part six: After four years we finally have a Picture

And then it was my 21st birthday, friends from all around came to drink. JK like six people came and it was perfect. Male friend showed up and bought me shots of whiskey. That's pretty much all I can really recall from that particular instance, but to be fair, it was also almost a year ago.

So up until Halloween whenever we hung out it was always a party of three. Me, Banana, and the Boy. And then it happened. The Boy and I hung out, just the two of us, for the first time.
And within five minutes we both had made the awkwardness go away because we established what we where to each other: unrelated siblings. Cheers Cheers Cheers. And from that moment, we bgan and adventure of friendship.
We started talking more and more and hanging out on a more frequent basis. Banana also slowly slipped away.

It became a total reversal of how it had been. And well, we were happy about it. I mean I was the girl who essentially told him how it was and translated the insane things the girls he dated were doing. And he was the first guy that I was able to fully trust in a very long time.
In a way his friendship has meant more to me than he will ever understand, and I'm not gonna tell him because that would be weird. But he really has made me able to open up and feel comfortable around the male species at large. So for that, there is no amount of thanks that could ever be enough.

Anyway we lived in our little bubble of friendship for a bit and then the weird questions from others happened.
We were just having a drink with a few people when my Friend went to get another drink. That's when it happened. His friend gave me a weird look and asked
"So, you guys are kinda dating right?"
I said no. His response?
"But you have dated right? I mean you guys kinda, act like it."
Again, I said no.
He was shocked.
"Really? You guys never got together?"

This was just the opening of the flood gates. People began to constantly assume we were dating. It felt weird. He's my best friend, and basically like a sibling. It became a sort of joke between us. But Honestly, most of the time we hung out we talked about the girls he was interested in and had me decoding their crazy.
And no, I'm not saying crazy in ways to make my gender seem lesser, but the girls he dated did all of the conventional and stereotypical things that are normally marked at faux paus. And while what these girls said and did make sense to other girls, they seem to baffle the world of boys. Hence why I was such an important part of helping him deal with dating. But for the most part, I was his confidante and pretty knew everything that was going on.

But it was when he started dating his somewhat serious girlfriend is when things got a tad bit sticky. Maybe because she thought that there was something going on between him and me. (Which I actually didn't know about until last week). I didn't really see Him all that much while he was dating this girl, but when I did he was happy and in love.
And then he got his heart broken. And like a best friend I was there for him. And like a best friend I was the one listening to him at three am when he couldn't sleep and wanted to talk about all of his feelings.

Which of course, made us closer. And reinforcing the idea that there was something between us.

For the record before the next part: There's not. 

part five: filler space. Not all that interesting.

And we're back in America, post heart being ripped out and stomped on.
So now we look upon a bitter twenty year old, who's friends are all legal to drink in the states and now she has to hang out alone and sober. Cliff note version: it sucked.
Bright side I had a few friends who were super fun and we're always game for Spaghetti Wine Game Nights, so that was amazing.
Also amazing? Discovering my passion/ at least something in college that didn't make me want to puke my brains out: THEATRE.
No, I am not the typical theatre nerd, so no worries about the whole all black clothing, smoking, and really inflated ego. Well, for the most part. I am pretty introverted except when I  write, then I'm just a sassy bitch. But this has nothing to do with my friendship with a certain boy that I had met three years prior.

We didn't really hang out, at all actually, but we did talk on occasion.
Junior year was mostly about finding myself, and cat sitting on a weekly basis.

Up next: Finally 21 and drunk. All the god damn time. Not really, well kinda.

And finally, a friendship that could possibly rival Harry and Sally's, just without the whole sleeping together part.

part four: Paris holds the key to her heart

Paris, the city of lights, love, and amazing cheese. No really, their cheese is probably the most amazing thing I've ever put my mouth on. Seriously, I'm all about cheese.

But again, I get off topic. Paris was where friendships were cemented, nudity was flaunted on my part, and love happened in the most romantic of ways thus making it impossible for me to ever fall in love ever again.

Seriously, it was amazing, and beautiful and I will forever hate the fact that it didn't work just because the story is as fantastic as it is.

But I was just reminded by my dear friend that "It was Paris. And London. It was ripe for falling in love. You cannot blame yourself for that one."

