make the mandatory lap and find Averi, Staci and Aly up front with 4 other chicks I've never met and all of their collective girl crap on a huge amp. No one is talking. Awesome.

Av makes introductions and it seems like everyone standing there is her friend and not Staci's. Weird, right? How is it that we're eight people deep and the only one who wants to be in this place is Staci? But none of her friends came? So, why are we suffering? Nobody knows.

Aly and I make up without saying the words but that's only because we found a common enemy in Staci. That chick is nasty. She was angry that I didn't want to stay at Ye Olde Haunt because Did I See That Bass Player? She was totally gonna get him tonight. I told her he better drill her like he's J. R. Ewing and she's unchartered oil land because his band sucked and I was tired of listening to them. She got braggy about how she'd had sex in each bathroom and the bar and the stage and how this place had her name all over it.

I thought Aly was going to cry she was so disgusted. She picked up her stuff and clutched it to her chest, "That bathroom?", she said, "The one I just threw up in? OMG! It's so nasty in there!". I confirmed that Staci was just grody and bathroom sex is nothing to be proud of. I mean, what girl hasn't been propostioned. The key is to know that you're better than that and decline it. This gave Staci sad face. Besides, "[they] put down a jacket". Riiight... that totally makes it better.

Staci got super huffy and tried to go on about how she gets more ass than a toilet seat because of course she does. Staci is that girl that's still in the bar at 3:00AM. You know the one. After the lights come on and the rest of us have either hooked up, dipped out, or are helping our DJ / bouncer / bartender boyfriend pack up so we can leave, there's that one girl still there that nobody wanted and that one guy that's really drunk and even more desperate has finally convinced himself that nasty pussy is better than no pussy at all so why the eff not. That's Staci.

Don't give me the "J-Bird you're so damn judgy!" face because everything I just said is true. Staci is 5' 2", over 300 pounds and very insecure. Everything is a competition so why wouldn't she sleep with anyone that asked. This girl bragged about trolling for trailer park snatch. WHAT IS THAT!?! Who brags about these things? She told us the story of how she pushed a wall down whilst making coitus in Ye Olde Haunt. Huh? Ewah!

But Averi still loves her. Even though Staci didn't pick her up to bring her to the bar like she said she would. It didn't matter that none of Staci's other "friends" didn't show. Averi didn't blink when Staci declared that "You can't leave! M already backed out on me!". She didn't flinch when Staci accused her of stealing her precious cigarettes or said that she owed her money for tipping over a $5 beer.

In short, Averi is a saint.

So when she said that she wanted to leave to go to The Pool Hall, I was game. What Averi wants Averi gets. And I did the right thing by not saying one word to Staci when she stomped up to me with, "Where's Av?". (I point like E.T.). "Well, what is she doing?". (I make universal sign for 'check, please') "Why?" (I make driving motion) "I told her she couldn't leave!" (I smirk and shrug because Ha, Bitch!) Anyhow, she stomps away from me and I see head shaking, foot stomping, finger pointing and what seems to be yelling and I want to thrash her. But Av? She just walks past her like it's not happening.

God Bless her heart.

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...

pics = FAIL

I wanted to take pics this week to post on my blog and allow myself a glaring look at the reality that is my fat ass. But alas, what I did instead was recover from the hangover that was my life.


Friday night I discovered something that's almost too good to be true. Yes, I found root beer flavored vodka. And yes, it tastes just like the real deal. I just wish I'd had some ice cream because I would've made a float! And so, I had a sip here, a shot there, all while making myself a tasty little low-fat meal.

I sent a text message to my friends and they figured I was primed for going out and this is what happened. Everyone arrived at my place to get ready. It was just like old times and I was so happy to be with the girls again. I put on a cute orange dress (totally borrowed) and my new fav gold & brown platform heels. And was READY!!

Please note that I haven't been out on the town with my girls since I met NFL. That's more than three months. Yes, this is important information.

We go and get into their favorite haunt (some things never change), Sugar. And we get more drinks. (Yay! for cherry vodka and sprite -- it goes down like candy). And this very tall man touches my elbow. I give the stink eye. And then whisper to Natalie, 'That guy looks like Warren'. She says, 'That is Warren!'. oh.

