"Great shot, kid, that was one in a million!"

The hours fucking CRAWLED by at work on Friday.

I had gotten the green light from my bosses to leave early to meet up with Bree in Santa Barbara. Bags were packed. Until I received an email informing me that a last minute meeting was scheduled for 4:30.

I would have to wait. Some higher power was really making me work on that whole "patience" thing.

As soon as the meeting ended, I got in my car and picked up Jack from his house. Once we got out of the Los Angeles traffic and onto the open road, we cranked up Bad Religion's "Los Angeles is Burning"; a staple song of ours we rock out to when we anticipate good things from the evening.

We pulled into the beautiful, beach side town of Santa Barbara and tried to locate the hotel. Fortunately, Jack and I were arriving in town around the same time as Bree, but we weren't to meet up until 9:30. Jack and I had some time to kill.

We decided to walk to the local 7-11 to pick up a six pack, something to calm the nerves a bit before heading out to dinner.

I sat at the edge of the queen size bed with my feet dangling and Jack sat across from me. We had an hour. At one point, we both started cracking up; the realization just hit us:

It was a Friday night, we were sitting in a dingy hotel, in a town we've never been to, sipping on Coors Light while waiting to meet a girl who I met online through blogging.

My stomach was flip flopping when it was time to walk to the restaurant. Jack and I chugged the last of our six-pack, zipped up our jackets and headed out. The restaurant was on a pier and as we walked, Jack turned to me and asked:

Jack: What are the chances we end up in one of those docked boats by the end of the night?
So@24: I don't even want to think about it.

Meeting Bree for the first time, there was nothing really surprising or shocking. I had already been talking to her for a month and I knew what she looked like. Dinner with her and her friends felt comfortable; like these are the people I would have been friends with in college anyway. She was just as pretty as she was in pictures and funny as she was in our phone conversations.

The rest of the evening coasted smoothly for the most part. Jack and I followed Bree and her friends around to various bars in Santa Barbara. Pints were downed and shots were shot.

We were having a lot of fun, but understandably her attention was divided among many people. And Bree is not a flirty person. As the drinks piled up in my 5'3" frame, Mr. Alcohol was sloppily mashing his hands on the keyboard of my overly-analytical brain.

She never brushed a hand on my shoulder, she didn't stay particularly close to me when we walked from one bar to the next. These observations are poison to a drunk, self-admitted paranoid, bastard like myself.

I began to read into her actions (or inaction, I should say) more than I should have. The idea that perhaps this was the beginning of a friendship and not something else was starting to engulf me.
At a point in the evening, after we had just taken another round of shots, Jack pulled me aside.

Jack: You're shutting down, So. What's going on?

I zipped my jacket up all the way to the top; a bad habit that surfaces when I become extremely insecure.

So@24: I don't think she's into me. I just have that feeling.
Jack: Don't shut down. You hear me? The night is young. Do. Not. Shut. Down. On. Me.
So@24: You're right, I'm not going to let this ruin the night. We're still out having a good time.
Jack: You have a fighting chance, trust me. Come on, I'll get you a beer.

I tried to push my worries aside and enjoy the rest of the evening. Jack, Bree and I got separated from her friends at some point and went to another bar to polish off a round of jager shots (or as I say "YAY!ger"). But it was closing time and we had to head back.

At this point, the weather turned to bullshit. Bree pulled out her umbrella and I held it high as the three of us huddled underneath it, sloshing our way back to her friend's house. It didn't matter, we were soaked to the bone.

Bree changed into sweats and t-shirt while Jack and I peel off our jackets to dry them by the fire. Beers and wine were handed out and we warmed up in Bree's friend's living room sharing a few more laughs. However, the little hand was close to the 3 and the big hand at the 12 and Bree's friends said their "good nights" and retreated upstairs.

My phone vibrated. A text from Leo.

Leo: Status report.
So@24: I don't think anything is going to happen tonight. She's not flirty and when a girl isn't flirty, it means she isn't interested.
Leo: You need to have patience. Unfortunately, this isn't college anymore.

Jack followed me to the kitchen while I grabbed a beer.

Jack: Are you going to kiss her?
So@24: Are you serious? I still don't think I have a chance. Besides what do I say?
Jack: How about, "Can I kiss you?"
So@24: That sounds so fucking lame.
Jack: It works for me. Just do it.

With a quick gulp, Jack finished the last bit of his Stella. He reached into his soaked jeans and grabbed his cellphone.

Jack: Ooooh, I have to take this call. I'll be back in 10.

The twinkle in his eye told me he wasn't coming back. He was Han Solo at the end of of Stars Wars, pulling the Millennium Falcon out of the Death Star trench saying, "You're all clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing so we can all go home!"

"Wahoo!"

Off he went, and with that I turned back to Bree. She held a glass of wine in her hand, her hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail while a few raindrops dripped off the longer strands. She looked radiant.

I threw back my beer and set the bottle on the coffee table. "You better be right about this, Jack," I thought to myself.

"Can I kiss you?"

* * *

And here, dear readers, is where I must bid you farewell on this tale. Perhaps further details will emerge down the road, but again, I'm still trying to do the whole Tao of the Cucumber thing. It's been extremely difficult, trust me.










* title of the post taken from a Star Wars quote. For those readers who don't share the same level of nerd-dom as me.

The Mark(us) of a True Wingman

It's been an ongoing joke on this blog (and my actual life) that Leo is the worst friend to have with you when you're single and looking for female companionship.

I've discussed it before: he's the worst wingman ever.

It's not intentional. Leo has actually been known to say to me (verbatim), "Let's get you out of that condo and into vagina." He always wants to help me out. But it's a problem when you're a hot piece of eye candy for girls. It's not his fault.

* * *

I haven't seen my old roommate since he moved home to save up for our European adventure, so needless to say I was excited to reunite with him for a night of boozing... just like old times. Leo met up with me and a group of our high school friends at The Blue Moon bar in Portland. He walked in the door in a long, black pea coat and Chuck Taylors. He gave me a hug and offered to buy my first drink.

Monica, a friend of a friend not known for her use of subtle hints, shot me a look as soon as she took notice of Leo. She quickly beckoned to me when Leo was occupied elsewhere and I approached her.

So@24: What's up?
Monica: Um. Your friend over there is fucking hot.
So@24: So what... you want me to put in a good word for you?
Monica: God yes.

