Ghosts of Christmases Past

I've never been good with change.

Christmas, for me, always stirs up so many memories of my childhood. Every year, for so many years, Christmas Eve was spent with my dad's side of the family at my grandparent's house. We'd have a big party with second and third generation cousins, aunts, and uncles during the day, and once they left, the immediate family would sit down to a wonderful dinner (honey-baked ham and rolls and my aunt's amazing hash brown casserole) before opening piles and piles and piles of presents. My grandpa would always dictate who went first, and every year, the present-opening order was youngest to oldest, which meant that I was first until I turned 3. Then Amber took over the coveted spot, pushing me into second place, where I remained until the year my grandpa died. When I close my eyes, I can still picture and feel moments of those Christmases. My mom would always dress my sister and me in those adorable yet uncomfortable as hell frilly Christmas dresses and tights that I couldn't wait to take off. Once the last member of the extended family left, I would usually make a beeline for the Christmas pajamas that my mom had inevitably packed, only to have to change again later so we could take a family picture in front of the tree. I remember the excitement and anticipation growing as the day wore on after sneaking peeks at the piles of presents just begging to be unwrapped. I remember down to every last detail how my grandparents decorated their living room each year; the manger scene next to the dining room table, which was filled to bursting with food, the Christmas tree in the corner, and the animatronic Santa and Mrs. Claus on the half-ledge by the front door. They would program their doorbell to play 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas', the fridge in the garage would be filled with soda and beer, and the kids would all congregate in the basement to challenge each other to games of ping-pong and pool while the women chatted in the living room and the men yelled at the football games on the big-screen TV in the family room. When I got tired, I would crawl under the coats on my grandparent's bed and doze off to the comforting sounds of laughter and happiness and family and love. To this day, those were some of the best naps I ever took.

After my grandpa passed away, everything began to change. I don't remember how many more Christmases we had at their house after that, but it wasn't many. Eventually, we moved my grandma and my aunt into assisted living, and though we continue many of the traditions to this day, and we still enjoy our time together, it's just never been quite the same. Every year, there are small changes to our celebration that, though minuscule in the grand scheme of things, always feel gargantuan to me. It's not always even a guarantee that we will have our celebration on Christmas Eve anymore, which leaves me looking for new traditions to fill that time.

When I think back to all those wonderful Christmas Eves at my grandparent's house as a child, they take on a sort of hazy, glowing quality; I can see it so clearly in my head, but when I try to feel it again, it's like trying to grasp onto air. My aunt works so hard to make everything wonderful, and she always succeeds. We always have fun together, and eat delicious food, and we are all so spoiled by the generosity of one another when it comes to gift-giving. But still, it will never be as it was, and I carry that tiny twinge of longing for Christmases past with me in my heart each and every year.

I've spent a lot of time reflecting on all of this today... not just Christmas Eves, but Christmas Days spent with my mom's side of the family - thirteen grandkids swinging from the rafters, six kids trying to calm them down, two grandparents doling out presents, and a partridge in a pear tree - and all the things that my mom, dad, sister and I used to do together leading up to all of those wonderful celebrations. Baking cookies with my mom, especially her secret sugar cookie recipe, which Amber and I still make every year. Making elaborate gingerbread houses to be demolished and devoured on New Years Eve. Spending the day putting up lights outside our house on Shagbark Court with my dad. Building snow forts in the front yard after the plows would come through, leaving mountains of snow for us to dig through, and warming up with hot chocolate afterwards. Visiting Santa at Mayfair Mall. My mom refusing to let us open any presents on Christmas morning until she had the video camera up and running. Unfortunately, a lot of these memories were overshadowed by the challenges we faced as a family in the later years, but I still have snippets of memories here and there, as clear as day; in particular, one involving my parent's old blue Dodge van, picking out a Christmas tree, and listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas cassette tape. And after reflecting, I've come to one very important conclusion:

I believe that the magic of Christmas is found in our childhood, and unless we are very, very careful, we lose it when we grow up... and the only way to find it again is to have children of your own, and share their magic with them.

