Straight No Chaser

Zeta-Jonesin'

so the way it works is, we'll go through a period of intense friendship that screeches to a halt when some tiny extenuating circumstances sets off one or both of our hypersensitive defense mechanisms. then we'll start up a mutual silent treatment so icy the whole room will seem to drop ten degrees in temperature, and maintain that till one of us absolutely can't go another minute without sharing some brilliant insight or frivolous piece of gossip, or until there are tears. then we'll thaw almost instantly and launch back into honeymoon mode. lather, rinse, repeat.

sometimes there are little variations. krystle's infinitely better at hurling barbs, powerful little fine-tipped insults coated with malice. and i'm better at holding a grudge; i can go two weeks without cracking a smile at her if need be. but typically we more or less cancel each other out.

i'm not sure what we were fighting about this time. i think she's got an estrogen clog this week, to be perfectly honest, and as usual i just steered clear. but today she wandered onto my side of the room bearing a plate of leftover mozzarella sticks, an obvious peace offering, and she wanted to watch the mask of zorro together, and we did. we salivated over antonio and pantomimed swordfights and rattled air castanets, and by the time the movie was over she looked like she wanted to stay on my floor forever. which was fine with me; i popped in the tape of today's episode of the soap opera we watch together (i'm not going to say which, but it's the one everyone's ashamed to admit to) and we had a field day catching up on the goings-on of our favorite drama kings and queens. it was great. but i'm still trying to figure out what i did wrong.

we have such a weird relationship, the roommate and i. i mean, obviously we live together, but sometimes it feels like our minds are at the north and south poles, or equally divergent locales. she sees me get dressed every day, but doesn't know the pink shirt is what i wear when i'm hoping to seduce marcus. i get daily updates on her family up in virginia, but i rarely understand how they manage to upset her so much. we can argue the respective sexiness levels of our favorite television personalities, but i'd never feel comfortable telling her i think her boyfriend has the iq of her left foot (though for the record, she has no reservations about continually reminding me of how much she hates marcus).

we've compared past relationship experiences; she knows why i don't drink and i know why she won't go near anyone named justin. but she has no idea--through no fault of her own--how regularly i had to stave off rape for eighteen months of my life. she's seen the seemingly permanent scars on my arms and torso, but thinks they marked the end of an ugly chapter in my life--not the beginning. likewise, i don't know much more than the bare minimum about what her life was like before chance made us next-door neighbors in a freshman dorm.

she doesn't get how much i love marcus, or why. and she might not ever, because trying to advertise his brilliance has proven just as hard as trying to channel it in writing. this is a significant problem: that, looking at the same young man, we can see such drastically different things--i, the most beautiful and talented individual i've ever been lucky enough to label my s-word; she, a narcissistic parasite undeserving of my gifts (whatever they are).

the point is, we have our differences. and pretty big ones, at that. and there are barriers.

all the same, i'm really lucky to have her for a roommate and a friend. a good friend. and yeah, we were zeta-jonesin' together for a loooong time tonight. why must catherine be so damn gorgeous? we're jealous.