I know Leo doesn't ever need it, but I always like to feel like I'm helping out when the opportunity arises.

So@24: Hey, my friend over there thinks you're cute.
Leo: Who? That girl?

-stared ahead-
-slurped beer-
So@24: Yeeeeeup.
Leo: Oh. Cool.

Leo clearly wasn't interested. Another one bit the dust.

Moments later, Nancy walked into the bar. Nancy was a coworker of mine when I worked at my very first job in high school. It had been years since I've last seen or even had contact with her, but through the magic of Facebook... these things tend to be possible.

She had texted me and wanted to meet up, so I told her I was at the bar with friends.

Nancy and I weren't extremely close when we worked together at the movie theater, but I do remember sharing good conversations with her while we slaved together cleaning out the greasy popcorn popper.

She was much more attractive than I remembered her; I guess people tend to grow up and change physically from high school to post college, eh? Or maybe she looked better when she wasn't wearing that beloved movie theater uniform: the vest. In any case, she had a pretty smile, ample bosom, and cute freckles. Nancy had grown up.

Nancy gave me a hug and I bought us a round of shots to start the night off. It was fun catching up with her and reminiscing over our movie theater days. I was starting to feel pretty confident about the situation. We were both drinking (heavily) and the conversation never had an awkward moment.

At some point in the night, Leo took notice of this and pulled me aside.

Leo: So what's going on? Think something might happen with you and Nancy?
So@24: I dunno... maybe?
Leo: I think you're doing alright. Remember: cool as a cucumber, baby. Cool as a cucumber.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. I mingled with old friends, bought rounds of shots, introduced Nancy to a few choice members of the old gang, etc.

However, as fun and light as my exchange with Nancy was all evening... my Spidey Sense was tingling and not in the good way. I think this sixth sense develops when you're single. If you have to question whether or not the girl is interested: she's probably not. I had a feeling Nancy's interest were elsewhere...

Nancy: So your friend Leo is pretty cute.
So@24: Ahhhh... yeah, he gets that a lot. He's a good guy.
Nancy: What do you think?? Should I go talk to him?
So@24: Sure, go for broke.
Nancy: I just ordered you and I drinks, I'll be right back!

Leo was at a different part of the bar, catching up with our friend Markus. Nancy jumped out of her bar stool and bounced in his direction. I wasn't too upset, this was a situation I've run into before. I raised my whiskey and coke and downed it in just a few gulps.

Moments later, Leo tapped me on the shoulder.

Leo: How's it going with Nancy?
So@24: She's not into me!
Leo: Really? I thought things were going pretty well.
So@24: She's into you, you bastard.
Leo: Oh fuck that.
So@24: Eh. It's not a big deal.

Leo left to rejoin our friend Markus. I turned back to my conversation with my cousin Mimi and other friends.

I felt another tap on my shoulder again. It was Leo.

Leo: I just kissed Markus.
So@24: ... ... what?
Leo: I told Nancy that Markus and I were a couple.
So@24: You told Nancy you were gay??
Leo: Hahaha! Yeah! She didn't believe me and called me out, so I grabbed Markus and gave him a big long kiss.

I choked on my drink and busted up laughing.

So@24: Wow. Just. Wow. You really didn't need to do that, man. I wasn't that into her.
Leo: Eh fuck it. It was pretty funny. You should have seen the look on her face. Fucking priceless.
So@24: A for Effort, but I don't think I'm down with being "default". I still got your next drink though, you fucking weirdo.

Leo threw an arm around me and lead me back to the bar.

Leo: Besides, she wasn't that cool anyway. We still got New Years to look forward to.


I've heard of friends talking up their buddy to girls. I've heard of friends taking home "the ugly girl" in order to help out their friend in need.

But I've never, ever heard of a friend kissing another guy as a means of helping his buddy get the girl.

Maybe Leo is a better wingman than I thought.

Nostalgia Goes the Way of Old Yeller

I'm an extremely nostalgic person.

I'm a pack rat for all things that will tie me to some memory of the past. And it used to irritate the hell out of my old roommate Leo. When he'd help me load milk crates of my possessions during a move, he'd pick every single thing apart.

Leo: Okay, why in God's name do you have this?
So@24: That's a squirt gun my first crush in 4th grade used to spray me

Leo: I can't believe you still have this old picture of you and I. Did we really think it was acceptable to wear socks with our Samba sandals?
So@24: It's memories, man.

Leo: Oh fuck! What the hell is this??
So@24: It's a piece of a gingerbread house Lynn and I made once.
Leo: Dude. Throw this away.
So@24: No. Memories.


I'm the guy who stays in constant contact with his elementary school friends. I hate the idea of people who were once close just forgetting each other because of time. It's always been a quirk of mine that's very distinctive to me.

* * *

When I was at Chardy's party, I was anxiously awaiting another incoming drunk text from Dizzy. My cellphone beeped at me, declaring that the "Inbox was Full". I felt it was a good of time as any to clear out the bad boy.

I came toward the end of my list, I found a text message from a number I didn't recognize. A 503 area code. Well, that could have been anyone from my hometown. It was from the beginning of the year, a really nice text which is probably why I had such a difficult time deleting it:

hey you. it was great seeing you, i'm only sad that you live so far. miss you.

"Huh," my drunk ass thought to myself. "Who the hell is this?" I couldn't for the life of me figure out who it could be. So naturally, I texted the number:

Who the hell is this?

I never got a response back. But my goldfish memory didn't think twice about it for the remainder of the night. I was too busy making an ass out of myself (via text) to Dizzy anyway.

* * *

The mystery would not be solved until the next morning. I awoke to the sun piercing through my blinds disturbing my dull hangover and my cellphone vibrating on my chest

1 text message from the mystery number:

beth.

Goddammit, So@24. The answer was so clear in hindsight; I just haven't thought about Beth in "for. ev. er." (said like Michael "Squints" Palledorus). I had deleted her from my contacts after our last encounter and never looked back. But her number was saved due to an old forgotten text message I saved this whole time.

I took a moment to just think.

My friend once told me of this "Bucket Theory". I'll butcher it I'm sure, but basically it states that everyone is essentially a bucket filled with liquid. It takes a little bit of our liquid to be friends with people in our lives. We give our liquid, our friends take our liquid; it's a balance.

Unfortunately, there are those people we let enter our circle who take more liquid than give of their own and it never balances out. This is when you need to let these people go.