I love Christmas... I love everything about it... but as each year passes, and so much changes, further distancing the Christmases of today from the Christmases of my childhood, and I'm challenged with finding the time to enjoy the season while also being a responsible adult, it gets more and more difficult to feel that magic. I've been lucky enough to still feel it at some point each year, but it always came in stops and starts, stuttering and then bursting open before disappearing as quickly as it came. This year was even more challenging than most, because the void left by my mom overshadowed every single potentially joyful moment I encountered. I tried; I tried so incredibly hard to enjoy every single aspect of the holiday season. I watched Christmas movies, and decorated my house; I baked cookies, I donated to charities, I shopped for Christmas presents; I walked Candy Cane Lane and went to Christmas parties and wore ridiculous things like reindeer antlers and a blinking Christmas light necklace; I spent time with friends and family, and I sang at not one, not two, but three Christmas masses, which I usually leave feeling rejuvenated and inspired; but and not once, not once, did I feel that spark.

I've never been good with change, and I'm dealing with one of the biggest changes that any human being will ever have to face; the death of someone they love, and the trial and error period that occurs after, when you're trying to figure out how to put the pieces of your life back together without them. I picked up my phone today to text my mom 'Merry Christmas', and when I realized what I was doing, it brought me to tears. My grandma wore my mom's perfume to church, and when I hugged her and smelled it, it felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I watched today as each family took pictures in front of my aunt's Christmas tree, and wished more than anything I could take back all those Christmases when I'd been so irritated with my mom for wanting to take a million pictures of us together. I thought about how hard my mom always worked to make things nice for my sister and I... how she always wanted us to have the best of everything... and I thought about how I would trade every single gift I got this year for one last hug from her. And it brought me here, to this, and to you.

I am caught somewhere between the past and the future - still looking back, and still looking forward, but not quite ready to face today - and Christmas Day was no exception. The fact that I will never spend another Christmas with my mom is still something I am having trouble wrapping my head around, but there is certainly still joy to be found in the time spent with my family and friends. And I don't think I've lost the magic of Christmas; it may have gotten lost in the grieving process this year, but that doesn't mean it's going to stay away forever.

I've never been good with change, but change is a part of life. It's just a matter of reconciling who you were with who you are, and who you are with who you want to be. Christmas may never be as it was, but it is still full of magic, and I can't wait to have children and a family of my own to share the magic and build new traditions with, the way my mom did, and the way my dad and Nancy continue to do with my sister and me to this day. In the meantime, I'm determined to try again next year to find that spark on my own.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

There is good in the world.

It's been a tumultuous week for the human race. The unspeakable tragedy in CT, especially so close to Christmas, with children so young and innocent, has left a lot of us wondering where we, as a nation, are headed; where mistakes were made and how they can be corrected; how someone could commit such a horrific, heartbreaking crime; and, more than anything, why.

I'm not going to wax poetic on the events that occured at Sandy Hook Elementary School last Friday. In fact, I've been trying to avoid the news, both in print and on television, because the way that tragic events like these are glorified and heralded by the media makes me physically ill. It's so easy to get caught up in the hatred, the condemnation, the finger-pointing, as we search for answers. That's not to say that what happened to those poor children and teachers and the losses that their families and the community are dealing with right now should be belittled in any way, shape or form. But what if, instead of getting caught up in the negative, we simply came together as human beings and just... loved?

As of today, it's been three months since my mom died. It's also only seven days until Christmas. It's been a sad, frustrating holiday season for me, and what happened last Friday certainly did not help matters. But after praying for everyone involved, which I continue to do every day, I took a step back and realized that, despite the fact that bad things happen, there really is still so much good in the world. There is still so much to be thankful for. That realization doesn't ease the ache that's been lodged in my chest since the loss of my mom; it doesn't heal the hurt in the hearts of those families that lost children, friends, parents, relatives, teachers, and neighbors; and it certainly doesn't change the fact that we are all going to experience the devestating, humbling grief that results from the loss of a loved one at some point in our lives. But maybe, just maybe, if we learn to look at things a little differently, we can heal a little faster, and love a little easier, and know that, as the ones left behind, we have an obligation to those who have gone before us to be happy, and to learn to find beauty and the joy in the world around us once again.

I've spent a very long time struggling with gratefulness. It's something I have to force myself to focus on each and every day, especially now. My bills are piling up, and work is stressful, and I miss my mom, and a relationship that I had been fairly invested in came to an end, and it's so easy to get bogged down by bitterness and exasperation. But those bills that keep piling up? They're half of what they were at this time last year. Half! So all that scrimping and budgeting and saving over this past year has paid off. Work may be stressful, but I love my job, and I love the people that I work with, which is not something that many people are fortunate enough to be able to say. I may miss my mom, but at least I had a mom for 29 years, and I have lots of wonderful memories to look back on. And I may be sad that the relationship is over, but at least I know that I still have the ability to open myself up to love, no matter how many times my heart is bruised or broken. And every day I wake up is another chance to do something great, to be someone great, and to experience something I've never experienced before. What if, instead of dreading the day ahead, or worrying about the past, we all woke up every morning with gratefulness in our hearts?

