Playgrounds & Apartments; or Headaches, Ankle Sprains & the Hard-Headed.

I kept repeating to myself, to Goldi & to the doctor at Urgent Care,

I've really never been hurt before.

Obviously, I meant physically.

When I was eight, I bruised my tailbone on the car door. Don'taskmehow. When I was ten, a boy pushed me off the bars at recess and I fell off headfirst into the tanbark, ending up with a mild concussion. Around the same time, the taunts from the boys on the schoolyard ended up with both me and them in the Principal's office. I came home crying often, and my mother would tell me (as most mothers will),

Oh honey, they just tease you because they like you.



The above explanation was a flat out lie.



I was an awkward and scrappy little girl; these boys teased me because I did two things - I instigated it & I reacted to it. I made myself an easy target. It didn't help that my mother was a birthday party clown. A reeeeallly awesome birthday party clown. When I was eleven I broke my pinky finger on the front walk of our house. But since then, I haven't really been physically hurt. When I was eighteen, I finally had grown out of my awkward phase, and - lo & behold! - most of those boys who had once teased & taunted me were now taking a second look at me.
The headaches of playground politics were then replaced by the heartaches & heartbreaks of adulthood.

Let's rewind to last Thursday.
I was seated at a brightly lit table with Goldi at the new sushi place that replaced our old sushi place, when Goldi asked me to check my phone. When I did, I realized I had a text from her that she had sent me from across the table. Uh oh. The text itself was a single name; the name of a girl who may be the only girl in my tiny town that I truly despise. Forgoodreason. Let's call her 'Arika'. Now, Arika was sitting directly behind us trying to make eye contact while we tried to avoid it - easier for me as my back was to her. Goldi and I quickly hailed our waitress and requested a table change. The restaurant was packed, with a party of twenty and a party of twelve seated at the front but we didn't care - we moved up to the front near these two huge parties. We ordered sushi and wine and continued on with our dinner. Right before we were finishing up, I got up to use the restroom - once I was about halfway there I saw Arika herself going into the ladies room. Panicked, not wanting to be the next person in line behind her, I swiftly turned on my heel and hightailed it back to the table - aaaaaaaaaaand slipped, sliding towards our table, my ankle turned underneath me, and I fell back into my chair - in front of a packed house*.
Ankle throbbing, lower lip trembling & eyes watering - I looked at Goldi, and sobbed,

I think I sprained my ankle.

* And now, I have yet another reason to dislike this Arika girl - & I already disliked her a lot.

Butthatisneitherherenorthere.

Sitting at the restaurant, icing an ankle that hurt like nothing I had ever felt before & unable to walk, I was surprised at my first thought: Apartment F. I tried to bury it from my mind.

Then Goldi asked,

Do you want me to call your neighbor in Apartment F?

Absolutely not. I replied, I am not calling him.

I got about halfway home, & realized that if I was going to get myself into my tiny room with a kitchen attached by myself I would have to crawl. And much to my chagrin, not only did I need help getting into my apartment, I wanted to call him; I wanted him with me. So, I broke down & dialed his number. There is something I should probably explain: the Big Sister that told you not to kiss your neighbors - yeeeaah, I didn't take my own advice.

 of Apartment B - our Resident Hoarder.

My girlfriend: How's the old guy in Apt B?

Me: Oh you know, usually drunk and pants-less.

Awhile back...

I had been at work all day and when I pulled into the parking lot of my complex, about half of the residents of my building were outside chatting each other up. Now, I am friendly with a couple of my neighbors but for the most part we keep to ourselves - or so I thought - so it was unusual for us all to be outside hanging out with each other BBQing & drinking wine. Even more unusual was that the cute neighbor from Apartment F was outside too - none of us had ever really talked to him other than to ask him to move his car or give a friendly 'Hello'. My neighbors all had quite a buzz going, all home from their respective Sunday Fundays - especially Apartment F. Okay, he was Drunk. Capital D. My next door neighbor, the outspoken Latina who lives in Apartment D, made a comment about how I only am friendly if I have been drinking, otherwise I am sort of cold and smug. Apartment E - the outdoorsy oddball who has a crush on me - agreed.

Great, I thought, in our Poor Man's Melrose Place - I'm the Resident Bitch in Apt C.

And if my building is the Poor Man's Melrose, that would make Apartment F the resident Mysterious Handsome New Guy. Later, sitting on - surprise! - the patio in front of my apartment the conversation turned to our ages.
This is a terrible topic of conversation to bring up with a drunk stranger I know, but it happened.

Apt F: How old are you?

Me in Apt C: Not a question you ask a lady.

Apt F: No but seriously, how old are you?

Apt C: How old do you think I am?  (Okay, perhaps I had a buzz going too. Worst possible response.)

He paused, looked intently at me and responded: Thirty seven.

