Saturday, January 30, 2010

A Night Not Worth It

I lay in bed reading tonight (this morning) because I've found it hard to sleep until I'm totally exhausted.  Not exactly the best thing for anyone, but not new to me.  After putting down my book for the night, turning off my light, and rolling over, the thoughts and memories of my past came back to me, and I felt ashamed and embarrassed once again.  I do not reveal this to many people I am not close with, but for some reason, I just have to get it off of my chest.

In summer of 2006, one of my oldest friends was pulled over and arrested for drinking and driving.  I remember we were both at another friends, watching movies and drinking that night, and I had planned to stay the night.  She, on the other hand, did not.  My friend has had a lot of serious issues in the past, and her drinking is one of them.  She didn't have that many while we were together.  She was also not a lightweight and it took quite a few to get her drunk, but I told her not to leave.  She got a text from a guy though, and decided to meet up with him.  It wasn't then she was pulled over, but on her way home from a bonfire.  I remember waiting up for her text that she got home, but I never got it.  I tried calling several times but she never answered.  Finally, at four AM, I fell alseep, and not but an hour later I got a call from her.  She was in jail, and she was laughing about it.

I admit I laughed.  I couldn't believe she had done it, for one, and two, she had always been a good kid growing up.  Both of us were sort of the goody-goodies in our school, and didn't start drinking until several years after high school.  However, this was also the summer several accidents happened that involved people from our own school.  She was lucky she wasn't one of them.  One girl I was on the cheerleading squad was killed.  Another guy was left paralyzed after the driver of his vehicle flipped it, going 80 miles an hour down a curved road.  It was a sad summer for everyone. 

This was also the same summer my ex and I officially cut off contact between each other.  We were both seeing new people, but it was still hard on both of us.  I moved back in with my mother, whom I had never had a good relationship with (until the recent year).  I was depressed and confused by everything going on.  My friends were constantly fighting amongst each other, and it seemed I was always in the middle of it.  Not to mention, but my best friend moved to Germany a few months before, so I felt completely lost.  Come late 2006, I was pretty much a wreck.  I fell for someone that had liked me a lot at one point, but after being shut down by me, decided I was just a good friend.  It broke my heart.  My mom and step dad were at my throat for everything.  To say the least, 2006 was the worst year of my life.

I met up again with a guy I had hung out with for a short period in 2004.  Our relationships seemed to be falling apart, and we connected on a level I knew was strictly situational, but I couldn't help but like him.  We split ways, and it was by chance I ran into him in fall of 2006, at a bar I rarely went to on a night I did.  Even though it was a bit awkward, seeing each other as we did, we exchanged phone numbers.  It was something I will forever regret, and wonder if I hadn't done it, if things would be different.

We hung out several times in December before I left to visit my dad in Phoenix.  I hadn't moved out here yet, and wanted to test the waters.  Michigan obviously wasn't working out for me, and a change of scenery seemed to be what I needed.  It was a great trip, but I still wasn't sure I wanted to stay.  The friend I had fallen for picked me up from the airport in Grand Rapids on my return, and drive me home, three hours away.  There is a back story to him as well, but I'll save it.  To say the least, he was the least likely person I would ever fall for but the best person to choose at the time, for a few reasons.  I learned he was seeing someone I pretty much despised and of course, like a typical sensitive girl, I fell apart again.

I began drinking a lot.  I was able to cut myself off, and I never drove drunk, but I could still see I was on a downward spiral.  I decided to get help from the mental health department in my town, and scheduled an evaluation to be done in January.  I had an hour long appointment with a man I didn't feel quite comfortable with, and we decided I needed to start weekly therapy because my emotional and mental health were very obviously spiraling.