There is beauty in the world, in the soft, muted song of a snowfall; in the rejuvenating radiance of a sunrise; in mountains and rivers and the promise of wide-open spaces.

And there is good in the world, in the smiles of strangers; in good deeds done without the expectation of retribution; in the small acts of kindness and love that we share with our loved ones each and every day.

You may just need to change your point of view to see it.

Movie Theaters and Inconsiderate Douchebags

 

I went to see Flight the other night with a friend of mine. The most I'd heard about the movie up until that point was that it made people never want to get on a plane again. I was anticipating some hybrid of Final Destination and Snakes on a Plane, so I most definitely was not impressed when I realized that the majority of the movie focused on a man's struggle with drug and alcohol abuse. Don't get me wrong, Denzel was fantastic, but 150 minutes of 'will he? won't he?' and watching a man basically destroy his life with substance abuse wasn't necessarily my idea of a good time.

 

However.

 

I probably would have enjoyed the movie a lot more if I hadn't been stuck in front of not one, but two sets of couples who felt it completely acceptable to talk in their normal speaking voices throughout the entire. freaking. movie.

 

Imagine this, if you will. My friend and I took our seats, ecstatic that we were able to nab seats behind the railing so we could put our feet up. Speaking of which, I'd like to interject a side note here: you just KNOW that even if the entire theater is empty save for you, if you sit in a row with seats in front of you and put your feet up, someone will walk in and absolutely have to have that seat that you're innocently resting your feet on. When you're sitting behind a railing, you can avoid this altogether, hence our excitement. Kelly had popcorn, I had my Ring Pops, and things were looking good.

 

The previews hadn't started yet, so we were chatting innocently about what we'd been up to and how excited we were for Christmas, when I started to notice that I could barely hear her over the guy sitting in the row behind us, just to the right, who was also talking to his wife/girlfriend/prostitute. (No judgment, but you just never know.) And as I started to hear more of their conversation than my own, I also happened to notice that the couple behind us and to my left were pretty damn loud as well. I turned around in a seemingly innocent manner and spent a moment looking at each of them while I very clearly and concisely used my eyes to communicate the following message:

 

"Talk all you want now, but once that movie starts, if I hear so much as a peep out of you, you're going to become reaaaaal good friends with my fists. The right one is lightning, and the left one is thunder, and it will storm ALL up in here."

A visual map of the seating arrangement, minus Kelly,
and where I am an angry man with short blonde hair and glasses.



The previews began, and both couples talked, loudly, through all of them, to the point where I understood each word of their conversation. Now, as you can imagine, this is no small feat, since the volume in movie theaters is usually cranked up to levels that are apt to make ears bleed and small children cry. Still, I let it slide, hoping that if I just let them have their moment, they would behave themselves once the actual movie started.

Boy, was I wrong.

The first part of the movie passed by with minimal issue, however, judging by their behavior through the rest of the movie, this may have been because the majority of the beginning involves a very loud plane crash, so I may just have not been able to hear them over all the ruckus happening on-screen. It wasn't until we got to the heart of the movie - the part that pulls you in and makes you really feel what the character is going through - that they decided to totally ruin the experience. While poor Denzel was up there struggling with his demons, drinking himself incoherent and trying to avoid life in prison, the peanut gallery was commenting on the scenery, (Couple #1: "All that farmland is so beautiful. I wonder what it'd be like to own a farm? I don't like animals enough for that, though. Ha ha ha.") and his clothes, (Couple #2: "Oh my gosh! I have that same shirt! That's, like, totally insane!") and the fact that they were out of popcorn (Couple #1: "Shit, we're out of popcorn. No, I'll go get it. No really, it's ok. Well maybe we shouldn't get any more. Do you want more? Are you still hungry? Ok. I'll go. No, it's ok. I'll go.)*

*Author's Note: I was thisclose to turning around, grabbing the bucket of popcorn, and screaming at the top of my lungs, "NEVERMIND. I'LL JUST FUCKING GET IT FOR YOU."