Warren asked if I like 'Indian dudes'. I told him no, but apparently that wasn't good enough because he proceeded to escort me over to his friend. Who was definitely tall enough but just not my type. And my rude ass (to hear them tell it) just walked away from the guy before he could even say hello. Bahahaa. So classy.

I remember going to the bathroom. And they say I didn't tell anyone I was going. But I'm sure I did because it's like a cardinal rule that you can never go alone. It was exiting the bathroom that I fell. But not before I kicked my feet and yelled, 'NOT MY SHOES!!'. The bouncer caught me and JB helped me put them back on. Yay for friends!! And that bouncer... super cute. I really want him. But the girls won't let me... sigh.

Fast forward to The Patio where I'm standing at a table minding mine and trying to focus in the dark. This guy - whose face I don't remember - starts to talk to me. I instruct him to talk into my left ear cause the right one don't hear so well. That's when he says that he finds that 'interesting'. Wha? And that he wants to study me. *choke* Because he just wants to know how I get along in the world with my disability. Asshole. So then his girlfriend walks up and then he decides that he wants his chair back. I turn my back on them both because I'm not moving (especially for some tool shed and his pimp).

We go back inside and it's my turn to buy a round (someone should stop my consumption). I'm standing at the bar and one of the bartenders gives me The Look. I can't decide if he's cute or not, so I poll the girls and get a unanimous No with head shake. That settles that.

The night is over and we're walking back to the car. But me? I'm barefoot. Yes, on the skanky downtown side walk a la Ms. Spears. Until we get to the gravel parking lot. That's when I flag down these three guys and use them as a foot stool. Gramma would be proud.

We go to the Taco Bell near me. I didn't ask to go. It's just like the fourth meal gods smiled down upon me and decided that I should, in fact, indulge in a nachos bell grande, soft taco, and nachos with cheese. Now, to hear Natalie tell it, I was mouthing off to some people in the parking lot and she saved my life. What I remember is almost losing my nose in the window (that rolled up all by itself) and being trapped inside her car until (AHA!!) I figured out how to unlock it.

When I woke up at 8 on Saturday morning, I was still in my dress, laid across my couch with my contacts in and a Taco Bell spork clenched in my teeth.

I had a great time.

Why, Yes I Am!

Yesterday evening, I went with a friend to check out a product that he sells. He and I are both very determined to be independently wealthy and so are always open to new opportunities. Basically, we're the new Amway generation. Most people that enter into Multi-Level Marketing or MLM do it for extra cash, vacations they can't afford, or because a smooth talker convinced them that they too could get rich quick! But Chad and I are different. We are hustlers. We are champions. We are determined to at least make back the money we invest.

What Chad didn't know was that I've been in MLM since I was old enough to sign a contract. So I've been there, done that, and can tell you who will and who won't be around six months from now. All that aside, his goal was to recruit me. I can't blame him, as anyone in MLM will tell you, ask absolutely everyone you've ever met because that is the only way that you are guaranteed success in your own business.

Last night, I'm sitting talking with the local Regional Director and I can see the lust (for me to be in his downline) in his eyes. He asked what business opportunities I had previously been a part of and I shared, including the one I currently participate in. The mental war between us was intense. He, the hunter, trying to keep his heartbeat in check so as not to lead off his prey. Me, the hunted, knowing my predator and that I possess the only thing he currently wants. The dance was careful and calculated. And then he caressed me with words soft like Angel Whispers. Yes, he guessed my age and pegged me a year low!

That's right! According to this man I not only don't look my age but I, in fact, look younger. As a single, twenty-something, non-white, professional woman, I was floored and totally took it as a compliment. The giggling and blushing persisted for at least 60 seconds. Unfortunately for him, I snapped back into business mode the moment he mentioned compensation packages and products. I find their compensation program lacking in incentives and the quality of their products inferior. But I told him to keep me updated. This MLM is still young. If it were a child it'd still be wearing diapers. They will find their way. And when he can feed me a cookie that doesn't taste like carob and cardboard, I just might reconsider.