During all of this I began dating the guy I had run into at the bar.  He was basically no good.  He had basically turned into the Bad Boy From Hell.  He drank, he smoked, he got into fights, he got arrested.  He paid me a lot of attention, though, albeit it wasn't the sort I needed.  Several times I drove to pick him up from the bar after refusing to go with him.  I was trying to get help, and even though I saw that he wasn't helping the situation, I didn't want to be alone.  I picked him up from a bar one night, and ended up also driving his best friend and girlfriend.  We decided to take back roads, because he wasn't supposed to be drinking- he was on probation.  In the state of Michigan, if you are on probation, you are not allowed to consume alcohol.  That is a fact.  I know a lot of states have hard punishments, but I believe Michigan's is one of the hardest.  I didn't even bother trying to enforce it with him.  Even though I was still considered a good girl at the time, I wanted to be a bad girl. 

I learned how nasty his temper was the same night.  He punched my windshield, and it was hard enough to spider-web the entire passenger side.  I was in shock.  The worst part was, it was over something that had happened several years before, and it still had that effect on him.  I yelled at him, and told him he was going to pay for it, but he said he would just have his brother replace it since he worked for a car repair shop.  I should have known, right then and there, but I didn't.

I remember to this moment the very date things changed for me.  January 18th, 2007.  Nothing significant to be back then.  It was Dollar Pint Night at most of the bars in downtown Traverse City.  All of my friends were going, except for me.  I had chosen to not go, and was fine with it.  I hung out with my best friend and her boyfriend, and looked at wedding dresses with her.  I was content to stay in and stay sober.  At a little bit before midnight, I got a call from the crazy guy, asking me to come down to his favorite bar.  So I did.  He proceeded to act like an ass to me, and I wasn't having it.  After half an hour of enduring his cockiness and smart ass remarks, I told him I was leaving.  He followed me out to my car, where he demanded I wait to drive him home.

I said no.  I told him to go to hell, and went to open my door, but despite his drunkeness, he was too fast.  He hit me in the face, and called me a cunt.  I didn't slow down though; I got in my car and drove back to my friend's apartment, where I didn't tell her or her boyfriend anything.  I merely said, "I need a really strong drink." 

After that, the night is a blur.  I ended up going downtown with my friends after all, where everyone bought me drinks and was so happy to see me.  I tried my best to forget what had happened, but I know I was feeling it.  Deep down, I wasn't happy; I wasn't laughing or smiling with my friends.  I was reliving that moment, over and over again.  Someone ended up dropping me back off at my car, and with every intent to not drive that night, I still did.  I got in my car, and I drove.  I was going to drive straight to that jerk-off's house and give him a piece of my mind.

I didn't get very far.  About five miles down the road I went to make a left hand turn, and I slid into the snow bank on the opposite side.  Michigan winter's aren't something you mess with, especially when you've been drinking.  The funny part about this is, my cousin actually saw my car, stopped, and said when we talked I seemed fine; sober as could be.  She offered to wait with me, and I said nah, I'm just gonna ask someone to help push me out.  The guy that offered to help though, wound up calling the police on me, and I was arrested for drunk driving.

This has been on my mind for three years.  Three long years I have thought about what could have happened.  And not to me, mind you- but to someone else.  What if I had killed someone?  What if I had died- what would my family and friends do?  How could my decision have affected thousands of others?  I haven't had a car nor a license in three years.  Despite pleading guilty, and showing proof to the judge I had already personally begun seeking help before this, he gave me the max penalty in the state of Michigan for DUI.  Nine months probation, 30 days of twice daily PBTs (breathalyzers), 60 days of once daily PBTs, then 90 days of randoms; 60 hours of community service; and then 30 days suspended license, 60 days of restricted license, then $1000 a year for two years to reinstate my license.  I had to pay the courts over $2000 in fees, $3 per PBT.  I was placed in classes for addicts, which cost me $7 dollars per meeting, twice a week for 9 weeks.  I had to pay the county I lived in for damage to a fire hydrant (which I don't think was right, because my car was nowhere near a fire hydrant, nor was I going fast enough to plow through a snowbank in a tiny Cavalier), which was $600.  Then, I also had to pay an incarceration fee for the six hours I stayed in jail.  I'm not doing the math, but add all those fees up, and you have a lot of money.  Subtract $1000 because I haven't been able to pay the last fee to get my license reinstated for the second year.

