An Empty Bed

There are scenes in some movies where a couple has spent the night together, and the man wakes up and lovingly watches his partner sleep. She looks so peaceful while she is silently sleeping with her eyes and mouth closed, eye liner and mascara still perfect from the previous nights outing, and not a single strand of hair out of place on her head. In the movie, he lovingly stares at her for a few moments before gently waking her so they can spend the morning cuddling on the couch reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Naturally, the coffee is delicious and never gives either of them the extreme urge to run to the bathroom in an attempt to get the demons out.

This scene will never happen in my life. I do not sleep quietly and if I fall asleep with my make up on I can assure you that my eyeliner and mascara will be smeared down the side of my face. My crisp white pillow cases will undoubtedly be covered with foundation, powder, and blush. No one will be watching me sleep. They will probably either try to smother me with a pillowcase so they can get some sleep or they will be punching and kicking me in an effort for me to wake up enough to stop snoring and allow them to fall asleep quicker than myself so they can have a shot at actually getting a full night’s sleep.

I, along with 75% of the people in the UK (Yup. I googled it and that was the first statistic that came up. I didn’t even open the link. It should be trustworthy information, right?), snore. I’ve spent enough time apologizing to people because of it because it’s been going on for so long. I feel bad about it, though. Especially when I go on vacations with friends and when I wake up refreshed in the morning, they are haggard and irritated because they barely got any sleep due to my sounding like a train. (Sexy, right?!)

A few weeks ago I took some students on an overnight field trip coordinated by a very reputable company. This company took care of everything- planned all the activities, coordinated all the schedules, and kept the students fed and constantly busy. This company was even in charge of assigning everyone to hotel rooms, even the teachers. All I had to do was show up. When we first arrived I was ecstatic to find that I was the only adult in my hotel room. I wasted no time in unpacking and making myself comfortable in my room. After about an hour or so, my students came and got me and announced they wanted to go exploring the city.

Reluctant to leave my comfy hotel room that I had all to myself, I agreed to go with them. I guess it was the right decision, I don’t think they were capable of roaming the streets all alone. When we came back after having dinner, I walked into my room, looking forward to being able to use the bathroom without leaving the faucet running. As soon as I opened the door, I noticed there was another suitcase sitting on the floor. I was now sharing a room with someone. A stranger. Someone I didn’t know, or trust.

After talking with her for a little bit, I started to kind of like her. She reminded me a lot of my mom which was kind of cool because I always miss my family when I travel. When we were about to go to sleep, I thought it would be nice of me to inform her of my noisy nighttime habit. She was less than thrilled.

Me- “Mmm… just to let you know, people tell me I kinda snore. Loud.”

Roomie- “Oh… well, I’m a really light sleeper. This isn’t good!”

Me- “Luckily, the hotel gave us a little set that includes earplugs. You can use them if you’d like!”

Roomie- “Thanks, maybe they will help.”

She didn’t sound too convinced. I quickly slipped into a deep sleep (seriously- it takes about 2.5 seconds for me to fall asleep) and didn’t wake up until morning. I wanted to get up early so I could shower before her to make sure I wasn’t late for the morning activities. I thought waking up early was nicer than shouting, “Me first!” I was trying to take the grown up approach.

As I groggily rubbed my eyes and put my glasses on, I looked around the room. Something looked different. My roomie’s stuff was gone. My roomie was gone. Vanished. Like she had been a figment of my imagination. No note. Nothing left in the bathroom. Not even a pair of earplugs left on her side of the hotel room.

What the heck had happened? Was there some sort of emergency? Did one of her students have to go to the hospital in the middle of the night because they overdosed on some kind of drug that the chaperone should have searched her for and didn’t? Was she a raging alcoholic and crept out of bed after I had fallen asleep and spent the entire night in a bar drinking her soul away? But those wouldn’t explain the absence of her luggage.

Then it hit me. She left in the middle of the night because of the snoring. Was it really that bad that she couldn’t even make it through one measly night?

When I went downstairs into the lobby for breakfast, I saw her pouring herself some juice. I sauntered over to her and tried to make eye contact. I began making a cup of coffee, thinking all the while how I could make some kind of joke about her leaving in the middle of the night. Before I could think of something clever to say, she turned around and left. She didn’t even look at me. Savage!

You know what hurts the most? I didn’t even get a goodbye note.

