Good Friends

Quote: "A friend is someone who is there for you when he’d rather be somewhere else." -Len Wein

I had decided I needed to take a few more shots to catch up with everyone else. Why? Because I’d spent the better part of a half hour talking to a pretty girl who doesn’t drink, doesn’t like parties and really doesn’t like me in the front yard. She wouldn’t come inside because she doesn’t enjoy drunks. I enjoyed the constant struggle, mostly because I bore easily but also because she was mind numbingly beautiful. Beautiful, difficult women are my weakness. Sure, there wasn’t much we had in common and we’d argued a little even though we’d never gone on an official date and yes, these should be red flags, but not to me. I’d spent my first 3 weeks of summer bored, lonely and looking for a way to pass the time. I had find my solution in the form of a perpetually angry barista.

Back to the point. I needed shots. I’d already downed 3 and was so sure the party had grown while I was gone and that I needed to stay on the same level as everyone else. We were drinking Majorska, disgusting, but they weren’t make me pay. Beggars can’t be choosers. As to how many shots I took to "get to everyone else’s level"? The guess is 3 to 4. No one could keep count because I was moving fast, working on becoming the life of the party.

And then I was in the bathroom, puking into the toilet, in the same spot I would stay in for the next 3 hours. I’d eventually fall asleep on the floor, head resting on a pillow wrapped in a garbage bag. My memories from that night are blurry, but I do remember being fairly certain I was going to die. This resulted in heavy breathing, coughing and the realization that I am not a trooper. The nice part of my drunken mistakes? I have really good friends. They each took turns rubbing my back, assuring me I would live, handing me water bottles, helping me stand and catching me when I fall. Next time I’m lonely I’ll need to remember the night I spent in Jay’s bathroom.

Not to worry readers, I was no where near close to death. I can be a little dramatic, which is part of not being a trooper. I’d love to be the guy who bounces back, doesn’t let a little puke slow him down, but in reality? After I got home I called out of work, spent 9 hours in bed, dry heaving every once in a while, vowing to never drink again. This was not a fact. I drank a week later, though wasn’t brave enough to take a shot.

Lindsay, the difficult, but oh so hot barista, was disgusted by my behavior. We had several late night arguements in which I ended it, she ended it, but somehow managed to never let go of this strange little relationship that had started. We made old married couples look tame, though we’d never kissed, let alone make it to the altar.

Eventually I decided she was more trouble than she was worth, only to have her ask to be friends. I was briefly considered before I realized I had plenty of friends willing to pat my back all night long and didn’t need another, especially one who I bicker with as often as her. She called 3 times today, sent 4 text messages and a Facebook message, none of which were returned.

I was clinging to her out of lonliness and got the vibe that she was doing the same. We could hardly stand eachother, but having someone to talk to every night was a nice change of pace.

And that’s still all I really need, a change of pace. I should hear about housing from Montclair in a week or two, which should be enough to lift my spirits. Not that they need much lifting. I’ve been feeling a lot better lately and most of that has to do with having my friends around. I’ve got something to do nearly every night, which does wonders for the boredom/lonliness I’d been feeling off and on. The summer, which got off to a somewhat rocky start, is looking up and so am I.