Day 22: Sleepless nights are never fun

So I came home from work Monday night excited to have a little bit of my homemade guacamole and watch It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia before heading to bed. I had plans for Tuesday: laundry, vote early, work out, eat lunch, and get ready for work. This may not sound like a lot to get done in one morning, but the time flies and I wanted to leave early for work because the damn train kept me delayed for almost half an hour Monday afternoon, making me late. But I digress. Monday night was shaping up quite nicely for about fifteen minutes. I was watching my show and drinking some water, contemplating a nice glass of wine, when all of a sudden I heard the cab.

You see, my roommate (let's call him B) has a lady friend (let's call her L) who he has been hanging out with for a few weeks. Now I love B and I like L, but I knew when I heard the cab on Monday that my night was about to take quite a drastic turn. After almost breaking his key to unlock our door, B & L stumbled into our apartment and L proclaimed that we all needed to drink a glass of wine. This seemed an odd request because I was trying to think of a way to gracefully exit the situation, but she tackled me in my kitchen and declared that no, I was not going to bed, we were all having wine. Being the only one sober enough to operate our wine key, I thought, "Well maybe if I drink a huge glass of red, it will put me to sleep." Oh if only.

B, L, and I hung out for a while, laughing and drinking, and then L swayed just a little to far to the left, dumping half the glass of red on the couch. At this point, I officially knew I was in for a loooooooooooooooong night. B and I tried to get the stain out, more me than B as he was trying to comfort L as well and I was thinking "Why the fuck did I drink all of my sparkling water on Saturday night?" After I did what I could with the stain, I decided to go to bed. I thought, maybe, they would hang out for a while and give me a grace period to actually fall asleep, but alas, I was mistaken.

Five minutes after I closed my door, I heard B's door close and L's giggle and the evening was off and running my friends. We've all experienced the next few hours that I'm about to describe: you, alone in your room, and your roommate on the other side of the wall having crazy fun sex while you lay awake in a combination of envy and anger. This has happened before (with a certain blogger who shall remain nameless). But on this particular evening, I was not drunk as well and thus not able to rely on a drunken coma to ease the pain, and I learned a few things about L that I simply did not need to know.

I don't know if anyone else out there has ever lived with a guy in a completely platonic, but super close relationship. If you have, you may be aware of the fact that guys like to talk. They share details. They have "bro moments" even when you're not technically a bro. So there were things about L that I was prepped for going in to the evening. But hearing about the ways L likes to come is one thing. Being able to imitate the patterns of her moaning is quite another.

After a few minutes of trying in vain to watch Gilmore Girls and sleep, L kicked in to high gear. I lay there, stuffing pillows over my head, turning over, meditating in vain, and then was jolted out of whatever zen state I was trying to achieve by what sounded like a crate full of cinderblocks being dropped on B's bed frame. One thought ran through my head at the crash: "I'm so not going in there, but God I hope L is okay." A few minutes later, L eased my worries with a few quick moans and a crazy scream. So let's all be grateful that L only missed the bed and cracked her skull on its side, but no worries, she was up and ready for action just a few short minutes later.

So about an hour and a half goes by, slapping and moaning acting as the soundtrack to my life, when snack time arrives. As I realize I can no longer put off the fact that my bladder is about to explode, I hear the microwave ding and B say, "I think I just broke the salad spinner." Trying to sneak back into my room after finally using the bathroom, L calls my name and wants to hang out for a bit. She asks if B can be trusted. Did he really just whip together the bruschetta and caeser salad she is eating? Did he truly grind the anchovies to make the paste to put in the dressing? As a good bro, I of course corroborate his story and assure L that yes, B can be trusted. Snack time proved a bit difficult for L as she kept dropping salad on her shirt and asking over and over again if B was a con man. Eventually, I was able to gracefully bow out of the situation and go back to bed.

Around 3:45, B and L were having giggle time in bed, and I took full advantage. I conjured every meditative technique I learned during yoga and acupuncture and fell asleep before round two kicked in to action. Yes, there are flashes through the rest of the night, but I did actually get to sleep for a few hours. That is, until 6:30 when I was woken up with one thought running through my head: Again?

So my friends, the moral of this very long story is that, while having that night is never fun, it's especially not fun during week three of a man sabbatical. Oh and B... you owe me something very pretty my love.