I know this has already gotten long enough, but I am almost finished.  The attorney they gave me did NOTHING to help my case.  I had to pay him, as well, even though it was made mandatory by the judge because of the crime.  I plead guilty, straight up, and when the judge asked me what happened, I told him.  I told him the truth.  I didn't cry or beg or plead with him, I just told him- I had a bad night, and even before it, I had saught out help.  I was a volunteer cheer coach at my old high school, which I thought should have proven I am not a typical offender.  I was enrolled to join school a week later- which I ended up dropping, because I no longer had a license and had a schedule to follow.  I know he was trying to do a service to the community, but giving a 21 year old female with no priors that volunteers to help her community is extreme.  He explained that he would make an example of me and what could happen, no matter how great of a person you are, if you made this mistake.

I lost my spot as coach, because I couldn't get rides.  A job I was supposed to start was no longer there for me, because of my schedule.  My PBTs had to be done before 10 AM every morning and between 5 and 7 PM every night.  My meetings were twice a week.  There was no way a job was going to work around my schedule.  Yet, they expected me to pay for everything, within 9 months time.  If I had been depressed before, I was ten feet under by that point.  I know I brought it on myself, but for some reason, I couldn't get a break, no matter how hard I tried at the time.  I made a mistake, and I paid.  And I'm still paying.

This is one of the reasons I am unable to sleep sometimes.  If I hadn't made that decision, I would still have a license, I would still have a car.  I wouldn't be stuck using the bus system.  Maybe I wouldn't have even moved out here, and become more miserable.  This is proof that one night can change your whole life; one mistake can cost you everything.  And the judge did what he wanted- he made an example out of me.  So far, it's costed me three years of my life.  Yet, it could have costed so much more.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Home Base

It's the end of junior year, and I have a cheerleading awards assembly to go to.  It is also around my birthday, so my mom takes me and my bestie Amber to the mall to go shopping, and to eat at my favorite restaurant, Don's Drive-In (if you're ever in Traverse City, MI- OMG must eat there).  She buys me a cute new outfit, consisting of a blue shirt that laces up to the neck, a pair of blue jean capris, and some white mules with some crazy design on them.  White shoes and I don't go together, and especially half-shoes, due in large part to the fact that I am constantly tripping over things, including my own feet.  I just had to have them, though.  I have no idea that my first time going to home base in this outfit will not be in the way I expect it.

The day of my awards ceremony, The Drummer tells me he can't go, but will wish me luck before I leave.  My stepsister happens to visit at the same time, so we're waiting on the porch for him to show up.  I'm dressed in my new outfit, when The Drummer arrives in my driveway.  I am so giddy (this is within the first month we were together) that I gleefully skip down the steps and down our dirt driveway to greet him.  Only, I don't make it all the way there.  At least, not on my feet.

It took all of two seconds to realize what was happening, and that I wouldn't be able to stop it.  One- I tripped over said new white shoes.  Two- I was going to fall, as I was skipping way too fast and would be unable to catch myself.  Three- All of this would happen in front of my stepsister, my mother, and my new boyfriend.  Two seconds later, my arms were out in front of me as if I was going to slide head first into home base, my face was planted in the dirt, and I was soon gliding right into The Drummer's work boots.

For about a minute nobody moved.  I kept my face down, wondering how I would pull off some smooth exit of this hellishly mortifying moment.  But before I could think about it, I began laughing hysterically, and when I do so, I do so silently.  My body merely bounced up and down as I cracked up at my own expense.  Finally, Drummer Boy reached down to help me up.  I took his hand and met his face, and I could see that I had dirt on my nose.  And apparently, my forehead, as he wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt.

My mom and stepsister were laughing hysteically from the porch, but The Drummer didn't know what to do, because we had just begun dating and he wasn't sure it was appropriate to laugh.  Later on he told me that he had stood there covering his mouth, looking at me, wondering if I was crying or laughing.  I could only picture this but it made me laugh harder at myself.

