Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Somethings Are Better Left in the Closet

We've all got skeletons in the closet. Hell, I've got an entire walk in devoted to mine and new shelves are added every year. Everyone needs a keeper of the closet. Someone that you can share the location of the bodies and helps you keep them buried when they threaten to rise up and throttle the everloving shit out of your life.

The keeper of my closet is Josh.

Josh and I met at sleepaway summer camp when we were 13 years old. The first year of camp I fell hopelessly in love with him even though Sean was my "camp" boyfriend. After my blissful 2 weeks of summer love and hot, unexperienced french kissing ended, Sean and I parted ways. Josh and I, finding ourselves equally enthralled with devisious thoughts at the tender age of 13, become eager correspondents. Of course, email was still in it's infancy. So, we were pen pals and to this day, I still have all the letters. (possible future blackmail material) We wrote about school, our parents and other silly things that 13 year old kids talk about. Mind you that this was almost 18 years ago. Nowadays, 13 is the new 16, complete were piercings, tattoos and teenage pregnacy.

The second year of camp, I hooked up with Domonic and eagerly experimented myself to Second Base. Josh and I were still fast friends, but we had surpassed silly teenage love and were working our way towards a solid friendship.

Now, 18 years later through boyfriends and girlfriends, huge, bloody fights, heartaches, deaths, marriages, births of children (that were not named after me nor was I a godparent, but there is a new one on the way so there is a chance at redemption), living miles and miles apart, sometimes not speaking to each other for months and one very uncomfortable kiss that made us realize that we were closer than brother and sister and it was just plain wrong to lock lips, he is still there for me as I am for him.

He knows everything.

Every tiny, disgusting, crude and unusual detail of my silly, naughty, little life. He knows it all.

It's comforting to know that when I just HAVE to tell someone the sordid details of some act or thought, he is there....unassuming, nonjudgemental and ready with advice or clever comment. Even if I have committed a terrible, horrible sin....I can tell him. Although he maybe somewhat horrified (this almost never happens as he is 10 times worse than me on any level), he listens with calm reflection and the files it away in the walk in with the other 6 million things that I have done or said that are not fit for any decent human being.

I can remember calling him years and years ago, when I was very much a single gal, and exclaiming "Oh, my God! I just tried to sleep with my boss and he couldn't get it up"

This was of course, a restaurant job I'd been working and my boss had been after me for months. He was cute, I was single. So, I thought what the hell, it could be fun. This isn't a serious job for me.

He took me to his place, cooked me a fabulous dinner and then proceed with fabulous foreplay, the kind you read about in books. The setting was perfect, I'd never felt sexier and then....

There was no wind for the sails that night.

He was horrified, but I was fine. Those things just happen sometimes. But, I couldn't wait to call Josh and dish on all the details.

His reaction was simply, "Really, what did you do wrong?" Then he filed the information away in that "Not Really That Bad, But Could Be Embarassing Later" section. He can be such a fucking asshole sometimes.


  1. Hehehehehe! Everyone needs a Josh. Mine is my best friend, but she's kind of like a guy, so she reacts to most transgressions the way that Josh would.

  2. I had a boss once who flirted with me all the time, but she never made a move. I stopped working there shortly before I turned 18, but I think if I had been "legal" and still working there, she would have tried something.

  3. I think as long as you don't have R. Kelly trapped in your closet you'll be OK.

    Sorry, I'm a dork...

    I guess one thing you don't really have to worry about when you tell the world absolutely everything about you is skeletons in your closet. Most of my friends know every single last solitary thing about me, because I won't shut up about any of it. Open Book doesn't even begin to describe it...