Filed under: this and that | Tags: alcohol, ambiguity, anastasia, dating, feelings, friendship, relationships, sex, women
I hate that word. Answers are what I want. Yet, ambiguity is all I seem to get. Many shades of gray; never black or white. Meeting every potentially monumental life decision at a hypothetical fork in the road is frustrating. Downright tiring, even.
So, I seek facts in a vain attempt to piece the puzzle together. This is what I know:
- I want to smoke more than my lungs allow.
- Drinking more than my liver approves of is a nightly routine.
- My feelings have changed, they have gone from lovely, wish-the-best-for-a friend to do I have romantic feelings for said friend?
- I am female.
- Said friend is also female-of the lesbian sort.
The fact that my only desire is to smoke and drink myself into obliteration is a blatant sign that I’m lost right now.
So here I am: confused. I hate the word “confused” as much as I hate the word “ambiguous.”
Yes, I am confused. My relationship with my friend is ambiguous. The sooner I own up to these detestable words the sooner I will sort this out, hypothetically, right?
Here’s the thing: I pride myself on being an open-minded individual. I pride myself on seeking out unique traits and characteristics in friends and adopting them as my own. I would have never discovered martinis and Thai food otherwise. Ask Alexis, I’ve always said I wouldn’t rule out the chance of dating a woman if I thought, genuinely, the relationship would provide a chance for pure happiness. And I don’t understand those who disagree with this mentality.
But it’s so easy to preach accepting words when the prospect isn’t staring you in the face, waiting for you to make a decision one way or the other. I am staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun, afraid to move in any direction for fear of accidentally setting off the trigger. Have you any idea what this feels like? I doubt it, and if so, offer guidance…please.
More facts are in order:
- I’ve never, ever, been attracted to a female the way I am now.
- And even since this “discovery,” I’ve never noticed a woman walking down the street and thought to myself “Nice titties, girl. Come home with me”
- This, I believe, is exclusively an attraction to the person while ignoring gender.
It’s one thing to be attracted to someone’s personality; to their sense of humor; to the way they handle adverse situations or their taste in music. It’s a completely different ballgame, for me at least, to be attracted to someone’s body; their touch; their sexuality.
I am attracted to her personality and sense of humor. We compliment each other well. While I don’t always agree with the way she handles those bigger-than-thou life situations, I enjoy listening to her and talking through them. Our conversations give me a sense of pride in her decisions while providing valuable learning opportunities. And, honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful. I understand that the last few sentences sound like an ill-thought cover letter, but they are honest.
But that word-confusion-rears it’s ugly little head here. If I’m going to be brutally honest (and I might as well; what better platform than here?) I do like her touch. Her hugs and back rubs improve lousy days and ease my troubled mind. But even in my most drunken state, I’ve never thought it would be mind blowing to sleep with her; or on the other hand, how horrid it would be. Identifying solely as a straight female up until this point has protected me. I’m wrapped tight in a blanket of indifference; of ambiguity.
How can I honestly say to myself that I wouldn’t like something if I’ve never tried it? That would limit life experiences and deny the opportunity of growing as a woman; as a human, even. I pity those who, so rigid in thoughts from either upbringing or ignorance, would begrudge opportunity for personal growth. I don’t want that, at all. I don’t want to ruin an opportunity that could open my eyes to a completely new mentality and view of life.
But, at the same time, I don’t want to involve a friend’s feelings when I’m not certain of the outcome. If my feelings; my thoughts; my emotions were the only thing at stake, I would jump, jump, jump. I would, without a moment’s thought of anyone’s opinion. It’s reckless, yes, but at the very least, this would result in part of me opening and closing quickly. Ambiguity would disappear as fast as my next drink or cigarette. At most, maybe, perhaps, possibly, I would discover a new piece of me that lay dormant for years, for whatever reason, and could adjust accordingly in future endeavors.
The last set of facts:
- She likes me.
- She’s interested in a romantic relationship… if I am.
We’ve had endless conversations that circle about our “situation”, resulting in both of us shaking our heads in our hands while saying with bated breath “I don’t know, I don’t know.” So, how can I honestly take that plunge knowing a friendship that’s important to me and feelings are at risk? How can I look myself in the mirror each morning knowing I’m playing with someone’s heart and emotions so carelessly and…ambiguously.
