Jan
15
2012

I’m Getting Too Old For This Sh*T

I am a heavy sleeper. I have slept through earthquakes, impromptu band rehearsals and the loudest fire alarm in the history of the world. It was so loud that the other people in the house figured no one could possibly sleep through it and so didn’t bother checking my room to see if I was there. When they didn’t see me outside, they assumed I had stayed the night elsewhere. As a result, had it actually been a real fire, I would have been in trouble.

But no depth of sleep could keep me from the ABSURDLY LOUD POUNDING on my door that occurred at 3:45 am on Saturday morning. Still half asleep, I staggered towards the door wondering who the hell might have decided to visit at that hour. In my previous life, random visits at odd hours weren’t that uncommon. Once, someone who shall remain nameless decided to throw pebbles at my window late at night in a romantic gesture…only in his inebriated state he misjudged the size of the “pebbles” and the location of my room and in reality hurled a small boulder that broke through my roommate’s window and nearly gave her a heart attack. But this kind of thing hadn’t yet happened in Virginia. Until Saturday.

3:45 am. Pounding. I asked who it was. I got back “It’s Julia and Amy.” “Um…” I said, “I don’t know you.” Their response? “We’re staying with you. We’ve been here all night.” Deciding what to do was entirely dependent on what genre of movie I had been suddenly and unwittingly thrust into. I was hoping for a RomCom. What I got was an after school special on teen drinking.

I could tell there was no real threat, but I was not letting Julia and Amy into my apartment. I’ll spare you the more boring details of what happened for the next hour, but suffice to say, the conversation that took place through my door was scintillating. I said the phrase “You don’t know me” at least five times. After reading the signed letter that I had taped to my door for UPS, they started referring to me by name, and it took me another 20 minutes to convince them that knowing my name did not, in fact, make me their friend. These two had no idea where they were, how they got there, where they needed to go or where there ride was. Finally, one became coherent enough to call her friend, find out where he was and relay to him the directions I gave to her to get to my building. Around 4:30, they were picked up and I got a loud, slurred “THAAAANNNKKK YOOOOUUUUU!!!!!” that probably woke everyone in a 2-mile radius.

Before anyone says anything about how I handled things…my “too niceness” has been well documented, and I know most of you would have just called the police and been done with it. Fair enough. But what I found more interesting was how I felt after they had left. This whole incident made me feel old…and not really in a bad way.

I never pulled a Robert Downey Jr. and showed up at someone else’s house by mistake, but I’ve had my share of ridiculous nights. At some point, though it wouldn’t have been me telling the story, I probably would have thought it was funny to hear about a friend ending up on a stranger’s doorstep at 4:30 am or…say…waking up in the street 2 miles from campus wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a drapery of yellow caution tape. I probably would have even thought, “Man, I wish I could have been there.”

Now? I don’t really find it that funny or wish I could have been there. Saturday made me appreciate that the term “ridiculous night” means something entirely different to me in my old age. I think I can officially say that my “ridiculous nights” going forward most likely will not include finding myself coatless in a strange apartment complex at 4:30 am in 30-degree weather. Or dressing in heels that are too high for me to walk in without looking like I’m 8 and wearing my mom’s shoes. Or being so incapacitated that I need tons of help to get home safely.

I’ve crossed some threshold where that just doesn’t seem as funny as it used to. Instead, my ridiculous nights will consist of much more mature things. Like organizing a fake birthday party at a bouncy castle compound. Or splitting a bottle of wine and kicking butt at various Wii games. Or dancing my face off to ‘80s music and then eating my weight in pancakes at IHOP.

Still absurdly fun. Just a little more in control.

Written by lindsay in: Uncategorized |

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