I don’t know when and I don’t really know why (okay I know why… I wasn’t attracted to her, despite my best efforts) but I decided it was well past time to break things off with Shmordan. Now, one might think that I would be a mature adult about this situation, sit her down, try to do things amicably…but clearly you don’t know me, or particularly not 19-year-old-shit-show me. My way of solving things was either avoiding them altogether or finding the most offensive way possible to cause the situation to implode (in later years this would be a topic of many sessions with my therapist).
It was sometime in the Fall and we were having a party at my apartment. Shmordan was coming because we were sort of a thing, obvi, but Shmashley 2 was going to be there too — because she was always there. At this time even though we had moved out of the dorms we were still best friends, and we were still-too-flirty-for-comfort-best-friends. We had lots of sleepovers, cuddled while binge-watching Dexter, had naked Margarita Days together, y’know, we were your typical All-American gal pals.
*Theme music and opening credits play*
Many a party were thrown at our 4-bedroom apartment sophomore year. It was the literal best party-throwing apartment. It was in the back of the complex, our neighbors were gay boys who liked to rage, and the place had no carpet, two living areas, a central kitchen, and two balconies. I mean honestly, they were just asking for us to get drunk and throw up all over that bitch.
**Completely unrelated side story about this apartment complex: One time we found a toilet on the side of the road and decided we should take it because why not. We kept it on our back porch along with some camp chairs for some humorous seating options… Well the apartment complex staff didn’t find it quite so funny and we received a call one day asking why we had removed one of the four toilets from our apartment, and whether or not we needed maintenance to come out. We tried to politely explain that we were all art students and we had the toilet for an art project (seemed a better explanation than “we use it as a weird chair”) but they told us we had to remove it from our balcony because, and I quote, “This is not a junkyard.”**
Anyyyyyway, we were having a party. Shmordan was there, Shmashley 2 was there, I mean LOTS of ladies were there. I would say 99% of the people at our parties were ladies, the only dude regularly in attendance was our male roommate, who wasn’t queer but was super artsy so that’s almost the same thing.
I’m not sure how it happened (okay I know how it happened, Shmashley 2 showed up with her boobs out to play and I’m only human) but before I knew it I was making out with Shmashley in the middle of the living room. When I came up for air I locked eyes with Shmordan who was clearly peeved at me because she looked like she wanted to punch me right in the money-maker. Except, she didn’t. She did the unthinkable instead and threw a beer on me and left. I was appalled, who did this girl think she was? We were poor underage college kids and beer should not be wasted like that. She could’ve gone and filled up a glass of tap water and achieved the same dramatic effect. Like. Come one. Have some respect for the Miller Lite!
Having things thrown at me became a trend of that night, because apparently Shmashley and I were attached so fervently at the lips (apparently we looked like that dumbass kid from “A Christmas Story” when he gets stuck to that frozen metal pole) that Shmoebe and Courtney made a game of throwing a banana at us; the way you’d spray a misbehaving cat with a water bottle. Throwing beers? Unacceptable. Throwing bananas? Play on. I was a little (a lotta) intoxicated so I didn’t remember this potassium-filled-pummeling but the next morning I woke up beside Shmashley in my bed with my hair caked full of unknown mush. I was later informed that it was banana, which is better than the alternative — it could have been vomit, semen, paper mache, or any horrible combination of the three.
I had opened a pandora’s box by publicly hooking up with Shmashley 2 again, not only because her parents were conservative bigots who didn’t like the gays, but also because she was fucking my male roommate. It would become a thing that she would alternate sleeping with us and somehow we were okay with this? I couldn’t tell you why. Shmashley just had this way about her, where she always had your attention, and she could play you like one of those fucking tamagotchi pets.
Besides me, Shashley 2 went on to hook up with a few ladies (spoiler alert), but it would be quite some time before she admitted to being even a little bit queer; actually coining the term “half-gay” in regards to herself. Someone could have informed her that being bisexual was a thing, but “half-gay” has a nice ring to it. And so began a saga of on-again-off-again hook-ups which led to a slew of jealous boyfriends of hers hating my guts. I would hate me too, I’m rather pretty.
*Next week on nobody scissors: my best friend gets me a threesome for her birthday (yes you read that right)*