This is especially hard for me, keeping in mind my personality and how much I like to value memories and the past.

I took it a step further. This is something that I need to get used to; something that becomes normal in the dating world. You can't always stay friends with everyone who meant something to you at some point. Sometimes it fades for reasons out of your control and you're doing a disservice to yourself by hoping things will turn around.

It's interesting to go back and think about my time with Beth. We had some great times; she was extremely important at a point in my life... there was time when I thought that she would be my next relationship. But when you grow up, your friends need to be more than just the kid down the street who also an unnatural obsession with Army Ants. It has to be something more. Beth took and never gave.

People have learned how to do this before during the crucial dating years. It's nothing new to people my age, it's what you just do. You can date someone and share some pretty fucking intimate moments, say some pretty fucking intimate things, but something goes wrong and you might never speak to that person again. I guess this is something I'm just getting used to now. I can't always hold on for holding on's sake.

It took me awhile to really think about what I wanted to say back. I didn't want her to think I wanted to reconnect or that I was extending the olive branch. But I also didn't want to come off as a total dick. I ultimately decided on this:

Sorry, I was clearing out my inbox and didn't recognize the number.
Hope things are well.

I hit send and deleted that old text message. I doubt I'll hear from her again.

I let her go.

One in Six...

I never thought I was going to hear from Amber again. Our last encounter wasn't anything particularly spectacular. The entire experience was like oatmeal. I mean, I never put up a fuss when breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal, but it will always be... well... just oatmeal.

I received a text message from her the following night. It was 11:00pm and she was reminding me that she still had my shorts and t-shirt that I let her borrow. Did I want to go over to her place and pick them up?

"All Signs Point to Yes", Magic 8 Ball.

During my drive, I kept getting phone calls from Amber.

Amber: Where aaaaaaaaaaare you?
So@24: You just called me 10 minutes ago. I'm on my way.
Amber: Well hurry up and Tokyo drift your ass over here, boy!

Well then. She was indeed drunk. Very drunk.

When I arrived at the steps of Amber's apartment, I could already hear the cacophony that always accompanies booze-fueled gatherings.

Amber and her friends gave me a warm welcome, but I immediately knew I was out of place. Their jokes were crass and juvenile, there was a drunk dude slumped over, completely passed out. In a word, the whole scene was trashy.

Amber presented me a shot of rum and a tall can of Monster energy drink.

"Play catch up," she smiled.

I was not going to argue with that. I was definitely an uncomfortable stranger in an even stranger land. This was solidified when the hooded drunkard suddenly popped up, grabbed the car keys and ran out the door. Amber's friend took off after him saying, "He's going to drive drunk again. I hate when he does this shit."

And then... we were alone.

What the fuck was I doing here?

Amber and I both took a few more shots and I found myself in the middle of a second make out session.

It got a little more heated this time, but again... my instinct was telling me that something was off here. And no, it was not a matter of me trying to force my mitts in places and her having to push me away. It was completely based off that feeling you get.

When she traced her finger along the waistband of my boxers shorts, I almost melted on the spot (let's go ahead throw that up there to the recently-growing list of "things I miss about girls").

But she stopped there.

My mind was racing. I know I've been out of the game for quite sometime now, but something wasn't adding up. With a pinch of frustration and a giant dollop of confusion, I rolled over and let the remaining rum in my system put me to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I threw on my wrinkled jeans and wrapped my watch around my wrist. Like the night before, the conversation and atmosphere wasn't at all awkward or uncomfortable. As I was stepping over her giant mounds of clothes, I caught a glimpse of her creamsicle colored vibrator. "What the...? What is this girl's deal..."

I gave Amber a hug, thanked her for the drinks and was about to step out the door when she asked, "Could you take a seat?"

So@24: Uh... sure.
Amber: I just wanted to explain about the last couple of nights. I have a problem with intimacy because I was raped last year.




I instantly broke out into a cold sweat. My combined time of hanging out with Amber was less than 48 hours; I didn't know anything about her. I had absolutely NO idea what to say.

So@24: Hey, you don't need to explain anything to me. I had a good time.
Amber: I usually don't mention it. Guys just think I don't like them, but I didn't want you to think it was you.

I was completely caught off guard, I didn't know if what I said came off well or if I even said the right things. What are you supposed to say? I've never known anyone personally who has gone through such a traumatic experience.

My brain was going a mile a minute during my long drive home. This was something I naively never thought I would encounter when I reemerged in the dating world. Never even crossed my mind. Statistics show 1 in 6 women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. It's a very ugly reality, but... it happens more than people (including me) realize.

After a physical recovery, Amber is still a twentysomething woman who deserves to be able to date and have sex. And to have that taken away from her is incredibly sad.

As someone who has a lot of good girl friends, it's heavy stuff to think about, but all the more reason to acknowledge it.

Dating. Fuck. You have to be prepared for that occasional knuckle ball.

I Forgot How to Transition

Amber spotted my Shepard Fairey poster mounted on the wall.

"So, did you vote for Obama?"

I sensed the disdain in Amber's question and I didn't like it. I raised an eyebrow and pushed my tongue forcefully to the inside of my cheek.

"Why yes I did. Who did you vote for?" She had only been in my place for 10 minutes. This was already over before it begun.

Amber: Well, I actually didn't like either candidate.

So@24's Inner Monologue: Alright, time for the backup chute.

So@24: What did you think about Prop 8?
Amber: Oh it was a tragedy that it passed.

Whew. Alright. I can focus on that.

This exchange would prove to be perfect foreshadowing for rest of the evening. Me forcefully looking the other way about a variety of Amber's "quirks" and trying to zero in on the stuff that just "wasn't so bad".

This was to be expected, I knew that coming in.

Amber was not as bad as I had remembered her. Perhaps in those two years she matured a little bit. But she still has a long way to go.

We both had little to go off of so the main focus of conversation turned to an unspoken agreement of "well, let's take shots of alcohol and see where it takes us". This was just going to be physical. But we already knew that. Wink.

I invited my friend Jenny and her boyfriend Danny to join us. I knew ahead of time Amber and I would run out of things to bullshit about, so I needed the extra support. The restaurant we agreed to meet at was busy, so Danny came up with the great suggestion of heading back to Sexy Dojo and ordering in pizza.