Arguably my favorite part came right before Denzel's trial. He'd been clean and sober for 8 days when they led him to a hotel room to relax and spend the night before meeting for breakfast in the morning. In what I'd consider a very smart move, his lawyer and friend had made sure to have all the little bottles of liquor removed from the mini-fridge. Unfortunately, they failed to notice that the previous occupants of the connecting room next door not only had left the connecting door unlocked, but had also left a window open so the door was swinging and banging and thereby alerting Denzel to its unlocked state. (So convenient, right?) And you can bet your sweet ass they hadn't emptied the booze from the mini-fridge next door. Denzel slowly opened the door to what could be called a booze-filled paradise, picked up a small bottle of vodka, and a good, solid two minutes of silent deliberation ensued. Well, it should have been silent deliberation. That's the way the writer and the director and the actor had filmed it. Unfortunately, this is what I heard.

"Oh no. No, no, no. He won't do it. He won't do it. He's not going to do it. He won't. No, he won't."
(Denzel puts the bottle down)
"Oh man, I told you he wouldn't do it. Didn't I tell you? I knew he wouldn't."
(Denzel returns and snatches the bottle back up and proceeds to get hammered)
"Oh fuck. He did it."

In fact, I'm fairly certain that I could more accurately quote their conversations than I could replay back to you anything that happened on-screen. However, I'm sure you're all going to be very proud of me, because I took a deep breath and let it slide, regardless of the fact that, to me, it's one of the most. infuriating. things. ever. I didn't even turn around to glare at either of them. Not once. But I mean, seriously. If you need to talk, that's fine. WHISPER. I have no problem with the occasional whisper. But to talk in your normal voice at normal volume when other people are trying to lose themselves in a cinematic masterpiece is just plain bad manners.

'Aint nobody got time for that.

I really think the Oatmeal is on to something with their illustrated depiction of how movie theaters should REALLY be laid out. I'm totally on-board.

Enjoy.

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/movie_theater_layout

 

Confessions of an Egotistical Drama Queen

I'm in a sharing mood today, so I've decided to tell you all some of my secrets; the things about me that make me both crazy and wonderful at the same time.... or so I've been told.

Ok fine, that's just what I tell myself. Potato, po-tah-to.

Let's begin, shall we?

Despite the fact that I'm 29 years old, I still run up the basement steps. Every single time. And while I run, I pray that some murderous creature of darkness won't be able to catch me before I get to the top. I actually got over this for a short period of time, and then I started watching American Horror Story. Totally worth it, though.

When I am eating M&M's, I must eat one of each color in a row, I can't eat more than one color at a time (but two of the same color at once is okay) and the last M&M's left must include one of each color. I have all kinds of ridiculous "rules" like this in regards to the way I eat my food.

The average amount of time that I snooze before actually getting out of bed each morning is 45 minutes to an hour. I am not a morning person.

I'm not a fan of pants. I rarely have them on when my roommate's not around.. and sometimes, I refuse to put them on even when she is. I feel the same way about bras.

My favorite color is red. No, pink. Well, sometimes green, and sometimes blue, and I really like black, too. But mostly red. Or pink.

I have 3 recurring dreams; one involves some fascimile of Hawaii, Orlando, and traveling on planes, and the other two involve alien creatures and the end of the world. If dreams really do come true, I hope it's only the former.

When I'm brushing my teeth, I leave the water running. Shame on me.

My left foot is longer than my right one, but my right eye is bigger than my left one.

I generally get through my workday on a series of bribes. "Ok Heather, if you finish this e-mail, you can get up and go to the bathroom." or "If you make it through this meeting, you can eat your afternoon snack." I like to think that I'm preparing myself to be a successful mother.

I don't iron anything. Ever. The way it comes out of the dryer is the way it's going to be worn. For this reason, I don't own any button-up shirts other than flannel, which I only wear when I'm having one of those "I want to give up on life" days, so I wouldn't bother ironing it anyway.

I. Can't. Stand. Clutter. It makes me honest-to-God angry, to the point where I'll pull out a garbage bag and start throwing shit away just to get rid of it. I usually regret this later when I can't find my iPhone charger/journal/favorite sweatshirt/dog.

I hate cats because my parents took me to see the musical 'Cats' when I was some insane age, like 3, and my interpretation of the show was that there was a crazed, murderous cat named McCavity on the loose killing everyone that he could get his paws on. I'll be damned if I bring one of those creatures into my house. It would be comparable to being a hot blonde in a horror movie and taking a shower. You're just asking for trouble.

I truly believe that the only way to drink chocolate milk is through a straw.