I didn't have time to change before the ceremony, so I wound up going to it with my new white shoes covered in dirt.  The entire time I sat on stage, I had to concentrate on not laughing becaue I could not believe what I had done.  My teammates asked me afterwards why I was covered in dirt, and I couldn't tell them without busting up.

The worst part is, that isn't even the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me.

Monday, January 25, 2010

I Laugh When You Get Hurt

My ex and I had a lot of fun together for three years.  It was a good time, most of the time, despite the fact that I would really like to wring his neck these days.  We went to concerts all the time, never failed to have the best parties at our house, and we found creative things to do when we were broke.  Some days I wonder why it all fell apart- but that's for a different day. 

I was 19 years old, he was 20, and we had just moved into our first place together.  We had his brother visiting for the weekend, and he was an avid skateboarder.  He wasn't awesome or anything, but he brought his skateboard everywhere and was one of those kids you always see in parking lots, trying to pull off tricks.  He brought his skateboard with him when we went grocery shopping, and on the way back, had a brilliant plan.  He wanted me to pull him behind my car.

I laughed and said no way.  I didn't want him to get hurt under my watch.  His mom would kill me, for one, and not my ex.  I didn't need the drama.  So my ex said he would drive while his brother skated behind us.  I was practically chewing my fingernails off in nervousness because I didn't want to spend the night in the hospital because his brother had bashed open his head while pulling some stupid stunt.

Thankfully, he was a good enough skater that he didn't fall.  It doesn't seem very fast to most of us, but being pulled five miles an hour behind a car on a skateboard is pretty damn fast.  And he did it.  He said it was a lot harder than movies make it look (um, duh?).  My ex, who was over 6 feet tall and had no coordination whatsoever, said he wanted to try it.  In my mind I was thinking, "Yeah, okay, I know this won't work."  But I just shook my head and said, "Fine, but I'm driving."  The deal was, he would hit the car if he wanted to go faster, and scream if he wanted us to stop (the windows were rolled down).  Have you ever seen that movie with John Candy and Dan Akroyd, when they take their families camping, and John Candy wants to teach his son to water ski, but it fails when he's the one getting pulled suddenly behind the boat?  It was similar to this.

I started off going slow, and watched the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't falling or anything.  We we the only house on this backstreet, so I wasn't worried about cars coming, but I was worried about his gangly ass breaking his neck.  He tapped the trunk of the car, so I went a little faster.  Almost five miles an hour.  He then hit the trunk again, and I checked to make sure he was serious.  He was.  He gave me a thumbs up, with his big goofy smile on his face.  I sped up.  Seven to eight miles an hour, and he was still holding on.  I was laughing by this time, because seriously- who would have thought he'd last?

I checked in the rearview mirror, and suddenly, he was gone.  The sideview mirror revealed the most horrifying hilarious image ever- my ex was bouncing down the side of the road.  I could see him trying to stop himself, but it wasn't working.  His limbs were this way and that, and he looked like a ragdoll.  The skateboard flew underneath my car and out the front, and I stopped quickly and jumped out.  He was lying in the gravel, moaning and groaning.  "I hit a rock," he mumbled.

I made sure he was okay, and he was.  He managed to tuck and roll without hitting his head.  By this time, I was hysterical with laughter.  The image of him bouncing down the road was too much.  He got in the car and we drove home to survey the damage.  He was really lucky, but still had some nasty injuries.  His entire left side had road rash, along with his elbows and shoulders.  Because there was gravel imbedded in the wounds, I told him he'd have to clean them out before I bandaged them up.  He did not, under any circumstances, want me to pour peroxide on them.  I managed to trick him, and he nearly cried- but I laughed.  For some reason, when people get hurt, it's hilarious to me if they are not seriously injured.  I can't help but giggle when I see someone fall.  And, I do laugh when I fall, as well.  Just so you know. 

Does anyone else have this problem?