As the tally of rum shots began to climb, so did my perspective of what Leo has been trying to tell me for the past few years. I was beginning to see through his lenses. I didn't really care what happened at the end of the night either way. If she wanted to stay over, great. If she didn't, well that was fine too. When you don't care either way, when nothing is really invested; your confidence level sky rockets.

So after Jenny and Danny leave and after about shot 8, I go in for the kiss and a make out session began.

However. I forgot how to transition.

Amber was wearing one of those dresses where the giant belt comes right up under her boobs. Her boobs were pouring out of the top like an opened can of Pop n' Fresh. It was actually quite beautiful. I almost wept.

I digress. The problem was, I forgot how you move from making out to... well, other things. Especially when the girl is wearing a dress with a giant, awkward belt. And, let's be serious, the dress is essentially just a giant piece of cloth. It's very difficult to maneuver.

When she was kissing my neck, I actually furrowed my brow and contorted my face trying to work out how I was going to solve this dilemma. I haven't had to solve a problem this difficult since my days of The Incredible Machine.

And like The Incredible Machine, when I couldn't get those fucking pulleys to work in my favor, I succumbed to my frustration and gave up. It came back to me (very quickly) what it is like to make out with someone and have to try and gauge their responses... to read into their ever action in order to figure out if they want to go further. You have to go with your gut and while we were having a good time drunkenly sucking face, I got the sense she was content with where we were at.

When I was in the comfort of a committed relationship, I remember hearing stories from people saying "We just made out. Nothing else." I grabbed my sides and pointed at my friends, laughing at their misfortune. "How can you just make out?? We're not 7th graders. We're adults now. I just can't visualize a scenario where it just stops at making out? It's impossible."

I got a giant dose of my own medicine. Because I learned that it's very possible.

Again, I was fine with it. I didn't care either way. A makeout sesh was cool. We passed out like drunk kittens. She left in the morning without any awkward goodbyes.

I forgot how much I miss girl hair. The smell. And nothing beats running your fingers through it.

Good shit.

Rum Makes Me Spit Mad Game

You ever go to a really big party? A farewell party for your best friend?

And you take a lot of rum shots?

And then you find out later that you said and/or did some really cool things? Especially to the opposite sex?

"Friends" of mine recently uncovered three gems from Leo's party on Saturday.

I can't make this shit up.

1. A cute girl named Viola was in attendance. All throughout the night I harassed her by bellowing across the party, "Viiiiiiiiiiiii-OHHHHHHHH-LAAAAAAAAAA!"



I'm not sure why in my inebriated state I thought to pull out an old Ricola commercial and change it up Weird Al style to incorporate her name into it.

Apparently I think I'm being witty/original and that girls like their unique sounding names associated with commercials about Swiss mountaineers shouting about their cough drops through a large alphorn.

2.
3. So@24: Hey Marie! Glad you could make it to the party!
Marie: Absolutely. Wow, were you just dancing to Micheal Jackson's "Beat It"? Alone?
So@24: Whoa, your shoulder is really soft.
Marie: Thanks.
So@24: It's like, dickskin soft.
Marie: Did you just say that my shoulder is dickskin soft?
So@24: You know how dickskin is really soft?
Marie: Yeah I guess it is.
So@24: See? It's a compliment.

I rule.

Girls Will Always Drive You To Drink

The vibrations of my cell startled me from my hangover nap. It was Lynn, so I decided to peel myself off the couch and step out on my porch.

Lynn: Sorry I had to get off the phone so abruptly the other night.
So@24: -taking a giant swig of Vitamin Water- No, no, I knew you had company... you were just listening to me ramble on anyway.
Lynn: Rough night last night? You sound terrible.
So@24: Hoo doggy...

And so I told my ex-girlfriend (in great, morbid detail) of what I did on the afternoon of July 4th.

* * *

It had been a particularly low week for me. Minor, opposite-sex issues had caused a contemplative storm cloud to hover over my head the last few days. Jenny suggested Leo and I spend the weekend with her for the 4th of July.

Bless her heart.

Jenny's promise of broads, boobs, and booze was not an exaggeration. I had no idea the beach towns of Manhattan & Hermosa Beach took the day of America's independence so seriously. Leo and I both pinched each other as we stepped out into what had to have been the scene of a cliche'd college, sex, beach comedy.

Jenny, Leo and I joined Jenny's friends at the first beach-side bar for the first stop of the pub crawl. I had made a commitment to myself I was going to have a great time. I was not going to go into over-analytical mode in classic So@24 fashion. I was not going to spend my 4th, sipping a pint, sitting in the corner with a furrowed, confused, sharpee-esque countenance as I pondered over the mysteries of women.

I was going to get drunk. Flirt with some cute girls. And drink some more.

Unfortunately, you can't always tell that thought-provoking storm cloud to "back the fuck up" by drinking. More often than not, you think you can drown it and unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. Ever. I don't know why I always think it will work.

Things start to get fuzzy around bar 3 in the pub crawl.

Flash! I remember buying rounds of Touch Downs (oh God, I just threw up in my mouth typing that...).

Flash! I remember downing a Bloody Mary.

Flash! I remember filling Leo's cup full of beer after an intense game of Flip Cup at bar 2.

Flash! I remember flipping the winning cup for the round and giving this cute girl, Leo and I had eyed ealier, a double high five. This was just the remedy I was looking for!

Flash! I can't open my eyes, because they are encrusted with sand. My mouth is full of sand. Leo is cradling my head in his lap. Am I on the fucking beach? I am on the fucking beach. The afternoon sun is blinding even through the cracks in the wooden pier. Jenny is standing a few feet away with Rye crackers and a bottle of water.


Leo: Jesus Christ, So. What the fuck happened?
So@24: garble, garble, garble.
Leo: We've been looking for you for hours! Can you get up?
So@24: Just... leave me.
Leo: Leave no man behind!
Jenny: Drink this.

When the water hit my throat, I wretched. I suddenly realized the dark, moist sand I was laying in was not due to the ocean... but the entire contents of my stomach. A mixture of bile and alcohol.

Jenny: Look at your poor face, So. Your capillaries around your eyes burst. You look like a raccoon.

As Leo took his bare hand and wiped the drool and bile from my mouth, clearing away the caked sand from my face... I looked into the concerned face of Jenny and thought:

"No girl-issue is worth this shit."

Leo and Jenny, knowing that there is no way any cabbie would have me as their passenger, hailed a rickshaw to take us back to Jenny's apartment. I slumped over the side, puking into Jenny's newly, purchased tank top as the rickshaw bounced up and down the Manhattan Beach streets.

