I spent the last three New Year's Eves (such awful grammar) in downtown hotels. Now that I live downtown, it's the last place I wanted to be. Luckily, I was invited to a New Year's Eve party at the same house that hosted the Daisy Dukes Party I randomly attended. I would be less nervous this time because I knew in advance that Liam, Chuck and Peter would be there, and I could have alcohol.
I was still a nervous wreck the entire day of the party. Kevin texted me at 5:30 asking if I wanted to come over earlier to watch a movie, but I decided that I had to Nair my arms and make sure that I was immaculate-looking. I managed to leave my house at 9 (like I had promised). I tried to buy mixers at Walgreens, but they absolutely failed and I could not get good mixers! In my defense, Kevin had asked for Five Alive and I don't even know what that is.
My anxiety is in reverse with him. Were this a normal friendship (I say the word "friendship" because "relationship" sounds far too serious and adult), I would feel more comfort the more we hang out. Instead, it is the opposite. The more I see him, the more I feel nauseous and anxious, and it's because I like him, more than the way I like the bar crushes, but I can't tell him that, because timing is everything, and I certainly couldn't say it on the way to the New Year's Eve party. What if he didn't feel the same way? Talk about an awkward car ride home the next morning.
Lost in my thoughts, I drove past his house on accident and then took forever to turn around because somebody was tailgating me and I panicked. Suburban drivers are mean, you guys. I finally got to his driveway and into his house. He was wearing a blue button-down and that damned pouka shell necklace. THAT DAMNED POUKA SHELL. It is as ridiculous as it is appealing.
"Try this on," he smiled, and he handed me a cream puffer jacket that I thought was a bit big on me. "That looks good. My mom brought it for me for Christmas but my arms are too long for it, so she said I should see if it fits you."
"Okay," I said through gritted teeth. "We should go. We don't want to be late to the party."
"It's good to see you," he said on the way there, tousling my hair, but not even that calmed my anxiety. It made it worse, actually, and then I got lost before we got to the freeway. I was beyond tense. I was obsessed with my butt, and who would be at this party, and then I was angry at myself for being anxious. This had nothing to do with the fact that we had already seen each other naked. There were going to be boys who look like models at this shindig. Boys born in the '90s who had positive, sunny attitudes and weren't constantly on edge.
“Buddy, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked
“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “I just hate driving. I’ll be okay when we get there.”
“Are you …. I don’t believe you, but okay,” he said.
Maybe there is when I should have said something. I convince myself that I don't want a relationship, or something monogomous, because I know I am too inexperienced for such a thing and have no clue as to what I am doing. That being said, I clearly have feelings for him, ones that are stronger than a simple crush, but I can't verbalize them. Instead I cope by listening to Lana del Ray and eating EZ-Cheese.
"I get lost all the time," I managed to say. "I hate driving. I am always running late. I'm on edge 24/7. Next year I will be a grown-up."
"Who says it has to be next year?" he smiled. "You've got three and a half hours left of 2012 to be an adult. You can do it."
