My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

RERUN

IT WAS VALENTINE'S Day and I had spent the day in bed with my life partner, Ketel One. The two of us watched a romantic movie marathon on TBS Superstation that made me wonder how people who write romantic comedies can sleep at night.

At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a leaf, and then some Matthew McConaughey type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her. That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss. Please. I fall all the time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer.

Then, within the two hour time frame of the movie, the couple meet, fall in love, fall out of love, break up, and then just before the end of the movie, they happen to bump into each other by "coincidence" somewhere absolutely absurd, like by the river. This never happens in real life. The last time I bumped into an ex-boyfriend was at three o'clock in the morning at Rite Aid. I was ringing up Gas-X and corn removers.

Usually, I like to celebrate Valentine's Day by hot-air ballooning around the greater Los Angeles area and pointing out all the different apartment buildings I've slept in. This Valentine's Day was different because I was still in a deep funk from being dumped by a man with skinnier legs than me. If you've ever seen the hind legs of a German shepherd trotting away from you, then you know what my ex-boyfriend's calves looked like.

I had been dating my landlord for about nine months before the breakup. He wasn't the Schneider of One Day at a Time type of landlord, running around the building with a tool belt and a detective's mustache. He was a clean-cut, good-looking, bashful type of guy with a harmless disposition. He owned the building and the one directly next door, which he lived in. After meeting him for the very first time, while signing my lease, I called Ivory to give her the news. "I'm going to have to start dating my landlord."

"Really? Is he hot?" she asked.

"It's not hot. It's something else. He's shy and it's going to take some work. I think he might be scared of me. I'll have to wear him down."

And that's exactly what I did. I called him repeatedly with emergencies such as my pilot light going off (after I blew it out) and my sliding shower doors falling off their tracks (after I dislodged them). This would time and time again lead to coffee and/or a meal. After hanging out together for a couple of months and him not making a move, I finally confronted him. "Listen, landlord man, what's the story here? Are we going to start dating or what? I've got a crush on you and I'm not interested in any new friendships. The only reason I'm hanging out with you all the time is to get in your pants. And I'm exhausted." I had never put so much work into a relationship that hadn't even begun. "Either we become a couple or no more Chelsea."

"Let me think about it," he said.

Two days later he showed up at one of my stand-up shows. "You want to come back to my place?" he asked me afterward, as he walked me outside.

"Yes," I said and found myself skipping for the very first time since puberty.

My landlord was a soft-spoken type and we got along great-but we also fought a lot. He wasn't like any guy I had ever dated before. He was ultraconservative, insecure, and unsure of almost every decision he made. But at the same time he was also thoughtful, very funny, and really good at math. He wanted to spend almost every minute with me, which didn't annoy me like I thought it would.

We had completely opposite personalities. He would buy clothes, appliances, and supplies for the building and then, almost immediately, return them. This mentality drove me crazy. I didn't know men could be such flip-floppers. I had never returned anything in my life. If the item didn't work for me when I got home, then I would just throw my hands up and drop it off at Goodwill.

He always wanted the thermostat set at a minimum of seventy-five degrees; I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and sneak out of bed to turn it below seventy. The next day, he would complain of a sore throat and tell me it felt like a meat locker. One morning I woke up to find him wearing a ski cap. So dramatic.

The worst things about him were his scrawny legs and the fact that I was pretty sure I could take him in a fight. He would cuddle so intensely with me in bed that when I'd get up to walk in the kitchen for a glass of water, he'd still be attached to me like an orangutan.

It wasn't the actual breakup that hurt so much. It was the fact that I had been planning on breaking up with him first but hadn't gone through with it because I thought he would be too devastated-only to come home from a weekend ski trip to Aspen and be blindsided. It was a complete blitzkrieg. I didn't appreciate the fact that I had been considering someone else's feelings while he was telling me to hit the road. While I knew that the relationship could never work long-term, mostly because we would never be able to wear shorts together in public, I kept secretly hoping that maybe some new calf-enhancing technology was about to hit the marketplace.

A couple months went by but the pain didn't seem to be subsiding.