Leo: Oh, hey. Remember that cute girl we were talking to? Turns out she has a boyfriend.
So@24: Figures. ... ... -pukes-

* * *

Lynn: I can't remember the last time you drank like that. I knew it had to be girl-stuff.
Lynn: You know if we were still dating, I would have to killed you if you came to me with a story like this.
So@24: Hahaha! If we were still dating, I probably wouldn't been in a place where I'd blackout. Or at least you would have been holding my hair back?
Lynn: Hahaha, you know I would.

The Plight of a Phone Call

Well. I was supposed to make a phone call.

If you want the short story or want to save yourself scanning through just another drunken So@24 story the answer is: the call never got made.

I know, I know. You think it's because I got too drunk, right? And if you're thinking this... you're half right.

Here's my story...

Alcohol has the ability to make someone more self-confident or daring; they may become more friendly or talkative, and/or social. I pulled this directly from here and if it's Wikipedia, you know it's true.

I was a bit nervous before making this phone call. So I thought, "why not just have a few drinks to calm my jangled nerves?" Leo, Leroy and I already made plans to go to one of our old watering holes anyway.

Turns out a few drinks turned into 3 shots of Early Times whiskey with Leroy and then 3 Newcastles with Leo at the bar. I think it was safe to say that my nerves were gone and I was ready to make the call. Unfortunately, with the timezone difference, I would have given her quite a wakeup call... at 8:00am on a Saturday.

As much as Leo & Jack kept trying to explain this to me, I am not a patient man... especially when the booze hits me. I think at one point, Leo took my phone away, "Dude. She's going to hate you for calling so early! Is this the kind of first impression you want to give?"

I finally got dropped off at home and sat alone at the kitchen table. I was alone, as Leo had stayed behind, and I was trying to make the blurry calling card instructions UNblurry by squinting. I hear that works.

I got an error message at least 8 times. Finally I called the 24 hour service on the back of the card.

Operator: How can I help you, sir?
So@24: Your card isn't working. I can't call my friend! She's waiting for this call!
Operator: What's the number?
So@24: XX-XXX-XXXX
Operator: That's a cellphone number. You know you can't call a cellphone number using this card, right?
So@24: What kind of racket is this?? I want my $20 back!
Operator: Are you drunk?
So@24: Are you??
Operator: I'm going now.
So@24: Wait... waaaaaaaaaaaait!

*click*

I shut off the kitchen light and checked the ol' bloggy for new comments. One of my commenters left me with a tip for another international calling service... success!

I purchased $10 worth of credits. I would not be defeated so easily. This time the phone was ringing! My heart was racing a mile a minute. I was starting to sweat. This was it.

"I'm sorry. This service is not available at this time. Please try again later."*

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I didn't know what else to do. And my head was spinning. I sent off an email letting Caitlin know that I at least tried.

The next few hours I experienced that kind of sleep you have when you're 7 years old on Christmas eve or the night before a major final. The kind where you wake up every couple of hours.

The first time I woke up was 4:45am... my mouth was dry, my head throbbing, my memory hazy, and I was fully dressed on top of my sheets clutching my cellphone, a crumpled phone card, and Caitlin's number scribbled hastily on a ripped, scrap of paper.

I woke up again at 7:16am, and then finally 8:30am checking my inbox to see if I had received a response.**

She had emailed me and when she got online, we tried troubleshooting why the call didn't go through.

Our deduction? Turns out a cellphone in one country won't work in another country. Who knew?

I can't remember the last time I jumped through this many hoops to make a phone call.






* a female voice with an Irish accent. Close enough, I suppose.
** Yeah, I know I might be showing too many of my cards too early since she has access to this blog, but fuck it... the blog is censored for no one!

Girls Don't Go Home With Guys Who Sing Grease

I'm not sure how the subject came up, but this afternoon my good friend Chardsy and I started to discuss karaoke.

Everyone has their own set of rules when it comes to karaoke.

Some people only pick the crowdpleasers. You know, the songs that everyone has heard a million times: Journey's "Don't Stop Believing", Billy Joel's "Piano Man", or B-52's "Love Shack".

Some people only pick songs that no one knows and thus the crowd hates.

Some people are able to find that delicate, Goldilocks balance where they find one that everyone knows, but no one ever thinks to sing.

I guess you can say that I'm a bit of snob when it comes to karaoke. There is one trend that always bugs me. And I usually grit my teeth, clench my fists until their white, and wait until the songs complete.

Everyone has seen this. Some girl has convinced her boyfriend (or some random dude at the bar) to sign them both up to sing some Grease duet. He's reluctant as fuck, but he has to because he thinks if he actually goes through with it, he might (just might!) have a chance of getting his grubby paws into her honey pot.

I'm at a bar with some friends. I'm definitely not okay to operate heavy machinery. And I can already see it playing out. This girl drags some dude on stage by his hand and "Summer Nights" starts up.

I slam a shot of tequila and drunkenly swing my head toward stage.

So@24's innermonologue: This girl is good. She knows the lyrics. She's putting on a show for the audience, doesn't look at the screen once. She's even moving like Sandy. This chauncy thinks he can just wing it.

Dude's innermonologue: The lyrics on the screen! I can get through this unscathed.

So@24's innermonologue: Wrong buddy. You're fucking wrong.

The background parts even come up with the T-Birds, but does our potentially-lucky friend sing them?

So@24's innermonologue: Of course not. Those lyrics aren't on the screen and he doesn't know the song. This is painful.

So@24: I gotta go up there.
Leo: What?
So@24: I've sat back too long watching this.
Leo: Watching what exactly? This happy couple singing a duet?
So@24: He's killing this potentially epic performance! I'm going up there. -peels off hoodie- They need me.
Leo: -smile quickly fades- No man. Please don't go up... okay you're going.

I chug my PBR and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. It's go time.

I crawl up on stage. The girl's eyes are wide with terror and her boy stops singing immediately.

So@24: Let me take over. I got this.

I'm still shocked I didn't get a well-deserved punch to my face. Maybe he was glad to give up the mic.

I quickly win back the audience. The girl's eyes of horror quickly turn to approval. I'm singing the Danny parts. She's singing the Sandy parts. Her friends are cheering. Bar flies are cheering. Everything is going exactly how I imagined it would.