Drunk Jennifer

It was almost midnight and I was sitting on my couch (my new FREE couch) looking around at my apartment that is slowly starting to become my home. The walls are a chalky white with scuff marks all over them (It’s really not my fault. I mean, I’ll sit at the kitchen counter and if I’m wearing jeans and my knee happens to hit the wall, the wall will get a blue mark. It’s pretty ridiculous.) and the place is sparsely decorated with random items picked up here and there. As I contemplated what I was doing at that exact moment, I realized I needed to get out. I didn’t know where I was going, what I was going to do, or who I was going to do it with. I hopped into my fly ride (yo) and headed out. I called a friend of mine who, due to his work schedule, is usually available at these odd hours. He happened to be in an area densely populated with places where you can consume adult beverages. We chose a location, met there, and grabbed a table outside. (By the way, this is absolutely my new people watching spot. We are definitely going back.)

After we sat there for about 20 minutes watching the people and listening to the music, we realized that it was too late for servers to be out. This made absolutely no sense to me since there were about sixty people outside having a grand ole time. The inside of this place was so full that I was afraid to go in and order a drink. It was so packed in there they had “said” people hanging from “said” rafters. (Kudos to you if you get that quote. Kudos to me if I actually quoted it correctly!) Me and large crowds don’t always mix well. (It’s true. I’ve almost hit people. Twice.) I sent my friend in to go pick up a couple beverages and I waited outside for what seemed like forever. I watched all the people around, picking up bits and pieces of their conversations and realized no one was really talking about anything I could understand. I apparently wasn’t speaking their language. All of a sudden, this woman walks up to me and squeals, “Holy Crap! I haven’t seen you in forever!” She could barely walk straight and practically fell as she leaned over to say hi.

Me- “Um… hi?”

Drunk Girl- “You don’t remember me? We used to be friends!”

Me- “I’m sorry… I think you kind of look familiar. What’s your name? Where do we know each other from?”

Drunk Girl- “I’m Jennifer. Don’t you remember? We went to preschool together!”

Drunk Jennifer was right. We did go to the same preschool. But seriously? I’m impressed that she even remembered her name, let alone mine. And the fact that she remembered me from 23 years ago? Kudos to Jennifer.

The best part about that night was through some vulgar discussions (and lots of laughs) with my friend we came up with a great idea for a book. Let’s see what happens!

Baseball Yeast

Today I was remembering an event that took place during my first year in college. I was taking a Spanish class and I didn’t have any friends in it. (I actually didn’t have any friends in college until much later. This was mostly my fault, seeing as I hated going to school and I apparently gave off “I’m stinky” vibes. Hmph.) The class took place during the semester that coincided with the 2003 baseball season; the one where the Marlins magically made it into the World Series against the Yankees. (I know that there is a special term used to describe how this happened. While I am a home team supporter on all sports – Go Fins, Heat, Panthers, Canes, Fish, and any other team I am forgetting! – I really don’t understand most of them. I just know that the man sculpted by the mighty hands of God needs to have the ball make it to a specified location. I cheer when everyone else cheers. Fake it ‘til you make it!) Now, although I know less about most sports than your average person, baseball is the one I know most about, so I felt comfortable enough claiming myself as a Marlins fan when the class derailed the teacher from that day’s Spanish lesson.

Girl – “Ugh! I hate it that everyone is jumping on the Marlins bandwagon! I’m soooo not a fan anymore!”

Huh? There are two things wrong here. One, which I am going to discuss at great length, is the girl. (I don’t remember her name; it was probably something like Jane or Jill or Janet.) I absolutely love to people watch. Sometimes I do it blatantly and sometimes I have to strategically place myself. In this Spanish class I mixed them up and strategically placed myself so I could blatantly watch this chick. It beat listening to the professor drone on in a language that I didn’t understand. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this girl except for the fact that she had an odd fashion sense and had the funniest mannerisms. She moved as if she were not comfortable in her own skin and was always munching on interesting snacks in class. It was if she had a scorpion living in her clothes; every five minutes she would whip her legs around or fold herself in half over her desk. She’d toss her head back and emit loud animal noises during class. She dressed very 90s (It was 2003. I’m not that old.); usually in overalls and t-shirts with flip-flops. Her hair was cut like Julia Robert’s a la “Hook”. Her make-up rivaled Rupaul’s and in no way matched her style of dress. Everything feminine in a woman, she was opposite. She also smoked Marlboro Ultra Light Menthols (aka mint paper) and drank $1.00 Rolling Rock. (I know this because one time my classmates felt bad about talking about getting a burger after class in front of me and not inviting me. They only felt bad that one time.)

