Common Sense Doesn't Become Me Page 2

  Carl escorted Steve outside with the strength of his strong hand on Steve's upper arm. Steve's wife followed. Marion grabbed me and rushed me to the lady's room. My mother's cry of 'for Pete's sake you can't even get your own boyfriend' rang out throughout the restaurant.

  I spent the next hour in the restroom, getting supplies of hard alcohol shots from my cousins along with a few classic puns that I could have done without. Marion stayed faithfully by my side with toilet paper to wipe my tears, a sincere I am sorry this happened to you smile and those words that classically mean a lot but are hard to digest. "Don't worry. This will pass, and you'll be back on your feet." Coming from her, I knew she meant it, and that I needed to hear it, but somehow it did not take away the sting of what just happened to me.

  Once I found some semblance of composure, I wanted to wait until a new turn of tables appeared before I walked back by those tables of people that just heard I was sleeping with a married man, and the new flux of customers was too busy ordering their food or eating, to notice the husband stealer in the restroom.

  One thing was for sure; I had convinced myself that I was surely going to hell for this mistake and no amount of do-better aptitude was going to make up for this dramatic sin. I stared at my puffy red face in the bathroom mirror as I caught Marion's reflection in the mirror texting Carl out at the party room. I told myself it was now that I needed to get my act together or at least after tonight because I still needed to slam back a few more to get through the evening. Marion gave me thumbs up that Carl was stating the restaurant turn over with new tables was good. She linked her arm in mine, and we walked, well, she gracefully walked in her heels as I leaned against her and burped out loud as soon as we passed three tables towards the party room. In my defense, crying makes me burp.

  I finally made it to the party room and sitting down in my chair when my cousin Julie mentioned they wanted to bring the cake out. The dinner my mother ordered me, eggplant parmesan, had gotten cold. I hate eggplant, and she knows it. At this point, I was drunk. Too drunk to care about cold eggplant or my mother. I was ready to dive right into the chocolate cake with raspberry filling and cream cheese frosting that I had ordered from the bakery up the street. I walked slyly between my cousin and Marion to the party room. I slinked in and sat in my chair. Carl motioned for the waitress and asked if I wanted something new to eat.

  "Just bring on the snake!" I slurred. I meant to say cake, but the waitress caught my drift, and I was past the point of normal conversation or word pronunciation. I was blitzed, and the waitress was entertained. At least, someone was getting the benefit out of my loss cause.

  Five minutes later, on a cart with a tablecloth came a full sheet cake of dark moist chocolate cake, with sweet raspberry filling and dreamiest cream cheese frosting a girl could ever hope for.

  That was the best moment of the night. The brightly lit candles, thirty of them, did not bother me. The snarky comment from my mother when I asked for three pieces did not bother me. The birthday cards with gift cards were nice, except when I opened my mother's card, the gift card was for half of what she gave my sister for her birthday. A nice penmanship comment of 'get yourself something nice to wear' tore at me for a second then I tried to take it in a positive way. Because that is what this heavenly cake did for me. It made me forget all the rest of the bad things that happened before tonight and the crazy things my family said and did after.

  I was not only having my cake and eating it too; I was taking the left over's home to wallow in my tears with for many lonely nights to come. Because tonight may have come to a crappy ending, but I had my cake, and I was not going to be left out in the cold for very long. In a few days, I will be officially thirty, and I am going to make my mark on this world... somehow.

  Chapter Two

  Nothing like a glimpse of a man with broad naked shoulders, naked six-pack of abs, naked chiseled backside and did I mention NAKED - to make a girl's tears just disappear. That naked that I am referring to is my new neighbor who just moved in across the alley. Directly across from my living room window seat, was the window of my neighbor's bedroom. I have not met him yet, but I fully intend to.

  Then a thought struck me quickly, not even twenty-four hours from my last disaster of a boyfriend, and here I go again. 'Not so fast you horny slut. Why don't you take a break from all the male testosterone drama and explore what else is out there, like volunteering?' That was my good girl conscious talking, and she was a party pooper on more than one occasion; that comes from a strict Catholic upbringing and a mother who raised me to think that I was not out being all that I could be.

  However, as I had watched him strip down to nothing, without a single cover on his window, right in front of me, oblivious that I was not even there as I stood half-hidden by the corner ledge of my large apartment window. I debated the fact that my bad girl side held a lot more power over my good girl conscious. My bad girl side nudged me hard and shouted. 'Now you need to get your hands on that. Don't be shy girl. You're a catch. Doesn't he look positively sinful? More sinful than your birthday cake? "My birthday cake. Shit!" I had left it in the taxicab that drove me home. However, all that didn't seem to matter as I let drool drip down off my lip, while my mouth sat open, and I stared like laser beams at my naked neighbor's body, examining every fine sculpted inch of his body.

  While I eased myself from hiding to sit down on my window ledge, meant as a window seat, I watched his every move. I would not be a normal healthy female if I didn't. Then he left his bedroom, walking in the direction of a small bathroom window directly next to his large uncovered bedroom window. It began to steam and that got me thinking. So, I sat there still as could be, thinking any minute now he will be stepping out of that hot steamy shower, hopefully naked again, back into his bedroom with water droplets trickling down his finely sculpted body. I was hoping he had not unpacked any towels yet and would walk around completely naked in his room.