The story goes like this (I apologize in advance for how pretentious and spoiled and snooty this sounds):

 A group of us from the class decided to go on a weekend trip to Paris. I think there were nine of us all together. But two of the girls only met up with us once and then kinda evaporated. Anyway, one of the evenings we decided to go to the Sacre Couer and drink a bottle of wine because WHO THE FUCK WOULDN'T?

Well we sat on the steps, and then got to watch a rainstorm cloud over the city, and then it became a lightning storm. It was truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. And then there was a boy. A tall, dark haired, cute boy, who had somehow made me feel smiley and giggling for the first time since I had been sixteen.
At the time I thought this boy was smart, and funny, and just wonderful. Looking back I was an idiot and blinded by lights coming off of the Eiffel Tower. But again, it was Paris, and The Sacre Couer, and there was wine. Lots of wine.

But it was Paris, we were (and still are) young, there was a storm, dim lights, and city streets littered with the past. It would have been a crime if I didn't fall in love.

We left the Sacre Couer because there seemed to be a threat of being drenched, and I can tell you from experience that being drenched and trying to find your way home in a foreign country is about as fun as stepping on a nail. We ended up in a couple of pubs, thus discovering that I could not just easily sip on what I was lead to believe was a rum and sprite. (it was pretty much straight rum and I died a little on the inside.) Our little group managed to shrink in size throughout that night until there was only five of us left by the time we left the last pub we stopped in.
And of course by that time it was pouring, we were no where near our hotel, and the metro was closed for the night.

But there was nothing more exciting then running down a cobble stone street, getting soaked by a warm summer's rain, lightning forks illuminating the sky, all next to a boy that made my heart beat just a little bit faster. And when he took my hand and guided to hide under a awning, the minute I looked into his eyes there was no way I could have stopped it. I fell in love. And lightning flashed, probably, and I felt giddy and excited and all of those cliches you hear.

There wasn't any kissing or any thing of that sort, nothing but a gentle graze of a hand on my arm.

In the end he was kinda a dick, and not nearly as amazing as I had made him out to be in that moment. But at least for a time, I was in love and it was magical.

I hate sappy shit as much as the next girl, but I think I may or may not have really high standards when it comes to falling in love now. I seriously hope the next dude can top that, because I would really appreciate it.

The moral of this segway: Love sucks. And Paris is nothing more than beautiful lies.
and wine and cheese.

part three: a detour in europe

As my nineteen year old self prepared to finish my second year of school, I was also getting my shit together to go study abroad for part of the summer. I got to go home for a little bit and I was off on the most amazing adventure my little life would ever have (so far, I'm still in school y'all, I gots time to explore the world). But despite a 15 hour flight, getting lost in Heathrow, and then trying to navigate the streets of a foreign country on no sleep, no map, and in the rain, I ended up meeting one of my best friends in the world thanks to the lovely people who made room assignments.

So after finally finding my way to the dorms, hidden in the most ridiculous place that could only be found after knowing that it was there, I was looking like a drowned rat and made my way up four flights of stairs to my room. I was going thru my large bag looking for a towel and dry pants when my roomate walked in.  She was taken aback by my awkward yet endearing presence and then we introduced ourselves.
The thing is,you know the reason that the other person is there because we all had an equal love and appreciation for the Beatles. You can't not become friends.
My other best friend became my friend for the little fact that my roomie and I had a room over some boys who happened to have wifi. So of course we took full advantage of that and so did the other friends.

It was a friendship born from the sheer fact that we all somehow needed to go check our facebooks. But it was a friendship full of awesome none the less.

The best I can describe the trip was that we would sit in a room and watch the Beatles Anthology and then talk about how the music had played such a great influence on molding the youths of the world, or we were walking around london looking at all the important sights that helped to define the Beatles in to those limey bastards we still love today.

It was also the first time I would fall in love. Real, actual, love. And boy did it suck. But that's Paris, this is London. And London was where I was able to go to bars and get really drunk in public, legally, for the second time. (The first time being when I was 15 and studied in France for part of a summer.) And while I don't condone excess drinking, even though I myself partake in it, it does have an effect of bringing people together, and for our ragtag group of 18, it was what we needed to bond and become the greatest class ever.
Granted things like this are like summer camp, they can't last past it's end date, and when seeing these people, it just won't be the same. With the exception of two of the greatest people I have ever met, that has unfortunately been the case.

