just say yes...?

Amanda turned 24 two weeks ago, and to celebrate we had a birthday bonfire in Edville.


A little background on "Edville". One of my horses, Absolut (Yes, he's named after vodka. What? Am I an alcoholic? Why would you ask that? NO I DIDN'T NAME HIM THAT. God. You try not to give a horse an identity crisis and people are all over you.). Anyways, he lives at this guy Ed's house. Ed is dating my good friend Meg, who also happens to be Amanda's aunt. I know Meg because she manages the barn my other horse lives at. And Amanda's mother lives in the house next door to Ed. Are you confused yet? Good. So am I.
So this little compound of people and horses that are all related and connected somehow is lovingly referred to as Edville.


Moving on. I arrived at the birthday bonfire, poured my first glass of champagne and headed out to warm myself rotisserie style by the fire. Within moments, an intoxicated Meg followed by an inmate-orange-jumpsuit wearing Amanda came running out of the house, hopped onto the ATV, and took off into the 4 foot deep snowy woods.
I wish so hard that I had had the foresight to take a picture of this.
They made it about 300 feet before getting stuck. Which is 250 feet further than I had expected. The rest of us stood around the fire watching the immobile ATV headlights at the bottom of the hill sporadically yelling things.
   
     CASUAL BYSTANDER #1: Why don't they get off and push?
     KIND OF DRUNK BYSTANDER #2:  If there was a lesbian down there they would already be moving.
     ME BELLIGERENT DRUNK BYSTANDER #3:  This is so typical of a couple white, straight chics on a
                                                                                    motor vehicle.


Evenutally we went back inside to get more drinks
....and someone went down to save them.


The rest of the evening included a lot of dancing, Jersey Shore style fist pumping, inappropriate drunk-serious conversations (Which are totally the BBD counterpart to sober-serious conversations, since you get to deal with the issue without actually having to remember dealing with the issue. Phew.), chain smoking, and motor-boating the birthday girl.

True happiness is a motor-boat so aggressive it rips your shirt.

Just when I decided I had had enough fun for one evening, my friend pranced into the kitchen in her underwear wrapped in a Hue Hefner style robe and threw herself into the hot tub. 

I love the hot tub. 

The hot tub is where it's at. 

Especially when your friend is standing in there in her underwear drinking straight out of a black bottle of champagne while Far East Movement bumps in the background. That's rockstar status right there.

But after a brief battle of inner turmoil I declined and got into my car to head home.

I made it about half a mile down the road when a cop passed me going the opposite way. He flicked his blue lights on, and whipped his cruiser around in the middle of the road, heading back after me. Now, I've lost my license for accumulation of speeding tickets 3 separate times. My driving record is about as clean as one of those "escorts" they hire out to rich guys with no social skills. So when I get pulled over I have a very slim chance of getting away from the situation without a new point to add to my insurance (Which I pay 4 grand for per year. Let that sink in. 4 GRAND. Mini Life Lesson: Don't speed.).

The guy takes my license, tells me I was going 56 in a 45 (pff, 11 mph over. Please.), and then asks me if I have been drinking.

Bad Decision: Drinking an entire bottle of champagne in an hour.

Better Bad Decision: Waiting 4 hours after that before driving home.

While the answer is yes, I hadn't had anything in hours and felt fine. I had, however, spent the latter portion of the evening with a lap companion who had had plenty to drink and thought my lap might also like a few sips of wine. So I may or may not have reeked of zinfandel. I decided it was best to tell the truth and admitted to having had a couple earlier in the evening but assured the officer I was currently fine to command my death box home. He seemed OK with this and went back to his cruiser.

Then he returned...

     OFFICER: Miss, can you step out of the car please?

     ME (in my head): OMG OMG OMG. THIS IS JUST LIKE COPS. IS HE GOING TO ROUGH ME UP? WILL I BE ON TV?!?!?

     ME (outloud): Why yes officer. No problem at all.

Have you ever had to perform a sobriety test in 10 degree weather in front of 6 police officers and a cruiser spotlight reminiscent of a solo act on Broadway? Because I have. And while I was not drunk, I was not middle-of-a-Tuesday sober either and the spotlight/enough-officers-to-take-down-a-bear combination made me a little nervous. I had to follow that guy's finger without moving my head, say the alphabet without singing, and walk off 9 steps in a straight ass line in both directions. And I passed all his tests with no problem.

At the end it took all my self control not to yell "FUCK YEAH. I TOLD YOU I WASN'T DRUNK." But I thought maybe that might make me look a little drunk...

Anyways, that officer came back to my car one last time, told me to watch my speed in the future and that I was just getting a verbal warning. Turns out, the key to getting out of a ticket with a driving record that has archive folders is to be sober enough and polite enough to take and pass a sobriety test in the freezing ass cold. They probably figure that once they've put a sober person through that, it would be a total asshole move to give them a ticket. No one wants to be an asshole.

Everything turned out OK, but looking back on things...if I had just agreed to go into the hot tub, none of that police/sobriety test/Broadway performance would have happened.

