Jello Shots and Whispering

Dec 20^th, 2007

I woke up with nothing on but a hospital bracelet. My head was throbbing and bruises covered the left side of my body. It was Thursday morning. Maybe afternoon. Had our Wednesday party gone this terribly wrong? What the fuck happened last night?

Tom laid next to me, half naked and sans bruises. I shook him awake.

Me: What the hell happened to me?

Tom: You don’t want to know.
Me: Oh, god.
Tom: God had nothing to do with it. Trust me.

My phone rang and I reached over him to answer it. It was my mother.

Mom: Why is the hospital calling our house looking for you?

Me: Uhm. I’m actually trying to figure that out.
Mom: You are 32 years-old. 32!
Me: I am so sorry, mom. I blame my irresponsible love for jello shots.
Mom: You can’t joke your way out of every situation. You do that all the time. But there is nothing funny about getting a phone call from the damn hospital.
Me: I know, I know. I am truly sorry.
Mom: Please. Just get married and settle down. Have a normal life. Don’t you think you deserve that?
Me: Mom, of course. But a normal life would kill me.
Mom: Your life right now is killing you.
Me: But I made it out of a hospital alive, didn’t I? So I think I’m still winning this life game.
Mom: (sigh) I love you but I’m hanging up. Good bye.

Tom was fully awake now, smiling and shaking his head.

Tom: You really don’t remember do you?

Me: No. Last thing I recall is all of us passing around jello shots in the hot tub.
Tom: Ok, well after that, you decided that hot tubs were gross. Said we were all stewing in each other’s sweat and ‘people juices’.
Me: So my germ-a-phobia is still kicking even when I’m drunk?
Tom: Apparently. Then you got out and missed a step and fell over. Chris and I had to help you to the kitchen where you decided to make hot dogs.
Me: Mike’s hot dogs?
Tom: Yep. You walked into his room and told him that World of Warcraft was destroying his life and that you were going to save it by eating all his hot dogs.
Me: That doesn’t make sense.
Tom: I know. Then we left you for five minutes and came back and found you passed out on the bathroom floor. You had hit your head and couldn’t tell us your name so we took you to the hospital.
Me: Ok… and?
Tom: You cried the whole way there and kept telling us you hate hospitals and to not do this to you. We got you checked in and we were waiting for you to get called back when all of a sudden it was like you instantly sobered up, looked around and very seriously told us to take you home and put you to bed.
Me: Really?
Tom: Yeah. Your exact words were, “These assholes are going to stick me with needles and make me wear a ridiculous gown. We need to break out of here.” So we did. You got home, stripped down naked and went straight to sleep.
Me: Jello shots are dangerous little bastards aren’t they?
Tom: Indeed.

December 20^th, 2013

I woke up in pajamas. I had spent the evening before on the phone with Spitfire, making my weekend plans and drinking a glass of champagne. Yeah, you heard me, ONE glass. I felt… great.

I have this weird thing about clothes. You can always tell my mood by what I wear. Good mood means favorite t-shirts, so I shoveled through my closet until I found my ‘Detroit’ tee. Purple and sparkles. Boom!

No hangover, no hospital bracelet, no half-drunk man in my bed. I had a moment of feeling accomplished. Grown up even. Until I remembered having to be walked home the night before, four glasses of wine deep. Still… no tears or doctors, right?

Wil Wheaton Look Alike

He is, hands down, the most confusing man I have ever met. But there is something about him that draws me in. Like Spitfire, he has the strange ability to make people feel important. His is different than hers though. Where hers is warm and inviting, it surrounds the people she is with and makes them feel special just for being near her, his is intense and focused, it snaps its fingers in people’s faces and makes them feel significant.

The thing about Wil is that when he is truly being himself, outside of entertaining people, he is actually interesting and kind. But it isn’t something he puts out there. For all his social interactions (and he has a lot) he still carries this wall around him. And strangely, I have no desire to scale it or knock it down. I just enjoy the few moments that he comes outside of it. Maybe because I do not want people fucking with my walls. Maybe because I just take people for who they are. Who the hell knows?

Somewhere, in the midst of my whirlwind of a Tuesday, Wil and I decided to date each other. There is something terrifying about this. Two people, two walls, both drinkers, both incredibly weird, probably not the greatest influence on each other… sure, let’s date. Either this is the most brilliant plan on earth or we will destroy the world and get arrested doing so. How can I possibly pass up either scenario?

And remember when I said that I often put my foot in my mouth? I say something and think, “Did those words really just leave my face?” I was even given an award at work for this. A Dundee that reads “Did She Really Just Say That Award”.

On Wednesday morning, this charming thing came out of my mouth.

Wil: You know, you do this thing where you know when I am about to finish and you just stop. Every time. It is so weird. I’m like, how the hell does she know?!?

Me: Because I'm the sperm whisperer.

Yeah. I said that. And you can’t undo that gem of a statement. No, you absolutely cannot.