  Five minutes had passed, and I was beginning to feel an ache in my lower back, along with the fact that my butt had fallen asleep. In the two years that I had lived in this apartment, I had never once put a cushion on this window seat let alone pillows. No reason to. I used it as a coffee table or junk collector. Now, with my new neighbor and his ability to put on a free erotic show, I will be putting not only a plush bench pillow but also several throw pillows. I might even pick up a book and pretend to read while precariously facing my neighbor's bedroom window. Perhaps, right about the time he needs to either, dress or undress, or just take a shower. This is how I start it. The trouble. Finding devious ways to get my mojo going and then not knowing when to stop.

  This exciting fluttering feeling I was getting thinking about my new neighbor halted for a second as I started to think briefly of Steve and our precarious meeting. Who picks up a guy at a convenience store that's buying large size condoms? Me, that's who! Maybe it was because I was there to buy replacement batteries for my vibrator and the fact that not only was his package large, but his looks were sexy. His laughter was uncanny when he asked what the batteries were for as we stood in a line of six people. I leaned in, whispered into his ear, not wanting to tell a lie and said the truth as sexy as I could. He turned his complete attention to me and smiled. Before I knew it, he was buying my batteries for me, along with his condoms, and telling me his offer of replacing my batteries, if you get what I mean. So it wasn't love at first sight, although he was good looking. It was after my first orgasm that I thought I fell in love. Well, love is blind and orgasms make women do stupid stuff. I should have stuck with the batteries.

  I knew that what I had done, had not been done to hurt anyone, especially Steve's wife. If I had known he was married, I would have- NOT flirted. Thinking back, he did not have his ring on at the store either. Therefore, I needed to get over my guilt, conjure up some witty banter for the next time my mother drops a comment about it, and move on. Perhaps the convenience of my new naked neighbor moving in was just the type of moving on I
needed. However, that good girl conscious was reaching out to me, practically screaming, 'you should find a way to apologize to Steve's wife.' She had a valid point, but I felt more time needed to pass before I reached out. I let my mind wander back to the image of my naked neighbor, and I felt a warm fuzzy feeling replace the retched mess I was the night before the entire ordeal.

  When I finally could not take sitting any longer, I stood up to stretch with my back to the window. I let my arms stretch above my head, and my long tee shirt rose up with my arms. I let the air seep into the holes of my last resort underwear; my faded red, more like pink, well-worn and holey granny panties. Today was laundry day, so shoot me for not throwing them away like I should, instead I kept them around for days like today, procrastination laundry day. Where every sock, bra and underwear are dirty, and walking around without undies on in only a tee shirt wasn't my style after a night like last night.

  When I finally bent down to touch my toes, I caught a glimpse of my toes that were in desperate need of a pedicure. Somewhere between last night's birthday soirée and this morning, I chipped two toenails to a ragged edge. A pedicure will be something I can run down the street and do while my laundry is taking up the only three washers and dryers in the basement apartment complex's laundry facilities. I know it's kind of rude, but it's Monday and the laundry room in my apartment building and the apartment across the way that had access to it - same management company, only one laundry room between the two buildings - was always empty on Monday mornings. So once a month I take a vacation or uh-hum sick day, sad - I know, and I wash a month's worth of laundry, clean my apartment, stock my cabinets with food and liquor and get my hair done along with a manicure and pedicure if I'm feeling lucky. Today, after getting a five-second glimpse of my finely sculpted naked neighbor's body, I am feeling good!

  When I finally stood back up and turned to see the progress on my neighbor, I was shocked and mortified. Not only was he fully dressed in khaki shorts and army green tee shirt, but he was leaning against his window looking directly at me. Can you say deer caught in headlight look, from me? He had a devilish grin upon his adorable face. I couldn't make out the color of his eyes but his slightly tanned skin suggested Spanish heritage, and his dark-brown hair in a short cut suggested professional man or perhaps just a clean-cut guy that lived in these average rent apartments. I gulped hard as he waved, and I froze. He shook his head with a smile, turned his back to me with a backwards wave, and then he was out of my line of sight.

  I bolted for my bathroom faster than superman could change in a phone booth. I took the first look at myself after a night of crying from my birthday party and loss of my latest and realized - I looked like hell. My mascara was waterproof but somehow had failed me. Dark black inking stains lined under my eyes like a raccoon and one long streak of faded black masked my face from the tips of my fingers constantly wiping the tears away. I could sue the mascara company for defamation of the truth but then again, is any mascara truly waterproof? I noticed my rat's nest of a hair that once had been updo'd upon my head the night before for the birthday dinner party. My long sleep tee shirt showed the wrinkles from many nights of sleep, and then I did what I was afraid had put that devilish grin upon his face. I lifted my arms and realized, yes it did; my underwear was exposed, holes and all. I bolted to the full-length mirror in my bedroom, bent over to touch my toes while glancing sideways into the mirror. Just like I thought; the horror of it. My holey granny panties made my ass look baggy, and one particular hole gave a bird's eye view to my precious privates. UGH!