Life Lesson: Never say no to the hot tub.

Wait, no. That doesn't seem right...

LSLP, Ash.

EXHIBIT "A"

I woke up to real-life doggy-style lesson #2 this morning...

...Dogs are Dirty Little Creatures.

--LSLP, Amanda xo

doing it doggy style.

Hi, I'm the other half occupying our house in Suburbia, Mass.  I'm going to go ahead and try to skip the intro, as Ash summed things up rather eloquently.  It's both beautiful and bizarre that 98% of the time as living-situation life partners we do, in fact, share a brain.  However, one area in which our mental capacities cease to remain congruent would be knowing how to live with a dog.  I mean I knew there was such a thing as baby-proofing your house but I had no idea you had to do the same damn thing with an animal.  Yes, friends, listen up-- we're taking a crash-course in Doggy Proofing 101.


If this were Baby Proofing 101 I'd tell you abstinence would be your #1 lesson to learn.  In dealing with the fact that your LSLP already has a baby--and by baby, I mean dog--my #1 lesson is Leave the Doors Closed at All Times.  It's your best defense against potential mischief.  At least until the dog sprouts opposable thumbs or something.


Moving on.  So you were dumb enough to forget to close your door?  Welcome to lesson #2: Dogs are Dirty Little Creatures.  At least under this roof, I've never seen the cliché dog-eats-a-shoe business.  No, once you enter the war zone that was once your room, bathroom, etc., you soon begin to notice your casualties include the crotches of all your dirty underwear, used Q-tips, any type of paper product, and what I consider the dirtiest thing little Fido has a craving for--tampons/applicators.  Yum.  Have fun cleaning that up.  


Leave the door closed. Period.  


Lesson #3: You're a Stranger, Always.  It doesn't seem to matter how many times I come home in a day, or how regular my schedule is.  The second my key slides into the door (don't even get me started on how important it is to NOT ring the doorbell), and I walk in the house, he's jumping up and down, barking his doggy brains out, and sniffing me up and down as if he's never met me before.  Though perhaps what it really comes down to is he can smell all the other dogs, cats, and horses on my clothing, confirming my infidelities. And I always knew that dogs begged.  But I didn't realize that ours was relentless at playing the I'm a Starving Child role.  Lesson #4 teaches us that unless the food is gone or the last of your glass of milk has been drunk, he will try to wiggle his way into getting some.  Even if it means climbing like a monkey or using slick cat-like maneuvers on the back of couches and chairs to get to it.  Yes I know it tastes better, but YOU JUST ATE, stop trying to take my food. 


But living with a dog isn't always stressful.  It can be fun and downright cute at times.  Ash and I discovered very early on that my role when I get home, regardless of how late it may be, is that I am his Real Live Play Thing.  And he has such a devious way of looking adorable while trying to maintain a vicious front, coaxing me to yank on the half-eaten bunny with its guts (aka polyfill) hanging out and around the room.  So we play around for a few minutes, until we're both exhausted and ready for bed.  And resting with Ash's dog is pretty awesome (when he's not stepping on your pubic bone) because he shares the same unhealthy obsession of spooning and snuggling as we do...  

I've always wanted a dog when I finally have my own place and the schedule to allow for one, but I'm thankful for this opportunity to experience things without the animal actually being my own...because I don't have to worry about walking him and making sure he takes a piss in subzero blizzard-like conditions. 


And since I can't pull my own BBD experience into the dog theme, Ashly, you'll appreciate this...


Bad Decision:  Hooking up with someone while the dog, with no boundaries, hangs out in the same bed.
Better Bad Decision:  Buying a new doggy bed to lure the dog onto the floor of the same room for future hook-ups.  ;)


LSLP Amanda xo

the mother of all resolutions.

In October I purchased my first home in Suburbia, Massachusettes. Shortly after, I somehow conned my new-ish friend, Amanda, into living with me. Approximately 3 days after that we realized we were the exact same person, going to be each other's new best friend, and began referring to ourselves as Living Situation Life Partners. Go ahead and cry a little. This is Disney movie quality stuff.

So we began our new life together in pretty rough places. She had ended a long term relationship fairly recently, and mine came to a sputtering halt in December. (Right before Christmas. When all anyone wants to do is make doe eyes. And spoon. And smoke some more Christmas crack to get high on spirit and love and happiness and shit. I have the best timing.) To deal, we consumed mass quantities of champagne, gave each other pep talks, and ultimately realized how awesome our single life had the potential of becoming.

Pretty much every day one of us came home with some story that really showcased our uncanny abilities to make continuously horrible life decisions. While this was not the most life healthy long term way of living, our bad decisions were certainly resulting in some great stories. So we made the decision to commit to a joint new years resolution: Make Better Bad Decisions.

So far so good, I'd say.
Besides, good decisions are overrated anyways.

Life Lesson: A bad decision results in crying. A better bad decision results in laughing so hard you cry.

-LSLP, Ash.