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Name Of Girl [Here]

I try to frequent my subscription blogs, but sometimes I get a little too busy and start neglecting them.  Lately that's been the case, but I took the time to read one of them today.  Tales From A Rejection Queen reminds me SO much of what happened to me when I was 21.  She talks about her rejection letters mostly, as she continues to try to be accepted by an agent and eventually, like some of my readers and subscriptions, be published.  I started reading her blog for the sole purpose of keeping my own hope alive, but her personal life is what really brings me to my blog today.  We both have a love for musicians and it seems to be heartbreaking for both of us.

I dated my first musician in high school.  He was a drummer, and the bad boy of our school.  I didn't date him until after he had graduated, but everyone still knew who he was because he was in the hometown hero band.  I was only a junior when we started dating, and we went on and off until fall of my senior year, when he began neglecting me for side projects I wasn't exactly into (read: sex, drugs, craziness).  He cheated on me several times with girls he would meet at the bar during his gigs, and because I was naive, I let myself believe he wasn't.  But I was no fool.

I reconnected with my old best guy friend from high school while on hiatus from that relationship.  The best guy friend was, also, a musician.  He played bass and had been in several bands throughout the years.  He had just left his girlfriend of two years, and had always had a crush on me.  However, I was pretty sure he was just looking for someone to help him get over the ex, and figured it would come and go fast.  It lasted three years, then another year, on and off, until he also cheated on me.  It wasn't a band groupie, but it may as well have been.  Several months after the first time, he cheated on me again, and that was when I broke it off.

I don't know why this is, but there is something so charming and sexy about musicians, even when I know (we all should know) they are heartbreakers.  They write songs about it, so they should know how it feels- but usually they are the ones doing most of the heartbreaking.  After the ex-fiance and I finally split it off for good in 2006, I started back onto the dating scene (around the same time as Weird Underwear guy).  The first person I manage to lay my hands in is, OF COURSE, a musician. 

His name was Ben, and he was adorable.  He was formally in a band with my past ex The Drummer, but was completely different.  He married a girl he met in high school and just a year after separated from her.  He moved four hours south (Ann Arbor), and began a new life.  I happened to run into him on Memorial Day weekend, when everyone in our town seems to party.  I hadn't seen him in years, and happened to be buying a case of beer at a local party store.  Once the guy in front of me had finished paying I threw the case up on the counter.  The guy stopped at the door, and turned around.  I started walking past him, but he put his finger in the air and said, "I know you."

Indeed, he did know me.  It was Ben.  And he looked good (I would like to post pictures of these guys, to prove they are good-looking, but I feel that would be wrong lol). 

"Oh, hey Ben!  It's been a while!  What are you doing up here?"  Of course I"m smooth as butter around the musicians.

"Just up here visiting.  I can't remember..."

"Nicolette.  Or Juj, like everyone calls me."  I knew my ex never called me Juj, but Ben's ex-wife did (did I mention we used to all hang out when I was dating the ex-fiance?).

"Yeah I knew it was something crazy," he said and smiled.  My friends were watching from the car, and waited very impatiently for me to hurry it along.  Ben and I wound up exchanging phone numbers, and once I got in the car, I got to hear it. 

"Was that Ben?" my cousin yelled. 

"He looks HOT!" Alison added.

I could just laugh.  Oh yeah, it was Ben all right.

The weekend was busy for both of us, but come Monday we wound up getting together at a BBQ.  We just sat around and talked, but it was fun.  We had a good time, and decided to keep in touch.  I would continually text him for the next couple months, and then finally actually drive to visit him.

Ben had a way with words.  Like most musicians.  I would wake up some mornings, and there would be some sweet, lyrical-like text from him waiting for me.  "Nothing looks as beautiful as you do while you sleep."  Of course, they only time he'd actually seen me sleep was when I stayed at his house with his ex and my ex, but- still, very very sweet and I got sucked in. 