I’m not sure I can do that. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to figure it out. No matter how much I write and talk about this, I’ll walk this road alone. And I’m terrified to take a step in the wrong direction. Ambiguity: I really do hate that word.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: alcohol, alexis, anastasia, beer, brooklyn, dress, friendship, martini, new york city, tequila, wine, women
Oh how people change. I moved away from Anastasia for a year and she did a 180 on me. Not that it is a bad thing; it’s just entertaining to reminisce about the old days.
I remember the day that she told me that gin martinis were vile and she had no idea how I could drink two of them. Text from last weekend: “I had two martinis and I could drive a car NASCAR style right now.” My, how people change. And only in a year.
I met this girl (Anastasia) who believed that beer was life’s nectar and a pair of clean jeans was acceptable for all occasions, Brooklyn was Timbuktu and going to Manhattan on a Sunday was like giving birth. Soooo painful. Video games were the only acceptable Saturday activity, exploring the wonderfulness of NYC on a weekend was out of the question.
Asking Anastasia to come into the city on a weekend was like asking for her first born. And trust me, she won’t even let me be in her wedding party, so I guarantee she won’t let me meet her first born. Even worse than asking her to come into Manhattan on a weekend was asking her to come visit me in Brooklyn. Queens to Brooklyn was like Germany to Bangladesh. Who would travel that far to visit someplace that wasn’t as cool as Germany and why? Brooklyn to Anastasia was like another world. Brooklyn didn’t exist. Queens was better than Brooklyn, hands down.
One time I went “all the way” from Brooklyn, middle of nowhere to Anastasia, to the Upper East Side-five minutes from her apartment. I asked her to meet me for happy hour. Her response? “Yeah there is no way in hell you are getting me to go to Manhattan on a Saturday.” Wow.
When we did go out, Friday’s only, Anastasia’s drink of choice? Beer. Beer. Beer. Try suggesting a tequila shot and you might get punched. I, of course, was going through my “dark” period, where tequila and gin martinis were necessary for survival, so we had a hard time seeing eye to eye on drinks.
I am not complaining, I loved down to earth Anastasia: the girl who didn’t know what a dress was (even in the brutal heat of a New York summer), thought that a skirt was the Universe’s punishment for women, museums were a waste of a Saturday and drinking wine and hard liquor was for pansies who couldn’t handle beer. I sure do enjoy drinking beer, sitting on the couch in jeans and a hoodie, but I also enjoy a fancy night out sipping wine. So imagine my surprise when I recently started hearing stories about gin martinis, tequila, dresses and Brooklyn. WHAT? Who is this woman?
Anastasia now: wine and gin has replaced beer, an occasional tequila shot isn’t out of the question and Brooklyn not only exists but is even inhabitable occasionally!
A status update about a month ago mentioned Anastasia buying a dress and I almost fell out of my chair. A dress?! One of those things that show legs and boobs? Anastasia? She has legs? Just plain crazy. Anastasia has sported five dresses this year, I’m in shock. Wonderment, if you will. I cannot wait to go sip martinis at a fancy bar with my “new” friend!
Anastasia has ventured to Brooklyn a few times, goes to museums, hangs out in the city no matter what day it is, doesn’t say: “Alexis, you know what day it is,” when I call her on a Saturday. To be blunt: she’s a martini whore now. Love it! I’m sure I have done just as much changing as Anastasia, seeing how we met each other during “dark” phases in our lives, but now that the sky has cleared, we are getting to know new sides of one another. She met me when I was face down in tequila 24/7 and I met her when Brooklyn, to her, was an abomination.
Times, they be a-changin’.
-Alexis Patron
I don’t know what hurt more, my pounding head or Kaci’s voice booming into my ears at 8:30am Sunday morning. I slowly rolled over on the almost flat air mattress to find Brandy sleeping naked next to me. Shit. What. A. Night. I definitely needed more sleep, but it was time for the post-drinking, breakfast, recap. Just to make sure we didn’t do anything too stupid. Or in my case… to determine how fast I had to flee town.
(To remember the craziness of the bachelorette party, read Vegas Story.)