Ivory called on Valentine's Day to tell me there was a costume party that night and attendance was mandatory. "It's at a warehouse downtown and it's a fund-raiser to help children with disabilities." Finally, something I had been lying about doing for years could actually become a reality. I had no desire to leave my bed, but I had to pull through for the kids. "We're meeting at the Compound to preparty," Ivory said.

The Compound was the apartment building where Lydia lived with all of her degenerate neighbors. It was kind of a Melrose Place-type building minus the pool and six-figure incomes. It was a fun place to hang out and party, but not a fun place to wake up. Lydia and all of her neighbors had slept with each other at one time or another, and it had become an official lazy Susan.

"I don't have a costume," I told Ivory.

"We can make you one."

I reminded her of months earlier when, on Halloween, Ivory and I had gone as bull dykes, wearing black mullet wigs, huge Levi's jeans, chained wallets, and black-studded belts. Our wife-beaters read, "We support Bush" and "Bush Rules." Since the party was after we had invaded Iraq, people thought we meant the president.

Not only did I learn my lesson that night about supporting George W. Bush in California, I learned my lesson about wearing something unattractive to a costume party. It was a clear opportunity to slut it out, and we had completely missed the boat. No one wanted anything to do with us. Even the friends we had gone to the party with were too embarrassed to be seen around us. Ivory and I spent the entire night sitting in a corner by ourselves; the only person who approached us was the bouncer to tell us it was last call.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Ivory said. "Go rent one."

"I can't. Bobby and Whitney's E! True Hollywood Story is on in ten minutes."

Ivory called minutes later to tell me her roommate Jen had an extra genie costume with a bustier that would look hot. "The pants are see-through, so wear full panties," she warned.

"I don't have any full panties, only my period underwear and those are too ugly."

"What color are they?"

"Red," I said. "Not from my period, they're just red."

They were nylon tummy tuckers and they sucked everything in when you were bloated. These weren't panties I wanted to show off. Generally, this type of underwear wasn't worn by anyone under sixty.

"No one will see them, it will be dark out, just wear something that covers your ass. Or wear a bathing suit bottom."

"What color are the pants?" I asked Ivory.

" Chelsea, just give it a rest. Be over at Lydia 's by eight and we'll get ready there."

Parking at Lydia 's was always a nightmare, so I called our friend Holden who lived around the corner and parked in his garage. Holden is like one of the girls. He's a sweet guy and we've all been friends with him for years. Holden's only fault is that he has a severe case of ADD. He's the type of person who asks you a question and then interrupts the answer with another question. This habit can be very annoying, especially if you're upset-which has resulted in many dramatic breakup scenes with his girlfriends involving clothes and furniture being thrown off balconies. Holden doesn't mind being yelled at, so that would help release the anger related to him not listening in the first place.

Holden didn't know about the party, probably because he wasn't paying attention when he got invited, so I invited him again. He didn't have a costume either, so I told him to wear one of his wet suits. Holden owns his own beachwear company, where he sells everything from scuba suits to surfboards. He keeps all his equipment at his apartment, and it comes in handy every time I decide to spend more time underwater.

When I got to Lydia 's place, all three girls were already dressed. Ivory was a sexy schoolgirl, Lydia was a sexy cop, and Jen was an M &M.

The genie costume was really cute and fit me perfectly. As soon as Jen saw it on me I caught a look on her face that said, "Take that off, I'm wearing it."

" Chelsea," Jen said. "I have an idea. You can be the M &M!"

"That's okay," I said. "You keep it. You like chocolate more."

"I insist," she said, grinning like one of those crazed cheerleaders after they've been hurled into the air. "And anyway, the genie's my costume in the first place. I brought it for you."

I put on the M &M suit. The top part was the shape of a pumpkin and formed a perfect green sphere around my body. It came with matching green tights that I wore over my red period panties. Jen's shoes for the M &M outfit didn't fit me and none of Lydia 's shoes fit either. The only shoes I had with me were the ones I had worn over. Black Adidas slides. This became my outfit.

"I need your panties," Jen said while checking herself out in the full-length mirror. You could see right through her genie pants, and she was wearing a leopard thong.

"I'm not giving you my panties," I said, "and can we please stop using that word?" There are three words that gross me out: "panties," "moist," and "slick." They all seem like words a child molester would use. Together.

