As I downed what was left of my 40 oz. Coors Light (yeah I'm classy) I checked my reflection once more in my toothpaste smeared mirror. Maybe I need more eyeliner? Should I trim my bangs real quick? Why the hell am I wearing this dumb hoodie to a bar? Should I try to dress more girly? Shit. I should have used Whitestrips today. I applied another unnecessary layer of $16 lip gloss and headed out the door. For some reason pricey, department store lip gloss fixes everything.
The carpeted halls muted my pathetic attempt to walk in heels. Heels and a hoodie? Again...pure class. As I entered the foyer of my rundown apartment building, my heels stuck to the vodka covered rubber floor. Of the two years I lived in the 525 Monroe, I don't think I ever saw anyone clean those rusty, rubber floors. They were the kind of floors that have 1/4 inch elevated circles everywhere that are supposed to emulate traction. I soon learned that rubber floors in rainy Oregon and 3:00 am stumbles back home equals bruised knees and scuffed high heels.
I opened the front door and prepared to brave the Oregon, February air. I heard chatty voices of girls to my left. Uh oh...people my age...eyes to pavement. I shielded myself from any possibility of social interaction by looking toward the illuminating lights of the bus stop across the street, creating a curtain of blonde hair which read: "Please don't fucking talk to me". I could feel their judging eyes burning through my makeshift hair shield. How will I ever make friends like this?
I decided to disguise my social awkwardness by making an attempt to half-smile. My eyes quickly shifted to a girl leaning against the crumbling building. She had waist long dark hair (which we would later refer to as "mermaid" hair), a white tube top, and a Marlboro Light between her middle and index finger. As she blew smoke out her smirking smile she cocked her head up toward the sky. She exuded confidence. You could tell she was the kind of girl who was always the life of the party. Someone who people were drawn to.
Two blocks North and I was at my destination. Cantina. The local dive bar which served cheap, over poured drinks to the binge drinking college kids. Being newly 21, unsure of myself and intimidated by all the girls in their halter tops and short skirts, I ordered a vodka cran and stood by the wall. The dark area between the dance floor and the tables. Perfect for creeper-lurking. After meeting up with some friends and a few more vodka crans later, I ran into Marlboro Light girl.
"Hey! You're my neighbor!" She shouted this over the ridiculously loud rap music. "We should go out together sometime!" We exchanged numbers in a drunken daze. "Burger! Make sure you put me in as Mary BURGER!" I remember thinking it was slightly odd and intriguing that she insisted on being called by her full name. And Burger? Just like I thought...this girl's got confidence.
The next day "Mary Burger" appeared on the screen of my hot pink Razar (which was at the time covered in duct tape). "Hey what are you doing? You want to go get some food?" We met in the musty hallway between her apartment and mine. Both nursing hangovers from the night before wearing, slippers, sweat pants and hoodies. Instant friendship.
And that was how I found my intellectual soul mate. We soon discovered our mutual love for music, cynicism, Sex and the City re-runs, grape flavored vodka, writing, bad-boys and caffeine. We eventually made keys to each other's places which came in handy every time I couldn't remember if I turned off my flat iron and had to have Mary check, or when Mary wanted to borrow an item of clothing which was always scattered throughout my messy room. The next two years in that convict filled apartment building were hands down the best times I had in college. Sure, at the time we wanted to murder spandex girl upstairs, and demon hippie dude across the hall. My view of the dumpster was comical and proved to be perfect for people watching the rehab clinic next door. It was dirty and at times a little scary. The heaters sucked in the winter and the paper thin walls kept us up on nights we had midterms. My bedroom window which faced the ally way was often frequented by intoxicated boys too drunk to wait to find a bathroom. One time I actually woke up to a boy peeing on my window. Awesome. We found out nearly half of the town's sex offenders lived within a 50 foot radius of our rooms. Our mailboxes were always full because we refused to give any attention to overdue bills. The parking was horrible and nearly every day Mary and I had stacks of bright orange parking tickets on our illegally parked cars. Parking tickets soon became a game of who could get the most. Mary taught me how to cook orzo pasta and I introduced her to screamo bands (yes...we were emo kids...and damn proud of it). She bleached a chunk of her dark hair and I added black to mine. We refused to wear anything but black nail polish, caked on eyeliner and Chuck Taylors. She was there to comfort me after my first real heartbreak, and I was always eager to live vicariously though her ability to simultaneously date 4 guys at once, who were all friends and worked together, without them ever knowing...(this girl still amazes me). We may have wanted to bomb the place from time to time, but looking back, I had a lot of great memories in the 525 with Mary Burger. Even though I now live in the Southwestern desert and she lives in the Southeastern tropics, she has remained a close friend of mine throughout time and distance. Whenever I need to talk to someone who actually "gets" me...she's there to give me a dose of Oregon. It's really reassuring to know that even though you're so far away from home, there's always that phone call you can make to help keep you grounded. I'm convinced that one day we will live near one another again...but next time with a little less vodka and a little better fashion sense.
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