He convinced me, during a very terrible period for me, to drive down and visit him for a weekend, because he wanted to see me.  He offered to pay for everything, and my friends told me I should do it.  So I did.  And it was really, really great.  He took me out to eat everyday, brought me to a comedy club, introduced me to his friends, we watched the Michigan vs. Michigan State game (he's Michigan, I'm a State girl), we went to the bar, we shot pool, we watched movies.  There wasn't a moment to spare.  We got along so well, it was crazy.  I knew it would end in disaster.

It didn't.  I drove home, we still texted.  However, he was seriously looking into recording with his band downstate, and of course, this left him hardly any spare time for a serious girlfriend.  I wasns't heartbroken, but I was pretty let down.  I let it go, and we eventually drifted apart.  He would come up north to visit his family and always invited me along, because I was the "girl his mom loved".  We went to the movies and baseball games, but it never became anything serious because, I thought that was what he wanted.

Turns out, he was waiting for me to say something.  On Valentine's Day, of all days, I received two text messages- one from him, and the other from my ex (after nearly three months of not speaking).  It was confusing.  Ben had driven up north that weekend to visit, but had blown me off completely the entire time.  He left me waiting for him to call, didn't return my voicemail, and then the text I got was from him, saying his phone had died earlier that day and he left his charger at home.  Likely excuse.

We ended up getting into it over the phone, and I said he was rude not to call and let me know, because I sat around the entire weekend because he had told me he wanted to chill with me, but never called.  He then told me, "I feel like you're not even interested in me so I didn't want to waste my time."

...I wasn't interested in him?  When he was the one that blatantly said, "I don't want a girlfriend because I'm very busy being a musician"?  Hold the phone!  (Ha ha, 80's reference)

I told him I was interested him, but was giving him space because he said he didn't want a girlfriend.  He told me he said that because he didn't want me to be clingy.  WTF?  In the end, that was it.  Ben was great when he was around, but apparently double-talked and just wanted to see if he could get a girl to fall for him even if he was stand-offish and said he didn't want anything.  It failed.  I didn't "fall" for him, but I was pretty hurt.  However, it made me ready for my next phase in life, and it turns out I would never want to date him, anyway.  He is still a broody guitarist, writes poetry and lyrics and chain smokes.  He still has the same ice blue eyes and the thick dark hair that makes any girl want to run their fingers through it.

But to me, he is just another guy.  It wasn't the fact that he was a musician.  It was the fact that he knew how to play the cards right.  There are many, many men out there like this that have no talent to play a musical instrument whatsoever- but they can play the game, and that's all that matters to them, and to us in the end. 

The good thing is- I don't think I'll ever want to date a musician again.  That is, of course, unless he wants to take me on tour with him.  I'll gladly meet all the other hot musicians he'll be on the road with.

Weird Underwear

I went to bed about 3 hours ago.  I turned on the TV per usual to wind down, then went on to paint my nails.  I finished them, watched all of Catch Me If You Can, and proceeded to toss and turn.  My head hurts and my stomach is killing me.  The smell of BBQ chicken is still filling the apartment from dinner and it's making it worse.  Why do I tell you all this when my topic is weird underwear?  I start to remember things when I can't sleep, and this story happens to be one of them.

In high school I hung out with a few close friends.  One of them, Amber, happened to have another friend, Amy, that didn't quite like me (not sure why to this day, as we get along great now), but was with Amber and I a lot.  We would often just drive around when we were bored, and on one occasion, we happened to go to Amy's sister's apartment.  She lived with her boyfriend of the moment, and when we arrived, she was folding clothes.

We basically stood around in the living room and watched her very young son get into things he wasn't supposed to while she did laundry.  Amber happened to mention how very not fond she was of the boyfriend, and so did Amy.  The sister just rolled her eyes and continued to fold laundry, which was when the underwear came up.

"What are those?" Amber asked, point to a pair of blue leopard bikini briefs.

"Underwear," the sister said laughing.  "Why?"

"I really hope they're yours," Amber replied.

"No, they're actually [boyfriend]'s," sister corrected.