  I tore off my panties and threw them in the trash. I stared at my reflection, wondering what my new neighbor thought of the crazy lady across the way. I grabbed a brush off my nightstand, the same one I had used last night to sing sad love songs to myself. I brushed with one hand while I took the updo clips out of my hair with the other. Tossing those hairpins on the floor like pennies in a fountain, wishing my neighbor could see me in one of my finer moments, not like he saw me this morning.

  As far as first impressions went, I was sure I just made a doosey on my part. However, for him, it was like watching a male centerfold model in action, an athletic winning his game, fine dining luxury sports car, or better yet hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream. He looked way out of my league, but that was not going to stop me from doing a little daydreaming. At this point, I was not going back to the window or near it until I looked like a respectable woman.

  I went back to the bathroom and decided I needed a quick shower before heading down into the basement to get the laundry done. I might as well just go on with my Monday. Chances were I was not going to run into my new neighbor, but I wanted to make sure if the chance happened, my hair and makeup looked great, and I would be wearing something that showed off my body that worked so hard almost every weeknight at the gym after work.

  Just as I was about to jump into the shower, my phone rang. I reached the kitchen in just a towel, luckily positioned out of the line of sight of my new neighbor. I glanced at the caller ID and noticed it was my mother. There was not a prayer in hell I wanted to talk to her after her witty repertoire last night at my birthday dinner party. It was bad enough she made me feel completely unsuccessful in life, but had to compare me to my twenty six-year-old sister who, according to my mother, was the star on the Christmas tree.

  I had to agree that my job as a production plant, low on totem pole, administrator to the production line manager, was not where my mother wanted me to be at thirty. Not to mention, I had every intention of going back to college after my freshman year fiasco, but life, parties and good times just kept on rolling by, and I had no strong desire to return. Besides, I had full health benefits, a retirement package in the works and four weeks of vacation and sick leave a year, which was almost unheard of anymore. Nobody bitched when I wanted my Monday off to handle errands, and the first few nice days in summer got a sick call in as well. My workload was easy, and my boss was a breeze. At this juncture in my life, and with the way the economy is, I would be a fool to go back to college and wait tables part-time to pay for it.

  In all my daydreaming, as my mother's message sung out on the answering machine playback, I only caught a resemblance of an apology from my mom and a mention that I left my birthday card at the restaurant with my two hundred dollar Macy's gift card in it. I did not forget; it was intentional. After the fiasco I created, and my family's crazy reaction, I wanted to leave the waitress a little something extra for having to deal with my crazy family.

  It was bad enough that my best friend's husband offered to leave the tip on a seven hundred dollar tab. I think the thirty minutes everyone spent bickering about what their share in food and alcohol was, not differing by more than ten or twenty bucks either way. I figured he was afraid of how long it might take when my dad mentioned that the gratuity was not automatically added in as typical done for a large party. The grumbling started, and Carl dropped four hundreds on the table in addition to already paying for their own meal and told me it was for the tip and my dinner, and this was their birthday present. That started a bit of back and forth conversation of 'that's too much', and 'you don't have to do that'. However, I let Marion and Carl kiss me good-bye, after they told me that they had a cab with paid fare waiting out front for my escape. They hustled out of the restaurant before anything more enlightened happened with my family, which usually did. It was too late for me at that point; I was already too far gone with my blissful alcoholic haze as I shouted out to the waitress 'shack me up my snake', which of course meant pack me up my cake.

  I deleted the message from my mom. I had to figure that was the best apology I was ever going to get from her. The sting at the end of the message mentioning a community college package should be arriving in the mail only made the apology feel like a bee sting - which I am allergic to, by the way.

  I peeked around the corner of my kitchen towards my front room window, making sure my neighbor wasn't looking this way for a glimpse of the
crazy lady across the alley way. Coast is clear.

  I made a mad dash for the bathroom and almost made it unscathed. Somehow or another, I brought a drink home from the restaurant, half-filled with alcohol, ice, and something sweet. Don't ask me what, I was too drunk to remember. I just realized, as I laid flat out on my back and my towel now slipping open that - that drink from the restaurant, which was illegal for me to walk out with - somehow spilled on my wood floor causing a nice slick spot for me to lose my footing.

  I laid on the floor for a few minutes, glad my ass and right shoulder took the brunt of the fall and not my head. I noticed the peeling paint on the apartment ceiling and added calling the super to my to-do list. I noticed a cobweb that appeared since my last dusting on the top of the doorway molding. I turned my head and noticed the restaurant glass had not broken when I must have inadvertently dropped it on the floor, aiming for my entryway table, but instead it landed and rolled partially underneath. I was a bit hung over to notice it this morning. Although this morning, before seeing the gloriously naked body of my new neighbor, I was perfectly content to walk about my place without staying close to the wall and out of sight of my delectably handsome and totally edible neighbor, if you get what I mean.