"You need to give me them. I can't wear this outfit with a thong," Jen insisted.

"Fine!" I huffed as I took them off and put my tights back on.

"Don't you want some underwear?" Lydia asked.

"No, I'll just free-ball it." I wasn't in the business of borrowing other people's underwear and could not believe Jen was willing to wear mine.

"Do you want the green paint for your face?" Jen asked.

"No thanks," I said, shooting her a dirty look.

There's a fine line between being easygoing and being taken advantage of, and allowing someone to paint my face green would have been the latter.

"What's the matter? You look adorable," Jen said in the same voice you'd use talking to a girl who was going to her prom in a wheelchair.

Holden waddled up to me, wearing a scuba suit with a mask.

"I guess the two of us will be hanging out together tonight," I said.

The party had potential, but I never got into the swing of things due to my somber mood. Holden and I sat in a corner, making fun of people's costumes, and when we tired of that, I started making fun of Holden, who was sweating so profusely that he had taken down the top half of his scuba suit and was now topless.

At the end of the party, Lydia told us that we were all going to after-hours at some guy in a Batman suit's apartment. The only selling point was that the apartment was in Santa Monica, located conveniently around the corner from Lydia 's.

We were approaching the building when I thought it looked eerily familiar. There are many apartment buildings in Santa Monica that are nearly identical; I figured that was the case here. But as Ivory, Jen, Lydia, Holden, and I piled upstairs into Batman's apartment, I glanced around the place and got a not so melancholy feeling. I never forget an apartment. A face, maybe, but not an apartment. I eyed Batman carefully but didn't recognize him at all.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked as I was checking my e-mail from his computer.

"About ten years," he told me.

"Do I look familiar to you?" I asked him as he handed me a beer and I sat there in my M &M costume. I clicked over to Oprah's Web site to see if they had decided on next month's book.

"Not really, what's your name?"

" Chelsea."

"No. Maybe we've seen each other around."

After realizing that this after-party was going nowhere fast, I went into the kitchen and made myself a bowl of Top Ramen. Unfortunately, I had to eat it right out of the pot with a pair of unused chopsticks, because I didn't spot a dishwasher and judging by the looks of this place, he wasn't a good cleaner. The girls were all sitting on his couch as they listened to music. I was tired and reminded them that nothing positive happens after two A.M.

Batman looked at me with devilment in his eyes and said, "That's not true."

I didn't like his tone and left the room. I walked into his bedroom and found a Nintendo box attached to his TV.

Nintendo had been replaced by Play Station years earlier; I hadn't seen one of these boxes since middle school. The excitement I felt at that moment could be paralleled only by J. Lo releasing another album.

I was on level four of Super Mario Brothers when Ivory came in and told me that she thought Jen and Batman were going to hook up.

"She can't," I said. "I think I may have already slept with him."

"You did?"

"I'm not sure, but this place seems familiar."

Ivory left and got Lydia. They stood above me with their arms crossed, watching me play.

"Well, did you or didn't you?" Ivory asked.

"I don't remember, but I know I've been here, and I can't imagine sleeping over at a stranger's house without having sex with him." Then Batman walked into his bedroom holding a black piece of tar and asked if any of us were interested in smoking hash.

"Are you serious?" I said. The thought of smoking a brick had about as much appeal as seeing Michael Bolton perform live.

"Who smokes hash?" Lydia asked.

"Wait a minute. I know how I know you," I said.

Upon being offered hash, the memory flooded back. I was once partying late night at the Compound with some of Lydia 's neighbors and Batman was there. He lived about ten blocks from me at the time, so we shared a cab home, but I was so drunk that when we stopped at his place, I got out as well. He didn't remind me that I didn't live there. When I walked inside and realized I was at his house, he leaned in and tried to kiss me. I told him to back off and get me a cold compress, a fan, and a pillow for his couch.

"I crashed here one night a couple of years ago, remember? I slept on your couch and you brought me a cold compress and a fan? Remember, I didn't feel so well?"

"Oh yeah, kind of… you were pretty wasted," he said.

"Oh, my God, that is so funny! Where was I?" Lydia asked.

"You were probably dating Ass Breath," I told her.

"Did you guys hook up?" asked Ivory.

"No, I just slept over," I said.

