This is a continuation of A Tale Told in the Perplexiconistory Acts 1, 2 & 3
The Perplexicon Addictionary can be found here and any footnoted words are words and phrases that I use regularly, which are not part of the Perplexicon.
It may help to watch this quick 2 minute video before attempting to read this story- The Perplexiconistory PreReader Guide.
….I woke up. It wasn’t a snarf. It was a snore and it wasn’t mine. These next thoughts went through my head, probably in this order-
Why is someone snoring in my bed?
Who is snoring in my bed?
Why am I naked?
What time is it?
What day is it?
Why do I always dream in such large fucking words?
What the fuck is going on?
My inner monologue answered, “No clue. No idea. How would I know? Look at the clock. Work it out. Because your dreams are from your subconscious and I have a far better vocabulary than you do. And how the fuck would I know. You are going to have to figure these out, but don’t worry. I’ll help.”
It really bugs me when it acts like it knows more than I do. I wasn’t sure if this was one of those moments, but I had a sneaky suspicion that it was.
The clock next to my bed said 10:36, but it was dark out, so that meant evening.
I slipped quietly out of bed, snuck into my closet, shut the door, and turned on the light. My closet is basically Narnia in more ways than one. I got dressed, wishing I’d thought to grab my vape and phone off the nightstand.
My inner voice started up again at high speed, “Keep it together. Get your shoes on. Kill the light. Wait to adjust to the dark. Sneak back out. Grab you phone. Grab your vape. Grab you vape juice. Head to your bathroom.” It commanded. “Oh yeah. try to figure out who the fuck is in your bed without waking them up, because you don’t remember even going to bed last night… or wait, that was probably earlier today. Memories? Anything?”
“What was the last thing you remember that wasn’t a dream?” The voice went on.
The bar had, n fact, all been a dream. I could see the clothes I’d worn as I’d stormed out, still hanging up and clean in my closet.
“Well, what about the fight and the pyramisu?”
I couldn’t be sure if that was real or a dream. I was going to have to find out.
I followed my inner voice’s directions and made it to the bathroom with my phone and vape, while the person who looked a lot like Chad snored away. This was getting weirder and weirder.
I checked my phone. No messages from my roommate other than a few that were more than 2 days old. It was definitely still Sunday night and I still didn’t know when my memory ended and the dream took over.
I brushed my hair, teeth, washed my face off, reapplied makeup, and added another layer of deodorant over the previous days’ efforts. Then I killed the light, waited to adjust, snuck out of the bathroom and then out of my room.
Down the hall in the kitchen, the place was a mess. There were glasses, plates, and empty bottles of pazzubooze and labubupazzubooze everywhere. The squarrel painting had partially dried hematomato juice stuck to it, with its guts still lying splattered on the floor. My cuntidence abandoned me and I was stuck with the realization that the worst parts of the dream-memory had actually happened.
My inner voice broke in again, “OK, you can either find a way to apologize to your roommate for trashing her pyramisu party, her painting, and of course, her relationship with her boyfriend or you can go big.”
“What’s big mean?” I asked.
“The big lie. You know, get out of all of it and hope that all 3 of them are in just as bad of shape memory-wise as you are.” It explained.
“Wait!” I thought to myself, “What do you mean 3 of them?”
“Didn’t you look into your roommate’s bedroom when you snuck past it?”
As I mentioned, I get all jittery-fuckery when my inner voice hears, sees, or knows things that I do not and this was definitely one of those times.
“Go look for yourself.” It ordered.
I did and lo and behold, another surprise. My roommate was passed out and spooning with the brofessor.
“What in the actual fuck happened this afternoon?” I thought to myself.
My inner voice replied, in the least comforting way possible, “Hell if I know, but I got a few wild fuckin’ guesses.”
“Ok. fuck this, I need a way out from all this Jerry Springe shit. Let’s go big.” I yielded to my inner voice’s superior wisdom and the following is what we did.
I snuck back into my room, grabbed a large duffle bag and a change of clothes. I then proceeded to the bathroom where I grabbed several boxes of medical supplies I’d criddled1 from my last few doctor visits. I pay way too much a month for my insurance to leave anything, not bolted down, in the examination room when my appointment’s over. (I mean, seriously, hundreds of dollars a month for the honor of spending one hour every 3 months alone in a room full of medical grade first aid products and the good kind of disposable gloves, while only being interrupted by the doctor once, for 2 minutes, and his assistants twice, for a total of 26 stupid questions that have nothing to do with the reason I am there. Hell, I’ve packed a drill with me on a couple occasions and gakked2 the bolted down stuff, too. )
The 3 of us, the duffle bag, my inner voice, and I snuck back into the kitchen where I located a dry erase marker and wrote, “Gonna be gone from Sat. AM until late Sun. PM at UNMH for Sleep Study. Love you, have fun!” on the fridge attached white board. I then went over to the wall calendar, circled both Saturday and Sunday, and wrote “8AM UNMH” in the Saturday Circle, then “Home Late!” in Sunday’s.