When the song ends, I hop off the stage. Triumphant. I'm a goddamn American hero. Leo shakes his head in disbelief, but pats me on the shoulder and hands me another beer. The girl hops off into the arms of the dude I just upstaged.

* * *

What's the point of this long winded story?

The point is, when you're single, you can't get away with this kind of shit. When I had a steady girlfriend, I could act like a complete ass and sing musicals in public settings. The result was always the same. Maybe a girlfriend who was a bit humiliated and covered her blanched face. Who hit me in the shoulder for putting her through that, laughed, and then kissed my cheek. Hell, she might even thought it was cute. At the end, she was still mine no matter what I did.

It's not like that anymore. I find myself in this constant state of awareness, much like a rodent in an open field. Constantly making sure I'm saying the right thing, wearing the right clothes, presenting myself in an attractive light.

I can't get away with singing Grease songs in public.

You gotta know the backups.

Chardsy: So, did you finish the song in a high pitch with your arm straight up in the air or what?
So@24: Doy.

Meeting Bloggers Can Prepare You For The Real Thing

If you would have told me a year ago that I would meet face to face with readers of my blog, I would have "hardy har har"'d your ass and gone back to chugging my Schlitz.

However, an email from Martini asking me to meet up with her and Lady Luck at a bar in West Hollywood caught my attention. Leo, Leroy and I drove out to the bar and a manager stopped us at the kiosk.

Manager: Who are you here to see?

Leo & Leroy both turned to me.

So@24: Oh. Uhm. I actually, don't know their names...

-Manager raises eyebrow-

Manager: You can wait at the bar until your "friends" arrive.

We saddled up to the bar and I started to scan the room.

So@24: Well, now what?
Leo: Why are you asking me?? This is your operation, chief. Did she write her name in the email?
So@24: She signed it "Martini". That's all I got.
Leo: What about a phone number?
So@24: Nope. That was it.
Leo: Good luck with that buddy. Off you go.

I zigzagged around the bar like Billy in the Family Circus.

awkward wanderings

Nothing looked promising. I returned to the bar defeated.

So@24: This was a dumb idea guys. I'm sorry, let's just go.
Leo: What about those two girls standing there?

Sure enough, at the end of the bar, are two attractive girls sipping drinks. One of them happened to be drinking a martini.

So@24: Well, they said there would be other bloggers here. But maybe they are here by themselves?

But look!

Wait. Don't look now. One of them just looked at me. Wait. Wait.

Okay look now. One of them is drinking a martini! Dude! It's a code!
Leo: Only one way to find out.

...

...

Leo: Well??

I turned my back to the girls so they can't see me talking about them.

So@24: (in a loud whisper) You want me to go over there? What am I supposed to say?? "Hey, are you bloggers?" This is stupid, let's just go.
Leo: We came all the way out here! You're going!
So@24: Why don't you do it? You're good at this type of thing.
Leo: No way, this is all you kimosabe.
So@24: Goddammit.

I'm furiously chewing my nails and peek around Leo to get another look at the girls.

It's gotta be them. It has to. I mean... right?

So@24: Alright. Give me your beer.

-glug glug glug-
-wipes mouth with back of hand-
-slams down pint glass-

So@24's inner monologue: Why does this feel like a blind date? What am I supposed to say without sounding like a complete douche? Nothing. Your "go to" is about BLOGGING. You got nothing. God. Maybe this is what it's like to approach strange women at bars. No shit, Sherlock. You ARE approaching strange women... at a bar. Alright wrap this monologue up, you've been standing in front of these two girls for what seems like 2 years and you are just staring at them. They're staring, they're staring, they're staring... Here goes...

So@24: Are you here for the blogging convention?

So@24's inner monologue: Nice.

Girls: Huh? A what? Blogging convention?
So@24: Wait. Let's scratch the word "convention". Can we start over? Uh... I... uh... am supposed to meet these bloggers here.

...

I promise you I'm not trying to do some terrible pick-up line.
Girls: What's a blog?
So@24's inner monologue: Oh Jesus.
So@24: Sorry, this must have been a big mistake. Forget it.
Girls: Explain it. Like Perez Hilton?

I turn to Leo and Leroy. "Help me!" I mouth in absolute terror. I can feel the beads of sweat starting to form. Where is an empty paper sack to heavily breathe into when you need one??

So@24: Uh kinda.
Girls: Well what do you write about?
So@24's inner monologue: ABANDON SHIP! ... but don't mention that you write about being single. Seriously. Don't do it.

And so this extremely awkward exchange continued. Leo and Leroy at one point, step in and try to explain to the girls what blogs were and I would interject occasionally with, "Are you guys fucking with me?" I tried to lock eyes with one of the girls in hopes that they'd give away a hint that they knew who I was.

I was just about to swear off women altogether when one of the girls asked to see Leo's driver's license.

Girl: Hmmmm... I thought your name was "Leo"?

-coy smirks from both girls-

Goddammit.

Turns out that Martini and Lady Luck are complete sadists and enjoyed watching me squirm like a sweaty gerbil. So cruel. So, so cruel.

I suppose a valuable lesson can be learned from this situation:

Approaching members of the opposite sex in a social setting won't result in me spontaneously combusting.

Although I came damn-near close to doing so.

Welp. Time to get drunk and make some friends.

a blogging convention.

Tequila, Tequila, Tequid64ncZShkcskldfz

"Yep, we're only drinking tequila for my birthday. That's the rule."

"Well. This should be interesting."

With a "strictly tequila" night, things are going to get a little nutty. Especially when it's celebrating one of my friends from college (sorority sisters w/ Beth actually), Jenny's birthday. Living in Manhattan Beach, we both find it hard to meet up, but when we do I always a great time.

Of course, what is a celebration without bringing my partners in crime Leo, Jack, and my old roommate Kevin with me (Leroy had a girlfriend night)? We crammed into The Honey Wagon IV, my sweet ride if you really want to know, and headed to the beach.

Jose Cuervo and I were best pals that evening. After tangoing with him for the early part of the evening, we moved to a bar to do some real dancing.

I don't dance. Unless I'm tanked. Just as I had a pint of Newcastle to my lips, Jenny grabbed me by the hand and tugged me into the crowd of dancers, sloshing my beer on the bar floor. Leo and I both agree that there's something amazing about a drunk girl, grabbing your hand and leading you to the dance floor (even though she's just a friend).