I hadn't met the boyfriend then, but I almost died laughing.  So did Amy and Amber.  Blue leopard print bikini briefs for a supposedly straight guy?  Excuse me if I insert the term LOL right here.  It was only right we made sure a few (hundred) times that he really indeed was straight.  I'd never met the dude but I was already second guessing, based on his underwear.

Several months later, I happened to meet the boyfriend.  He was a paramedic and was driving the ambulance in the Fourth of July parade, and might I add that he was gorgeous.  Of course, I was 16 at the time, so anything with bleach blonde tips in his hair and hazel eyes would catch my eye, but really, the boyfriend was very cute.  As soon as I admitted it to Amber and Amy though, they were disgusted.  They didn't think so because they didn't like him (I'm going to assume this is because they both basically grew up around him, and you know how siblings can hate on each other's flings, especially with an age difference involved).  I still thought boyfriend was gorgeous.

Fast-foward several (6) years later.  I'm at the bar, and I happen to be avoiding a stalker that I met a few nights before at a club.  It was a very, very mean joke played on me by a sort of crush I had at the time, but somehow I ended up getting stalker at my apartment instead of my crush, and anyhow, stalker was now showing up everywhere I went, it seemed, and this night was no different.  I was trying to hide behind friends, dodge between tables, run to the bathroom, anything, just to make sure he didn't see me.  I failed at one point, at was nowhere near anyone to hide me.

I happened to be standing next to a crowd of people that seemed to know all my other friends, though, and one of them heard me when I said, "Oh, Christ, hide me."  The guy turned around, and lo and behold, it was sister's boyfriend of past.  He laughed and said, "From who?"  And immediately put his arm around me.

This, I thought, was just soooo...weird.  Several months before this had happened, he added me on MySpace, thinking I was someone he used to work with (the ironic part is, I was mistaken for her several times after high school, and not only that but- she was another good friend of mine for years).  So when he recognized me finally at the bar, after stalker had disappeared, he made a comment about it.  "Not Alison, but...Nicolette."  Yes, I thought.  He remembered my name!  He was still gorgeous as hell in my eyes, and six years of maturing for me had not changed it.  Although he was obviously older, I didn't mind one bit.  We spent the rest of the night talking with each other, and I wound up giving him my number. 

At this moment in time, I wasn't thinking about his underwear.  All of that totally slipped my mind as I gave this fine specimen my digits and crossed my fingers he called.  I didn't have long to wait, because if my memory serves me correctly (and it usually does), he called that very night, and wanted to chill.  We were both sober so I invited him back to my apartment at the time, which I shared with Amber (ironic, seeing as she never could stand him).

First thing that came out of her mouth when he came in was, "Fuck me."  And she left the room.  He laughed.  I guess they didn't like each other.  However, I didn't give a crap.  He was here.  To see me.  And hang out.  How incredibly cool. 

The first few nights we hung out we did nothing.  We watched TV, listened to music, drank a few beers.  That was about it.  I even remember him staying the night the first time and me saying, "I'm not sleeping with you."  And he said, "I didn't plan on it."  So innocent.  Of course that all changed eventually, which brings me to the point of this late night/early morning blog.

The first night we actually, eh hem, got down to business, I laughed.  I laughed.  He stripped off his pants, and there they were- the weird underwear from yonder years.  They were still blue, except this time, they were silk.  I'm sorry, but there is nothing sexy about a man wearing blue silk bikini briefs that could be mine (unless they really are mine). 

Later after we had finished our fling, Amber and I had a girls' night in where we discussed this event.  I had failed (purposely) to mention the underwear during the fling because I didn't want to get shit for it.  Eventually it had to come out though.

"So, you know [boyfriend] right?  Remember when we were hanging out?"

"Yeah.  Terrible time for me.  I didn't leave my room for a month."  (Pretty much true, too.)

"Well, he still wears girl's underwear."

Amber wasn't surprised.  However, she was shocked I still got into bed with him.  The thing is-

It's not the weird underwear that matters.  It's how we use what's under them that matters.