I grabbed the 3 of us plus my keys and snuck out the front door, quietly locking the dead bolt and door knob. I went down the the first set of stairs and looked out front of my 4 plex. The usual 3 kids were sitting on the steps doing whatever it is they always seem to be doing. I went back upstairs and made as much noise as I could unlocking and opening the front door. I partially unzipped my duffle bag and threw it on the floor near the kitchen.
I yelled, “Hey, I’m home and I scored another pile of gloves!” into the apartment, followed immediately by yelling back out the door, “Don’t leave yet. I am grabbing you a cash tip!” towards the street and the phantom Uber I manifested, creatively.
I then beelined for my room and grabbed 3 fivers out of the dresser while running a constant, overly loud, commentary on the state of the place.
“Wow, looks like you had fun. Damn girl, you can really put ‘em away!”
“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my bed? You better not be naked! Wait right there! I’ll be right back. Just gotta tip this guy real quick!”
I ran out the door, down the stairs, and started bribing the kids in a hushed voice, “Here’s 5 bucks apiece that says that I just got out of a dark green Uber and went upstairs. Then came back down to tip him. And that’s the first time you’ve seen me this weekend. If anyone asks, you tell them that, exactly, and I’ll give you each another fiver tomorrow morning.”
One of them looked up from Lincoln’s face and said, “I ain’t lying to the cops for 5 bucks, bitch.”
“Not the cops. Just any of the 3 really drunk/hungover people who may wander down the steps tonight. Deal?” I countered.
The talkative kid thought for a moment and said “Deal! See you manana3.”
The other 2 nodded in agreement.
I went back upstairs, walked in, and shut the door. The brofessor was pulling on his jacket and ambling towards the exit. I opened it for him. Chad was a few steps behind.
“Sorry, bro. I think I may have been naked.” Chad offered in way of apology.
I shut the door after them and waited for my roommate to come out. After a few minutes she did, wearing sweats and an oversized tee shirt. She sat down in the middle of the floor, cradling her head in her hands.
“What time is it?” She mumbled.
“Around 11, I think. Man, I didn’t realize Chad was that much older than you.” I replied.
“What? No, that was his brofessor. Chad was the naked guy in your bed.” She explained, appearing totally confused, but her facts were accurate.
“Ok, this is a bit much to walk into and I’ll want some kind of explanation of why your boyfriend was naked in my bed, while you were engaged in… umm… higher education,” I said, reassuringly. “but that can wait. What happened this weekend? Looks like you guys polished off all of the booze in the house.”
She looked up and around and squeaked out a, “You helped.”
“No I didn’t. I’ve been gone since yesterday morning. I had that sleep study at UNM. Remember?“ As I pointed to the duffle bag, the white board, and the calendar.
She looked from fabricated evidence to fabricated evidence, then put her head back down into her hands. “Hrrmph…”
Gaslightenment achieved.
I couldn’t make out what else she said as I walked into my room, grabbed the sheets and bedding and carried them over to the washing machine closet. “Well. I guess it was best that you had them sleep here, if they were as wasted as this place looks. Can’t have two Brodogs driving in that condition, but I would have thought the brofessor would have been in my room and Chad in yours.”
She made a few other quasi-verbal-ish noises as I started the laundry, grabbed fresh sheets, and made my bed. I came back to her and said, in what I hoped was a soothing tone, “Look, I’m exhausted. I got exactly zero sleep last night during the ironically named sleep study. I’m gonna crash. I hope you feel better in the morning. At least well enough to clean up the place. And don’t worry. I’ll help and you know I don’t judge.”
I went into my room, shut the door, and thanked the gods that I had an inner voice that was brilliant in a pinch. Even if those three ever talk to each other again, I doubt that they’ll bring up what happened tonight or work out that I was here with them.
“Your welcome, again. But let’s not make a habit of this, ok?” My inner monologue replied before turning itself off for the night.
Criddled- To have acted in a larcenous or nefarious manner.
Gakked- To have stolen something while high on meth.
Manana- Spanish for tomorrow morning, but in New Mexico it doesn’t mean something will happen in the morning. It just means that it, damn sure, isn’t happening today.