breaking the routine

i woke up this morning, shivering and attempted to yank some blankets over to my side of the bed. groggy, i looked down on the floor to see a discarded swimsuit top, summer dress, and sandals. i felt my warm, sunburned face and arms and looked outside the a grey sky that seemed to be smirking at me. idiot, it said. this is seattle. didja think it was summer or something? ha!

why is it so fucking cold? the last two days have been marvelous. sunshine, 70 degrees, swimming suits, laying in the park, drinking kombucha and cold beers. well cold beers happen year-round.... but whatever.

back to the cold morning. still confused as to why my feet were icecubes, i try to bury myself under more blankets and wrap my frozen legs around the (always, why are men so... warm-blooded? they are like hot water bottles or something. not complainin' or anything...) warm body snoring next to me. he grumbles and mumbles something about my feet being too cold. i don't listen but just snuggle closer. heck, its not even a romantic thing anymore, having a bed buddy. its like fucking survival mode.

as we both attempt to go back to sleep we are suddenly startled awake by my phone alarm clock. oh yes, once again i have to set my alarm to make sure my boy wakes up for class. why was my phone set, instead of his? oh yeah, my wonderful boy once again is not in procession of his phone. it wasn't a phone malfunction, or that he once again ran his phone over with his bike. oh, no. this time he left his phone on the bus. good lord, what am i going to do with him.

anyways, the phone alarm goes off a few more times before i can finally rouse him. er, well, let's be honest. it took a little something more than an annoying phone alarm (which he snatched out of my hands at one moment, put on silent and hurled across the room into a pile of towels) to get him ... going. ha. after a bit o' morning shenanigans, i reminded him of the time. he yelped, and in one motion threw on some clothes, smooched me goodbye, and yelled something about getting his phone back and he would call me and come visit him at the coffee shop later? or something. i dont know, i was busy tunneling into the now empty bed full of thick blankets. all mine! warmth! survival!

survival. bleh. lately i feel like that word is coming into my vocabulary a lot more often. mostly because i have zero dollars. actually, no, not zero. negative dollars. bling.

last night, after spending a carefree day sunbathing and hanging out with friends, i realized that i had no money for evening time entertainment. not a problem. some boys who came over to hang out at amanda's brought a case. travis bought some liquor and shared. and later, at the crescent, someone bought a pitcher. i merely helped myself. i know, i know. sad and pretty pathetic. but whatever, its the new economy. at al's as i was fishing was the $3 in quarters that i knew i had somewhere, my barista boy patted my shoulder and told me he didnt mind buying me a beer, i kissed him on the cheek and told him i owed him one. his winked at me and said he was sure there was some way i could re-pay. great. now i'm a prostitute.

ah well. its not all that bad. he takes care of my beer and coffee needs and i take care of ... waking him up. and reminding him to take his books. and making sure he doesnt drink too much while on pain medicine for a dislocated shoulder. (!) oh yeah, i forgot about this. last wednesday, i woke up to a text message from him that read, "got in a bike accident." panicked, i called him and demanded to know if he was alright. he thought so. he had just woken up, fully clothed on top of his bed, with his elbow bleeding, his head throbbing and his shoulder immobile. apparently, post-tuesday-night-out-drinking-in-wallingford had gone badly. he was riding his bike when his hat flew off and he tumbled over, hitting his head and shoulder. he walked home, drunk, and passed out. bad idea. upon waking, and sending me the text (and subsequently me yelling at him to go to a doctor), he finally dragged himself to the UW hospital where they put a sling on him and told him not to use his arm for a few weeks. oh, and he had a concussion and shouldn't be alone.

cue the supportive girlfriend role!