Coming up: naked Paris, Friendship, dancing, running in the rain, and the boy that broke my heart. 

part two: the dark ages (or sophomore year)

The main theme of this particular point in time was how I got really close to one of my roomates and came to strongly dislike the other.

Other important tidbits of information: the roomate whom I've grown to really not care for was the person who introduced me to said male friend. And the roomate with whom I started the funniest band that shortly fell apart after our first meeting happened to be the object of said male friend's affections.
One of these pieces of information is more important than the other. I'll give you a hint:  one of them gets written out after she has the boy that she was cheating on her boyfriend with pee on my car after I told her the truth about why everyone thought she was such a bitch. Not my finest moment, but one of my better stories of why you don't fuck with me.

A few really important key things happened my sophomore year in college: 1. I wasn't in the dorms so I had a really hard time making friends. 2. Banana Pants and I became very close and had lots of fun talking about boys and how awkward I was and how much we hated our third roomate. and 3. I took a class on the history of the Beatles that lead me to take a class abroad and changed my life.
There was also a brief spell when I seriously considered transferring to a school back in California, but I didn't so we don't need to talk about that.

Anyway most of my sophomore year was spent being insanely antisocial and waiting to hear back from the study abroad people.

The only reason I saw said male friend was because he had a thing for Banana Pants and wanted to put his banana in her pants, or have an intellectual conversations about Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground and how it's themes about man and oppression by society influenced philosophers greatly during a time of great turmoil in Russia, but mostly I think he wanted to get jiggy with it.
But never the less, it was the first time we had hung out and I didn't try to make him ridiculously uncomfortable. He had also become less up tight since our freshman year. And thus our shifting onto equal levels we started to become, gasp, friends.

I mean it wasn't like we made a point to really talk to each other, or make an effort to hang out. Normally if we did, it usually involved talking about when the three of us could go out or something like that. and then came summer and the best decision I had ever made: studying the Beatles in England.

things to come: adventures in londonland, the three best friends that anyone could have, Paris, falling in love, getting heart torn out and stomped on, and pictures that will never do the trip justice. Did I mention studying the Beatles for actual credit to graduate college? Cause that's what's up.

part one: awkward encounters of the boy kind.

One of life's most contemplated questions, thanks to Norah Ephron, is whether or not men and women can be friends. Well I have an answer to which the short answer is, for the most part, yes.

It all started about four and half years ago when I boldly decided to move halfway across the country to go to college. Call it rebelling or something along those lines. But for the first time I was free from anyone who had known me growing up. Maybe not the best plan but it was a plan none the less. A fresh start away from the boys that had perpetually made my life a living hell my last two years in high school.

I mean I can literally pinpoint the root of all my trust issues with guys. To the minute. Which is horrifying in that I have to deal with that, but comforting for the sheer fact I know that it's not me and that I have every right to be as wary as I am.

  I digress, back to the story.

I can safely say that my friends my first two years at school was determined by the people I met my first week. One of those people being one of my now best friends.  And like every single romantic comedy ever, we weren't exactly fond of each other when we first met. In fact I'm pretty sure he really didn't like me, for about two years. I'm pretty sure I didn't like him for a long time either actually. I mean most of the time we hung out in those early days I spent most of my energy on making him as uncomfortable as possible.

And did I ever.

Out of all the thing I did to make him blush, the one that stands out as the"winner" is the time I got my red fuzzy handcuffs and handcuffed his to a friend of mine, and then made him watch as we (it wasn't just me being terrible so calm your tootsie rolls) properly demonstrated to how put a condom on with a water bottle as the model. And yes I have pictures, and no, I won't ever share them. At least I'm respectful of that. But I will still tell that story to most anyone who'll listen. And on multiple occasions bring it up to him so that he'll get all awkward about how awkward and easily embarrassed he used to be.

In between us not really liking the other and us becoming amazingly good friends, we had a period of time where we didn't really talk or hang out. Or as I like to call it : The Dark Ages. Or my sophomore year, not really picky about the title of that particular time.