And to top off this incredibly egotistical blog post, I will answer some random questions that I found on the Google machine that I thought may be fun.

1. Have you ever made out in a movie theater?
       Yes. Yes I have. I'm sure this surprises no one.

2. What body part do you wash first?
       My face.

3. What's your favorite flavored Pringles?
       Dill Pickle.

4. Who is the last person you usually think about before you fall asleep?       
       I'll never tell, but for the record, I think about him first thing when I wake up, too.
                                       
5. If you had to choose to not ever wash your bed sheets again or not wash your bath towel ever again, which would you rather not wash?
        Probably my bath towel, but let me be clear and say that both options are disgusting.

6. Have you ever peeked in the opposite sexes locker room?
       Not the locker room; the bathroom. 2nd grade. I got in huge trouble. If you can't beat 'em...

7. What is the stupidest thing you've ever done at a bar?
      Deep-throated a banana in a bar full of men. It's just a party trick, damnit.

8. Have you ever called your love interest by an ex's name?
      Not to their face, but when talking about them to others, yes. Freudian slip!

9. What is the feature that people compliment you on the most?
       I'm always told I have a beautiful smile.

10. What is your favorite pickup line?
      Did you get those pants on sale? Because at my house, they'd be 100% off.

Ok, so I just want to throw this out there... if anyone has a story to share, or a topic they'd like me to sound off on, I'd be happy to take suggestions. Just leave a comment below, or over on the FB. Happy Friday, friends!

Melancholy.

i'm feeling a lot of things tonight. most of them can be summed up by this song. if it doesn't make you feel something... anything... than i am concerned for your soul. take a listen.

i'm workin' on a high hope 

and if it all works out,

you might just see me or hear from me in a while

i'm gonna make it 'cross this tightrope

and i'm coming for my prize

no more "i'll be waiting 'round" while life just passes by...

maybe when our hearts have realigned

maybe when we've both had some time

i'm gonna see you there

i'm gonna see you there

lay 

we can be natural

lay

cuz i've been living in the half life

not sure which way to turn

why must a man lose everything 

to find out what he wants

i'm gonna wait until it feels right

and when that time has come

wild horses won't keep me back from where you have gone

maybe when we're both old and wise

maybe when our hearts have had some time 

i'm gonna see you there

i'm gonna see you there

lay 

we can be natural, lay

after all we've seen, we can do anything, lay

where you heart is strong, where we can go on and on, lay

where your good times gone, where we are forever young, lay 

where your heart is strong, where we can go on and on, lay

lay

i wanna see you there. 

Adult Sleepovers

Alright. Since we're all friends here, I think it's time that I wax poetic on a subject that's been on my mind as of late. I was having a sleepover of the adult nature in an undetermined location with an undisclosed person either recently or not so recently and as I was lying there trying to fall asleep, I came the the following conclusion: I'm not a huge fan of sleeping with other people. (In the non-biblical sense, of course. I'm not crazy.) Here's the thing, though... I love to cuddle in bed. Absolutely love it. So, in my ideal world, after sex and/or cuddling, I would be able to beam myself into the comfort of my own bed to sleep, and then beam myself right back into my adult friend's/boyfriend's bed just in time for a morning sex/cuddle session.

I'm fairly certain that I will never be able to say this to someone.
 

Why? Well, first and foremost, I snore. I snore loudly. I have major sinus issues, and despite the fact that they're the culprit, and it's not something can be helped, it's still super embarrassing, especially when you first start dating someone. I mean, you spend all that time shaving, and waxing, and tweezing, putting on makeup and doing your hair and choosing just the right outfit, complete with matching undergarments if you know/hope you're going to get lucky that night (side note: when my bra and underwear match, it really makes me feel like I have my life together. I just needed to take a moment to say that) and then, after it's all said and done, there's that awkward moment when you're like... "Shit. I really want to stay, and I've worked this hard, and I can handle the smudged eyeliner and morning breath tomorrow, but will he still want to date me when I've kept him up with my freight train-like snoring all night?" When I do decide to brave the storm, most of the time, the guy is a gentleman; if I did end up keeping him awake, they never say anything about it. However, I have been called out on it before, and it always makes me feel like an asshole.

Guys, I am telling you, if your girl snores, DO NOT TELL HER. This is one of the very few instances when I am going to encourage you to lie. If she asks if she snores, either tell her she doesn't, or tell her she does but you think it's cute, and then buy some earplugs and shut the hell up about it.