Apt C: Are you serious?

Apt F: Yes.

Apt C: I'm TWENTY NINE!

Apt E: Duuuuuuude.

Apt F: Well, in that case you look a little weathered. Why aren't you married yet?

Apt C: Fuuuuuuck you.

And with that, I marched inside, slamming the door behind me. I immediately called my girlfriend who lives across the way and headed to her house in tears. She handed me a tissue, talked me down, & reassured me of his newly confirmed Resident Asshole status and after a good cry, I went home. When I got back, the building was quiet and dark as everyone had gone inside. I got out a piece of monogrammed card stock and wrote,

'Weathered' is not something you ever say to a person, whether you think it is true or not.

Neither is, 'Why aren't you married yet?'

You have my wine glass.
You can keep it.
- Apt C.

I left it on his truck and went to bed. The next morning, tucked into my driver's side window was a Shutterfly card with a photo of an Arizona bobcat on the front and an apology written on the inside.

Sidenote: I know it was an Arizona bobcat because that is what was written in little old lady cursive on the back. Honestly, I got a bigger kick out of the idea that this was the sort of cards he had on-hand in his tiny room with a kitchen attached; the kind your mother gives you 'just in case' while you roll your eyes, than the apology itself.

A few days later, I was sitting by myself on the patio smoking and reading my newest ELLE magazine and he walked by and asked if I had received his apology. I said yes and he assured me that he meant it.

Well it still hurt my feelings.

I'm sorry. It was stupid, and honestly, I was just projecting my own issues on you.

He walked out to the street, and got into his truck. I thought about what he said for for a second, and ran out to the street and motioned for him to roll down his window. He obliged.
I looked at him, smiled and said,

You are not weathered.

The following Friday, after I got home from a couple cocktails with my girlfriends, I marched upstairs, knocked on Apartment F's door and kissed him.

He told me later,
If you hadn't have done that I would have.

I've said it time and time again, I want what I can't have and I usually get what I want. Since then, I have willed myself not to fall for him. He is not what I am looking for. He is 36, and after a hard couple years, finally getting his life back on track. I have continued to go on dates with other people asyouknow. I have practically screamed from the rafters 'We are not together!' I have also accompanied him to BBQs with his childhood friends. I have opened up to him more than else I've dated. All the while refusing to admit that we are anything more than neighbors that kiss occassionally, let alone dating. He has met a few of my friends, and I have met several of his. He Skyped with my mother. We've hung out quite a bit, with accelerated frequency. He knows about my blog, but is not allowed to read it.
We are friends.

At the aforementioned BBQ with his childhood friends, someone asked us how we met & he said to his friend,

Straight up school yard style: I had a crush on her so I teased her. And it worked.

Maybe my mother wasn't so wrong after all.

And when I slipped and sprained my ankle, he was the first person I wanted to call.

And the last person I wanted to call.

And the person I did call.

And when I arrived home, in tears & in pain, he came down from Apartment F lifted me up & carried me into Apartment C.

I am totally the Resident Bitch in Apt C dating the Resident Handsome New Guy in Apt F in the Poor Man's Melrose Place.

We're not dating.

Sidenotes: Bijou has hung out with him several times - but the first time she ever met him, after he left she looked at me and straight up told me I needed to throw away my List because the dynamic between he and I was like nothing she had ever seen. I have been putting up this wall because I don't want to fall into a relationship with someone just for the sake of being in a relationship and I want certain things in a partner, and although some of them are a bit superficial. But what I am slowly coming to realize is that he has a good heart and I am not falling into a relationship with just for convenience. And neither is he. Apartment F was the basis for 'Checking It Twice'  and part of 'Paper Planes'. There was a crisis in our community last week, and as we watched it unfold of the news together, I couldn't have been more comforted by the fact that it was him I weas being comforted by. I have been stomping my foot, like a like a little girl on my own playground for weeks, screaming 'He is not my boyfriend!' And he's not. But for the first time, between the crisis & my ankle - I am becoming more open to the idea... And it's him who told me to 'stop fighting it' last night. Goddamn, I'm soabsolutelyfucking transparent.

Also, thank god I had both Goldi, Bijou, my Girlfriend Across the Way & Apartment F to take care of me this weekend, as I was bedridden and bedraggled.

The Man's Man did fall off the tightrope; although I haven't told him yet. I'm a coward.

Sidesidenotes: Arika is disliked because a college boyfriend of mine cheated on me with her, I found a note on the Englishman's dining room table from her thanking him 'for making her smile' and she hit on the Dutchman once before I met him aaand flagged us down on the street to (re)introduce herself as 'my overprotective big sister'. We are not friends, don't run in the same circles, and I just can't seem to shake her. If I had an archnemesis, it would be her. And now she's done and sprained my ankle.