I can't remember the last time I danced, but I forgot how much it can be. Although I can guarantee Jenny and I tearing up the dance floor was not the least bit graceful. But fuck. Hands on a girl's hips, spinning her, dipping her... that's the good stuff I miss. Reminds me of the very few times Lynn and I danced. I'll admit I got a little nostalgic about frat dances and even high school proms w/ Lynn. I'll blame it on the booze.

get down.

The tequila sloshing around wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, but I could tell that Leo, Jack, and Kevin were getting tired of watching me flailing around like an idiot. It was time to go.

But before we got into the car, we decided it would be a good idea to run around on the beach like drunken idiots. For some reason, I take this time to call Lynn. We have a pleasant 10 minute drunken conversation... we are both drunk and we make each other laugh over something that probably wasn't all that funny.

When we get home, I overhear Leo lay down some serious game; we're talking epic. This guy doesn't fuck around, I swear to you I can't make this stuff up. I eavesdrop on a conversation Leo has with one of his bootycalls.

Leo: I think you should come over and take your clothes off.
[brief pause for response]
Leo: Because I want to see you naked.
[brief pause for response]
Leo: Okay, my address is...

I'm telling you, homeboy is that good.

I wake up at 11:00am with a call from Jenny and a terrible hangover that can only be created through tequila.

"You bastard, Jose. You win again."

Jenny: Thanks for leaving me last night!
So@24: What did I do??
Jenny:: I chalked up another number. With my neighbor.
So@24: It was your birthday! Who cares? Enjoy the moment.
Jenny:: Guh. If I had you there this wouldn't have happened!

Hear that, parents? Your daughters are safe with me!

Oh. What's this? I have a text message from Beth. Balls. And the following text exchange occurs:

Beth: Um. I just got your message.
So@24: Oh? What did I text?
Beth: You didn't text. Voicemail.
So@24: Oh boy. What did I say?
Beth: You really don't remember?
So@24: I didn't even know my own name last night.
Beth: You rapped.

Go me.

The Wedding Pt. 2: Is There a Problem, Officer?

Beth and I woke up to a beautiful Portland afternoon. And as much as we wanted to spend the rest of the day lying around in bed, we had a wedding to prepare for.

Our first stop was the liquor store; this was the night we were going to go all out. Because the wedding was "cash bar only" (lame) and we knew that we had to take the Portland MAX to get to the church, we purchased 3 pints of whiskey.

Beth had to get formal flats for the wedding; we stopped in a store and did so. I had a hankering for some ice cream, so as we continued running errands we passed back and forth a scoop of lemon aid sorbet in a sugar cone. I still needed a gift. We swung by Kitchen Kaboodle and I quickly grabbed a certificate. It was lunch time and an outdoor cafe' looked like just the spot.

The previous paragraph is so saccharine, I would not be surprised if readers had to reach over and puke into the nearest trash receptacle. But running errands on a Saturday afternoon in gorgeous weather with a cute girl is something I haven't done for quite sometime. And I can admit that it was fun, among the other things I've missed about being in a relationship.

After lunch, I was in desperate need for a nap (fine, it was probably the giant Bloody Marys we had) and passed out face down on her bed. And for the next hour, Beth sat next to me talking to her mom on the phone, while I snoozed.

It was getting close to game time. I grabbed my dress clothes and stared in horror when I pulled a terribly wrinkled dress shirt from my overstuffed suitcase.

So@24: Oh great. I can't iron worth shit!
Beth: Give it to me.
So@24: Are you sure??
Beth:: I don't mind, I promise! Go get in the shower.

While Beth ironed, I scribbled directions to the church from the MAX station. An hour later, Beth was putting the finishing touches on her makeup and I was pouring a pint of whiskey into a bottle of 7 Up.

The MAX was a fun ride and to pass the time, we took swigs of our 7 & 7.

Our stop was in the middle of absolutely nowhere. We seemed to be in some type of industrial area, so we walked down a barren street trying to find the church. After finally finding the church, we realized we were early.

Beth: Oh look! There's a bar right across the street. Think we have time for a beer?
So@24: Absolutely.

I imagine we looked ridiculously out of place, swilling beers in our dress clothes and immediately to our right was a table of stereotypical townsfolk: clearly underage, wearing hoodies of colleges they never attended, discussing how difficult it was to find a sitter for the night. We slammed our beers and headed into the wedding.

The wedding was "okay", nothing to write home about. I was surprised at how little people from high school actually attended. Beth tugged on my arm at one point and said, "If you introduce me as 'my friend' Beth one more time, you're dead!"

"Alright! Sorry! Sorry!", I laughed back at her.

I found one of my old wrestling buddies and the remainder of the night was spent slamming shots of whiskey with him, his girlfriend, and Beth. Did I mention Beth and I polished off our 7 & 7? Whoops.

Soon, the couple was leaving the wedding and thinking I must have time traveled via whiskey, I checked my watch. 11:30? Damn this was a fast wedding. We didn't even get to dance!

Disclaimer: Shit goes down. Seriously.

This is when the night gets a little hazy and takes an utterly disastrous turn for the worst. In fact I can't even think of how to transition into the next part.

Beth and I are:

1. in the middle of nowhere (industrial area with little to no street lights)
   
2. bellies full of whiskey
3. yelling at each other about every single skeleton in the closet we could possibly bring up about our dark, tangled, relatively unspoken history.
   

At the climax of our screaming match, I am in the middle of the road yelling after Beth who is storming off,

"I can't believe I jeopardized my relationship with Lynn to maintain this friendship! Look where it's gotten me!"

Beth: Don't follow me! You're finding your own way home!
So@24: Fine!

I'm not sure how much time elapsed, but I realize that I have no idea how to get to ANY place where a cab could find me. Besides, all my shit is at Beth's apartment. I don't know where I am. Even worse, I just let a girl stumble off into alone, in a strange, dimly lit, industrial area.

Good fucking work, So@24.

With my dress shirt half unbuttoned, I run my hand through my messy hair, and start off in the general direction where Beth stormed off.

I don't have to go far before I see cop lights flashing. Approaching the cop car, I see Beth is wiping away tears talking to a police officer.

Fuck me.