The other thing wrong here was her perspective on the whole bandwagon situation. My argument with her was that jumping off of the band wagon because everyone was jumping on the bandwagon was just as bad. Am I wrong here? Maybe. And I can admit that with no problem.

This isn’t where this blog post ends although that’s pretty much where that conversation ended. (Aren’t you lucky- there is MORE to read!) The reason I was remembering this apparently momentous event in a class where I don’t remember squat was because I have never been as repulsed by a human being as I was with this girl. (If this makes you gag and throw up a little, please let me know. J)

She was sitting in class, snacking on something I couldn’t recognize. This threw me for a loop because I am usually fairly good at recognizing snacks. I am quite the snack connoisseur. When she turned around I made my move and asked the question. I wanted to squeal, “EWWW! What IS that?!” but instead used my manners and asked, “That looks interesting! What IS that?!” (I still don’t know if that was rude or not because I’m pretty sure the look of disgust was apparent on my face.) She smiled a rather wicked smile, stretching her lips wide and thin with the corners turned slightly up. I should have known that what was coming next was not good.

Girl – “It’s a healthy snack. Cottage cheese and cinnamon.”

Gross. So that’s what gave it that weird beige color. She then proceeded to dip her spoon into the container and shove a huge bite into her mouth. She immediately swallowed some. What happened next was what really threw me over the edge: she squished some against her teeth so it came out between the tiny holes. But here is the kicker…

Girl - “When I mix it and put it in my mouth it looks like a yeast infection in there! Look!”

I looked. And I was speechless. First of all, how does she know that? Second of all, who SAYS things like that to a stranger? Third of all, who SAYS things like that to a stranger?

I realize that these two conversations revolving around baseballs and yeast infections were two entirely different discussions. In my head, I always remember these events as taking place during the same class. This, actually, is the only thing I remember from that Spanish class.

Bootleg Baby

I love it when I see something that makes me say, “Holy crap. I have to share this with someone!” (This usually happens when I see someone fall or hear someone fart in public.)

I was headed to the mall to pick up a few things and scoping out the people standing out front. I like to look at people. I saw a very normal looking, older man from afar who looked like he was babbling incoherently to anyone walking by him. As I got closer I was able to decipher what he was saying, “Toy Story, Eclipse, Grown Ups… I got errythang an anythang you want. Sex in the City, A Team…” I stopped listening as soon as I finished walking by him. Usually, if I’m interested in eavesdropping I’ll stop and pretend like I’m looking for something in my bag or if there is a verbal altercation happening and the two parties are occupied, I’ll sit on a bench and shamelessly watch. (What? It’s a free show. All I’m missing is the popcorn.)

This man, Mr. Hustler, was standing in the doorways between Ulta and DSW (My favorites! Yippee!) with a Newport in one hand and pushing the stroller containing a toddler with the other. Now, we happen to be in a tough situation economically and I can understand a man trying to hustle instead of only depending on welfare to make ends meet. I can maybe even respect it. But with a baby? What, is this baby going to grow up believing his father to be the head distributer of media? How do you explain this for career day?

Johnny’s teacher: “Shannon, thanks for bringing in your mom. A lawyer! What an interesting job! Now Johnny, thanks for bringing your father in on Career Day. Can you tell us a little about his career?”

Johnny: “My daddy a media distributa.”

Johnny’s teacher: “Wow! That sounds so Hollywood! Does his job require a lot of traveling?”

Johnny: “Sho do! He be travelin’ to da mall erryday.”

Johnny’s teacher: “The mall?”

Johnny: “That’s where he go. He be sellin’ bootleg DVDs in front of da mall.”

Johnny’s teacher: “Oh my. That’s… interesting.”

Johnny: “Sho’ is! He say he give y’all a dolla fiddy off.”

This scenario may not entirely come true. But returning to the prior scene that actually took place, I wondered where the man kept his DVDs. Did he have them in the trunk of his car? In the bottom of the stroller? Was it like Chinatown in NYC where if they see you as a suitable buyer they will bring you into the back of their store where you will fear for your life but still manage to come out with a black garbage bag full of designer knock-offs?

At any rate, I ended up with no bootleg DVDs. However, if someone wants to show me a free way to watch some DVDs online, I’m all for it. At least I don’t have to go into any strange buildings to get them!