i rode my bike over (maybe pushing my luck and the gods of irony) to see how he was doing. swaying a bit, and droopy eyed, i tried to cheer him up. i suggested we go watch the regulars sing karaoke at kate's pub, down the street. even though he was on a strict no-drinking regimen, i allowed him to have one beer. and because it made so much sense, i decided to drink the amount of beers that he would have drank, plus my own. smart! suddenly we had a very loopy boy with an arm in a sling and a very intoxicated, swaying girl standing at the stage while the former sang some ridiculous karaoke song and the latter cheered drunkenly. in the end, he had to help me home and he had to take care of me. some caretaker i am.

c'est la vie. the next few days were a lot of me being overly-worried about him, calling, texting, etc. god, i feel crazy sometimes. i am so overwhelming i think. friday night was a good example of this. my roommate steven was having his video release party, after working for months on a music video for a well-known band. before the party, i was working all day. barista boy texted me, promising me he would visit. i was elated. i love showing of the coffee crush. three hours later, i was not so elated. he hadnt showed up or texted. i got off work soon after and tried to get ahold of him. "forgot class went late! missed text! buses late!" all the excuses came flying over the cell phone air waves, with the force of a paper airplane thrown half-heartedly. i gritted my teeth. well, come hang out tonight, i said. two hours and several shift drinks and no texts later, i left my work and went to the comet to meet afton. a couple of other friends showed up and we started forming a beerimid of happy hour priced olympia cans. buzzed, i texted him again. nothing. we all went home and i started complaining to a co-worker, and next thing i know we are buying cheap wine, cooks champagne and (yes, really) tropicana orange juice. yes, this is my friday night. cooks and tropicana, being buzzed and pissed off at some boy who may or may not be my boyfriend, and then (ta-da!) stumbling over to rancho bravo tacos*. and its only 7pm.

lets just say that by the time party o'clock came around, and all of steven's friends, child-hood friends, friend's parents, family and (eeek) the elite class of friends-of-the-family had arrived, i was DRUNK. and loud. and passing around open bottles of champagne in a sad attempt to try to get someone to be as drunk as i was. no go. i ended up dancing at the late-night dance party (after all the aforementioned groups of people had left and it was just us goblin kids around and no one to be ashamed in front of), or rather, swaying a lot. my roommate's lady friend (who we all sort of dislike extremely) was there and i apparently glared at her like a psycho all night. great. i ended up passing out early, missing the one text i had been waiting all day and night for. FML.

saturday was a funny day, mostly full of comforting a friend-in-crisis. this girl has had it tough. one of her roommates has become increasingly snotty and disrespectful. this roommates accuses my friend of constantly being messy, although doesnt really try to be tidy herself. she blames household problems on my friend and scapegoats her for everything. worst of all, the roommate's boyfriend is always around, lounging in the shared living room, having "intimate" moments in the middle of common living spaces, making my poor friend uncomfortable and just pretty damn annoyed. and so, on saturday afternoon, my friend asked to crash at my house for a bit. i was totally cool with this, and helped her throw some of her stuff in my bedroom before we both went out for different errands and stuff.

part two. i forgot that my friend was staying at my house. i forgot all about all her stuff in my room. i was too focused on, yes, let's be honest, hanging out with the boy on saturday night, drinking beers at the stumbling monk with some of his co-workers and eventually, stumbling home with him. this were getting a bit heated in the bedroom when i heard a noise. thinking it was my cat opening the door, i looked over. no, not a cat. it was my shy, not-very-comfortable-around-boys friend, who had just walked into an extremely awkward scene while looking for her laptop cord. the same friend who couldnt take one more extremely awkward scene and had fled her house and was staying at mine for that very reason. second FML of the weekend.


appendix!

rancho bravo: its a freakin' taco truck... indoors! apparently, the old taco truck in wallingford thought it lucrative to expand to capitol hill. and whats better than an authentic mexican food taco truck? one that you can stand inside and sway in! the brave little taco truck took over what used to be PETA's number one target: the KFC fast food restaurant on 10th & pine. now its delicious, cash-only, post-drinking food. open until 3 am on weekends. genius!