So@24: What's going on? Is there a problem, Officer?
5-0: Stay right there, sir. I'll need to see your ID. [to Beth] Is this the gentleman you were arguing with?
Beth: Yes.
5-0: [speaking into the radio on his shoulder] I've located the young man. Looks like we have some kind of dispute going on here.
So@24: [through gritted teeth] Jesus Christ, Beth.
5-0: I'm going to call you both separate cabs. Is this man a threat to you?
Beth: No, Officer. He's my friend. We just got into a fight. We'll take separate cabs back.
So@24: No, we won't. We don't need to take separate cabs.
5-0: I think it would be better if you did.

I shot daggers at Beth.

Beth: We can take one cab.
5-0: Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured.
Beth: Yes. We'll be fine.

The cop points to an area where a cab will pick us both up.

Of course, we don't go there. We continue our argument, but this time I'm livid that this cop thought I was a threat to her. Beth explains that he just stopped her when he saw she was walking alone.

Fast forward 20 minutes.

We end up in some strip mall parking lot, sitting on a curb, calming talking through all our shit. In the middle of our heart to heart, two bar flies approach us. We both grumble and immediately stop our conversation to appease these two drunks (pot calling kettle black, I know). We play nice.

Their cab pulls into the parking lot and they offer to share their cab with us. Fine. We get in and bum a ride off of them before directing the cabbie to drive us back to downtown Portland. One of the guys nudges me with his dirty elbow and whispers, "Hoo wee. You did some good work, scoring with this one." He winks and points to the front seat where Beth is sitting.

"Thanks."

After what seems like hours, we pull up to Beth's apartment. We tumble into her room; she puts her blond hair into a pony tail and changes into shorts and a t shirt. I strip to my boxers.

We stay up talking for a little longer... but at one point look each other and our let our eyes do the talking, "I'm tired. You're tired. We're both fucking wasted. I'm sorry. Let's just go to bed".

Sleep comes to us easily.

***

That same afternoon sun wakes us up. I groggily reach over Beth and grab a bottle of Orangina and finish half a bottle with no more than 3 giant gulps. We lie in bed staring at the ceiling before Beth starts to speak.

Beth: I don't want to get drunk like that with you again.
So@24: Yeah. I think that's a good idea.
Beth: Friday night was perfect. Last night was terrible.
So@24: No argument here.

Her and I talk more about last night, but instead of shedding light on anything... we are left with more questions than answers. But to not spoil my last few hours in Portland and to salvage what little time we had left, we bury the hatchet.

Things will not be the same.

Think it is safe to say, this may be the last of Beth.

The Wedding Pt. 1: Breaking the Rules

I should have been able to predict the future events as the foreshadowing played right before me as I stepped off the plane into Portland.

"There are a lot of blond-girl-with-asian-guy couples hanging out in this terminal. Weird."

I took a spendy cab to Powell's bookstore and stumbled upon a fucking gem that I'm going to purchase soon (when I can afford to eat more than cans of tuna for dinner). I actually found myself laughing out loud, thumbing through mini-essays of Things I've Learned From the Women Who Dumped Me while waiting for Beth to get out of work.

As I saw her coming up the crosswalk to meet me, I could feel my heart in my throat. She had her trademark sideways smile on her face that I've always loved and her blond locks slightly bouncing with each step. And she remembered to wear flats. Fuck, she remembered to wear flats!

But I had to stick to my rule of "non-coupley, mind-fucking shit" this time around. We hugged, smiled and quickly grabbed lunch.

We briefly caught up and when we finished we playfully argued for a bit who was going to pay for lunch. She had a few things to take care of before she clocked out, so I waited for her in her studio apartment.

I must admit, it took every fiber of my being not to snoop around to get ANY evidence in writing that actually she had/has feelings for me. But I knew that if I went through with my plan to search the apartment like a forensic scientist, I'd feel like an absolute shit... so instead I shaved my beard while I took a shower.

I called my little brother up and he came and met me at a bar just outside of her apartment for a couple beers. We always have our serious talks over beer.

Lil' Bro: So now that we can talk about shit... what's the real deal with you and Beth?
So@24: What do you mean?
Lil' Bro: Shut the fuck up. This has been going on forever. What's going on?
So@24: Nothing, man. Beth and I finally addressed it, we're not doing that shit anymore.
Lil' Bro: Hmmm. Talk to Lynn lately?
So@24: Not for a couple of weeks.
Lil' Bro: I see.

When Beth finally got off work, my Lil' Bro took off while Beth and I headed to another bar. We drowned a couple of shots and shared stories & nachos. We spent most of the time discussing why fake cheese is perfect and caught up on each other's lives.

Afterwards, we stopped at Trader Joe's, picked up two bottles of champagne and a carton of orange juice.

Beth: I'm getting calls and texts from people that want to finally meet you and are wondering if we want to go out tonight. Do you feel like going?
So@24: I'm actually kind of tired. Maybe we should save tonight and go all out tomorrow for the wedding?
Beth: I was thinking the same thing.

While I dug in my suitcase to find the copy of The Orphanage that Leo was able to secure for me, Beth was stripping blankets from her bed to lay on the hardwood floor in front of her television.

Maybe it was a mixture of the mimosas, the shots, the beers that was causing my brain to swim... but I had a decision to make at that moment.

Am I going to stick to my rule of not going into couple mode? Or am I just going to enjoy the moment for what it is?

I picked the latter.

We laid down on our pathetic (albeit endearing) makeshift bed and watched an absolutely terrifying movie. I had an arm around her neck holding onto her shoulder (it went numb numerous times, but I didn't dare move it) and she had a hand on my chest and a leg draped over my thighs.

It felt comfortable. And it felt fucking nice. Being single and alone, my initial thought was: I've missed this shit. I didn't care if it wouldn't ever amount to anything serious. I figured, if I didn't allow myself to think too far ahead and over-analyze every move (as I often am guilty of); I might be able for once to just enjoy the goddamn moment.

The way I figured it: moments like these aren't going to be around forever. I'm going to find a girlfriend or, more likely, she is going to find a boy. As long as I don't read into anything and just appreciate the situation for what it is, it would be fine. I was happy for just a few hours. I miss fucking kissing the top of a girl's head and being that close to "girl smell" (her's is baby powder, if you're really curious).

And that's what I did. That's what we did. I stole a couple quick kisses during the movie and she leaned over for one herself.

When the movie ended and I saw that her eyes were shut tight, I gently poked her awake. She protested (with her eyes still closed), "I don't want to go to sleep yet."

"Come on let's just go to bed."

We remade the bed. I stripped into boxers, she put on a sweatshirt and pajama pants. We passed out, fingers interlocked.