It all began Thursday when I arrived in Montana to meet all my best friends/former college roommates in their hometown. A town that I had been to so many times that I am now an honorary town member. I know everyone… and I’ve kissed… everyone… no, only about 13 men from this town, including twins and brothers. So classy. Apparently my new greeting is to stick my tongue down your throat. Actually it’s not a new greeting; I’ve been doing that for years. It might be time to lock it up.
One of my best friends, Jill, was getting married and this was the big wedding weekend. All the girls I went to Vegas with and myself were the bridesmaids. Or as Jill referred to us as: her dysfunctional bridesmaids.
On this beautiful Thursday in June, I drove to meet Katie and Kaci in Missoula and then we were driving to their town. Of course I had to go get a bikini wax from my favorite waxer in MT so when I show up to meet the girls at the restaurant, everyone pointed at my crotch and thus began the nicknames… they settled on snapper delight. Which was my nickname for the entire weekend. Kaci was bringing her new boyfriend, so my first meeting with B was a little embarrassing, but whatever, wouldn’t be the worst thing I did all weekend.
After picking up the dresses and arriving in town, we all got ready and met at Kaci’s house for a Girls Night Out or GNO!! The girls, Kaci’s mom and Kaci’s boyfriend all hung out and decided it’d be appropriate to play kings cup, which included a few gnarly rounds of Never Have I Ever. And yes, with her mom. Man, as if her mom doesn’t think I’m slutty in the first place, now she has to find out everything?
Kaci’s boyfriend, B, got a little rowdy and ended up offending everyone, which was awkward, but he calmed down for the rest of the weekend. Surprisingly it wasn’t awkward sharing personal secrets with Kaci’s mom. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve done that she knows about. A few years earlier I had sex in her house and she found the condom. Yeah…
We hit the bars kind of late Thursday night and then everyone went their separate ways. Brandy and I stayed at Kaci’s house.
The next morning Brandy and I were awoken with Kaci and B jumping on top of us. B laid on top of me. A very intimate greeting from a man I just met the day before and wasn’t quite sure how I felt about him. He grew on me though, plus he and Kaci make a cute couple. After the morning steam roller wake up, Jill came and got Brandy and then Kaci, B and I went shopping and for morning bloody marys.
That was only Thursday…
It was a lovely afternoon, Friday, so after bloody marys I met up with Katie and Brandy for beers in the sun. Hopefully Jill wouldn’t be upset that her bridesmaids were drinking before the rehearsal! We hit the bar for a couple of shots before heading to the church… probably not the smartest idea as we got yelled at by the priest. He said that we better not smell like alcohol the next day for the wedding… oops!
Rehearsal went well. Then was the rehearsal bbq and of course more drinking. We had to call it a night early, however, because Jill wanted us at the salon at 9am to begin getting ready. Yikes. Yes, Friday I behaved, didn’t take my clothes off, kiss anyone I shouldn’t, or offend anyone’s mother. That is more than I can say for Saturday…
To be continued…
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: anastasia, friendship, humor, new york city
What was her name again? Ally, Ashley, Amber? Oh, Alexis. Hm, interesting.
I couldn’t have been more apathetic towards meeting my coworker’s cousin. I wasn’t completely sold on my coworker as it was, so when she suggested meeting her cousin one day at work, it gave me the same horrific feelings I experienced when I was six and mommy set up play dates with girls I would eventually hate in high school.
The problem wasn’t that Alexis sounded like someone I wouldn’t get along with. If anything, it was that we were way too similar. We graduated the same year with the same degree, moved to New York within weeks of each other and shared a great appreciation for alcohol and promiscuity. Her cousin put so much pressure on us meeting and becoming best friends for life, before I even agreed to go. And Christ, we both have large breasts even, a fact her cousin didn’t outright tell me; I discovered this one on my own. Strike one: too similar to myself
To this day, I don’t recall what I was thinking when I agreed to go on this awkward adult play date. More importantly, I have no fucking clue where my mind was when I agreed to a night in which the Red Sox battled the Indians in post-season glory. Our date was practically doomed before it even started.
New York was still as foreign to me as a bra to a thirteen year old boy, so of course my roommate and I got lost on our way and showed up late. I didn’t acknowledge our tardiness, and played if off like I simply had better shit to do.