Next up is the drooling. I don't really have a problem in this department, but I feel it's worth mentioning. Sure, sometimes I need to wipe off the side of my face a bit before I roll over to say 'Good Morning' (with the sheet pulled halfway up my face to contain my morning breath, of course) but I've never had to worry about leaving wet spots on pillows or anything like that. Thank God for small favors. And I don't really see the whole 'morning breath' thing as a reason to hate sleeping next to someone... it's inevitable, and can be easily remedied by an early morning trip to the bathroom and a quick once-over with a toothbrush or rinse with some mouthwash, so, morning breath, you're off the hook here.

The third reason I hate sleeping next to someone only applies to a few people. I have the bladder of a pregnant woman. Literally. I could abstain from water for 12 hours before bed, and I'd still have to get up to pee at least twice during the course of the night. I'm really not sure why this is embarrassing for me, but for some reason it is. It generally goes something like this:

Me: Shit. What time is it? Jesus H Christ, it's only been two hours since I went to sleep, and I peed right before I got into bed, and I haven't had any thing to drink since six hours ago so how the fuck do I already have to pee? Ok. Well. He's still snoring, so maybe I can just sneak to the bathroom without waking him up.

Him: *chooses that minute to stop snoring so I can't tell if he's still asleep or if he's awake*

Me: Damnit. Seriously? Ok. I'm just going to roll over and try to go back to sleep.

(Five minutes later)

Me: This is stupid. Who cares if I have to get up to pee seven times? Would I care if HE got up to pee seven times? No. I'd just roll over and go back to sleep. Why am I even thinking about this? Why is this even a big deal? Fuck. I really have to pee. I'll just wait until he starts snoring again.

Him: *still not moving or snoring*

Me: Alright, fuck it, I'm just going to get up.

Him: *stars snoring softly*

Me: Thank God. Ok, I'll just wait a few minutes until he's really asleep, and then go.

(Ten minutes later)

Me: Ok, here we go.

At this point, I slowly remove one leg from under the covers, then the other, then sit up quickly and pause, holding my breath and praying that he'll keep snoring. If he does, I tiptoe out of the room and into the bathroom where I breathe a sigh of relief and feel a ridiculous sense of accomplishment. If his snoring stops, I abandon all pretense, say 'Fuck it' and just go to the bathroom anyway, but without said sense of accomplishment. Afterwards, I blindly grope my way back to bed and settle back in with a contented smile on my face... and usually end up repeating the whole process again 2-3 hours later.

Stupid tiny bladder.

Fourth on the list is the touching. I hate to be touched when I sleep. I love to cuddle, but once I'm ready to head off to Dreamland, you need to roll over and get your damn hands/legs off me. I don't even let my dog sleep on my bed for this reason. I must be free to flail about and toss and turn in whatever manner I see fit, or I will suffer from a bout of claustrophobia that will render me completely unable to fall asleep. I also spend most nights alternately too hot or too cold and having your warm, sweaty body pressed up against me is not going to help matters. 

And last but definitely not least, the #1 reason I hate sleeping next to someone.....

Sleep farts.

 

Look. We all do it. Some more than others, maybe, but we are all guilty. I was introduced to sleep farting for the first time by the boyfriend I was living with about six years ago, but, being a lady, and knowing it was completely natural, I never brought it up to him. Plus, men love farting, so he probably would have just laughed and then dutch ovened me. Farting is natural, and fart jokes are hilarious, but farting and then bragging about or commenting on the smell or the volume or the length of either is just ridiculous. Regardless, if he farted in his sleep, I was pretty sure that I did, too, so I figured it was just one of those unspoken things. That is, until it came up during an argument one day. I don't even remember what we were arguing about, but his rebuttal to one of my smartass comments was this:

 

The Ex: (Yelling) "Yeah? Well, you fart in your sleep!"

Me: (Yelling) "Yeah, well, so do you!"

The Ex: (Yelling some more) "Gross, nasty farts!"

Me: (Quiet pause as my face turns bright red) Well. That's embarrassing.*

 

*Author's note: As you can tell, we had a very mature, adult relationship.

 

It was at this point that he realized he crossed the line and tried to assure me that he was just being a dick, but the damage had been done. Ever since that moment, I've been traumatized. Now, when I first start sleeping with a guy, I spend most of my nights awake so I don't have to risk doing anything embarrassing in my sleep. It takes a really long time for me to get comfortable enough to actually start to sleep/snore/sleep fart. And when I do, you should take it as a compliment. It just means that I really, really like you.