Catherine: Jana and I like to drink, that should be clear by now. Sometimes, we drink too much – this, I feel/fear, should be obvious. Anyways.
The summer of 2010, several of our friends moved into a large, run-down piece of shit house that was self-titled “The Butchershop.” Our friend had found it on Craigslist, where it was advertised as “an artist community” which meant “some of us are in a shitty metal band, and the rest of us like to get high and draw inappropriate things on the walls.” It had been all guys, but then, through a series of events, the top floor had slowly become vacated – enter our three good girl friends, who quickly moved in.
It became clear, as the months wore on, that there wasn’t more than one roommate who could correctly name everyone else. Once, someone made a sign listing the residents. Of our friends, they correctly identified one, completely missed the mark on the second, and simply wrote “etc.” for the third.
Second line from the bottom: “Sabs, Max, Abbs, Etc…”. They got two out of four, guessed on the third, and then just said fuck it. Etc.
There was a boy living on the second floor, let’s call him Jake, that I thought was a DREAM COME TRUE. He had adorable freckles, a wonderful quiet yet sexy disposition, and an impossibly gorgeous face – for. reals. He also read books and was realllllllllly into tea. Being “into tea” myself, I figured we might be soulmates. Him, being really, really, really hot and me bring really into deep stuff like tea and books.
Suffice it to say, we never spoke.
Until one night. I got nice and boozed up on the third floor and headed back downstairs to get some ice. On the way back up, I noticed that Jake’s door was open, he inside. Logic escaping me, I let myself in. Putting on my best sexy/coy act (this is a painful thing to watch, guys. It is ROUGH.), I drunkenly blabbered on about how I really liked tea too. And what books are you reading? Oh, Vonnegut? He is GREAT. What an amazing writer. I loved “Slaughterhouse 5.” What was my favorite part? (Drunkenly searches mind for anything having to do with a book I just lied about having read) (Fails) You know WHAT. I THINK YOU ARE CUTE, I say. Yea, I think you’re a really interesting person. I’m not just saying this cuz I’m drunk, I’m hardly drunk at all! (Lies, lies, lies.) Jake blushes his adorable smile. I seat myself on his bed and he imperceptibly moves his chair further away. No matter. This goes on FAR too long. I finally excuse myself and run upstairs to tell my friend of my misadventures, where I am met with “SERIOUSLY?” and “GOOD FOR YOU!” She was drunk, too.
Jake and I never spoke again.
Jana: Ohhh Cathy. Cathy, who loves tea. Or, in my experience, drinks tea sometimes but not frequently? Anyway, yes, Cathy was obsessed with Jake, strangely freckled boy of the second floor. I didn’t personally see the appeal, but I DID one time stop her from RUNNING home from a bar to confess her love for him. As I recall, we made it to the field behind the Butchershop, where I was able to get her to stop, sit on the baseball diamond, and just tell ME about how beautiful he was, instead.
I will also just say that during our summer at the Butchershop, I once overheard one of the young artists who lived there (whose name, of course, I did not know) say this: “Texting is like saying: ‘I wanna go halfsies on a baby with you, but I ain’t gonna pay for SHIT!'”
Did We Do Something to Deserve This? 