My coworker picked some crappy Wisconsin-themed bar for our night on the town. I am a Northeast snob with no desire to go west of Maryland, so I was obviously overwhelmed with joy and excitement when informed I’d be going on this twenty-year-old-heterosexual-blind date in a Wisconsin-themed bar. I anticipated cheesehead patterned wallpaper and shrines of Brett Favre, but decided the $2 Bud lights was a good enough reason to make an appearance.
My first impression of Alexis? Not the greatest. Her cousin verbally blew her so much that I half expected the second coming of Jesus Christ. As I rounded the bar, my coworker sat sipping a bud with a strange young lady and her two ginormous breasts. The low-cut sweater displayed them proudly; a blind man couldn’t miss them. Was she trying to pick me up? My coworker, a shallow attention seeking gossip, would have given me a heads up on same-sex interest, so I assumed I wouldn’t have to deal with any advances.
I wasted over a half hour of baseball to get to the bar and needed to make up for lost time. I found their table, plowed into my chair, threw my purse down almost knocking over beer, and put my finger in the air before anyone could say anything: I needed baseball updates asap and wasn’t about to let any introductions get in the way of that. The Sox were losing to the lousy Indians, and with each passing inning my mood depressed.
“Anasatasia,” my coworker said, “This is my cousin, Alexis”
Alexis extended an awkward and intimated hand for a shake.
“Hi,” I responded, probably ignoring her hand, “Do you like baseball? This is my roommate”
Alexis really wasn’t fond of baseball and informed me she preferred football. I. Hate. Football. Strike three. The night was going to be a shit show.
After two bud lights, my coworker decided the Wisconsin bar just wouldn’t do. She needed to see her flavor of the week and spent a half hour telling us about her young “artist” boyfriend. She viewed him as an artist, but we viewed him as a starving creeper who smelled bad. Six of one, I suppose…
At that time in our lives, Alexis and I shared a love of a sedentary lifestyle. Neither of us can figure out why we decided to let her cousin take the reigns and lead us into the bowels of Brooklyn that Saturday night. We both secretly wanted to stay at the Wisconsin bar, but lacked the balls to voice the opinion to our mutual friend who pushed thirty. And so the wild goose chase began.
Rather than call her mysterious artiste boyfriend, my coworker thought “two stops off the L in Brooklyn” was enough direction to lead us to the bar her man was at. False. We spent the better part of an hour in a maze of dark industrialized back alleyways that housed a litter of cats per homeless person.
Great. Lost in Brooklyn with near strangers after being set up on a blind date that would never lead to sex and missing Boston Red Sox baseball while sober, and Alexis wonders why I had ‘tude that night? Bitch, please.
Had we been in any other area that didn’t feel like rape way, I would have split well before we found the bar. But I was pretty confident a shanking, mugging, or raping was probable if I left the group. I stuck it out.
The bar had an impressive selection on draught and hard cider, but had absolutely nothing else going for it. It smelled like mildew. The bowling area, which was booked for hours, engulfed most of the bar space. The dark bathroom looked and smelled like it was covered in piss. Toilet paper wasn’t even an option, as I’m pretty sure a roll hadn’t seen the bar in years. I could have put up with the bar’s negative qualities if it had a single TV with the game, but of course not. I relied on sparse texts from friends which were uninformative. “OMG R U WATCHING?” isn’t quite the response I hoped for when asking the score.
Once the artiste boy was in the picture, the coworker exited stage left. She ignored Alexis and I, and left us to a booth of spilled beer and awkward conversation in the back of the bar. My roommate was off dirty texting a boy, so she was useless for any small talk.
We sat awkwardly avoiding eye contact. I desperately planned an exit strategy, but knew it was useless. Brooklyn was a completely foreign land to me. I never would have found my way home alone.
At this point, I made some smart ass comment about how the bar sucked. I expected Alexis to disagree and defend her cousin’s wise decision. To my surprise. she actually agreed, and we decided to spend the rest of the night milking my ex-fling for all the rum and coke his American Express could afford.
Bellies full of alcohol, we realized we shared a mutual love of using men for alcohol and became fast friends. Alexis even put up with my drunk ass petting horsies in Times Square for an hour before the night ended. At the beginning of the night, I was sure I would never see Alexis ever again. But the next day we fed our hangovers at the Olive Garden and I haven’t been able to shake her since.
-Anastasia Beam