It was true: we hadn't had sex. I felt an immense pride at that moment for having slept over a stranger's house without hooking up. All of a sudden it was as if I were the mature one in our group of girls, and I made a note to myself to counsel them later on how "no means no!"

"Didn't you clean my apartment?" he asked me.

"Yeah, a little bit," I said. I had cleaned up because when I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe the squalor this guy was living in. I am not a neat freak, so if I'm tidying up around someone's place, it's got to be pretty unsanitary. I distinctly remember there being cold cuts stuck to the wall.

"How did you remember sleeping here after a couple years?" Ivory asked me.

"Because he offered me hash that night too, and these are the only two times in my life that has happened."

"I can't believe you didn't sleep with him," Lydia said.

"Well, Lydia," I said very condescendingly, "sometimes you have to make smarter choices."

"Shut up, asshole," said Ivory.

"Can we go, or does Jen want to hook up with him?" I asked.

"Yeah, let's go. You wanna sleep at my place?" Lydia asked.

Holden, Ivory, Lydia, and I called a cab while Jen stayed behind. We got dropped off at the Compound and Ivory had the cab take her home. Holden walked to his apartment and I told him I'd come by in the morning for my car.

People were still up at the Compound partying. There was loud music playing and strangers were dancing in the courtyard.

"I'm going to bed," I told Lydia. "Give me your keys."

She looked through her purse for an amount of time that I knew could only result in her not having them. "Shit," she said. "I think I left them at Batman's or in the cab." She didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Oh, well. We'll figure it out," she said.

Lydia 's neighbor Gary moseyed over in his cowboy costume to say hi. He tipped up his five-gallon hat and asked what was wrong.

" Lydia lost her house keys and I need to sleep," I said.

"My door's open," he told me. "Just go crash. I'll take the sofa."

"Great," I said. "Thanks, Dubya."

Not knowing Gary or his hygiene very well, I decided to keep my M &M outfit on. My tights and green rotunda would protect me from any potential bedbugs. I passed out and remember feeling Lydia climb into bed some time later that night and then someone else climbing into bed with us.

At around six in the morning I awoke to noises that can be associated only with heavy petting.

They were coming from the bathroom. Suddenly, there were loud crashes of what I presumed were toiletries falling to the floor.

"Oh! Oh! Oh, my God! G-G-G-G-Gary! Yes… right there, no up more, oh, my GOD!" yelled Lydia.

Though I couldn't see myself, I knew I had the same look on my face that Macaulay Culkin had in Home Alone when he finds out that his parents have forgotten him.

I rolled out of bed, fell on the floor, and crawled out the door, keeping my head down like I was dodging enemy fire. I hadn't walked two steps outside before I realized I needed my cell phone, purse, and shoes. I tried the door. Locked. I knocked, but no one answered.

I looked around for any sign of life but quickly realized that at some point the night before I had taken my contacts out. Everything beyond twenty feet was blurry. This was not good. I paced back and forth, wondering what my next move would be, when I remembered my car was only blocks away at Holden's.

Could I walk the five blocks to Holden's in my M &M outfit? I knocked on the door of Gary 's apartment again, but to no avail. I could still hear Lydia moaning. I felt as if I might become physically ill. This was a complete disaster. I couldn't believe Lydia would have sex while I was feet away in the same apartment. This wasn't high school!

Hearing your friend moaning someone's name during sex is down there with seeing your parents have sex. I know because, luckily for me, I had now experienced both.

There was no other choice. I ran down the steps of the complex and started sprinting along the sidewalk toward Holden's apartment. I stubbed my toe almost immediately, which slowed me to a brisk limp.

What I could barely make out as a woman walking her dog toward me crossed to the other side of the street upon seeing me. A guy in a passing car slowed down and yelled out the window, "Rough night?" This was humiliating. I had never been outside this early before and I didn't like the crowd.

It was one thing to wander around in an M &M costume on Halloween or maybe even the day after, but it was a whole other turn of events for me to be doing it in February. To make it worse, with every step, the thick cottony upper-body part of my costume, the actual M &M, kept riding up above my butt, and I kept having to hold it down with one hand behind my back. And this little M &M had to pee so badly.

When I arrived at Holden's, I immediately started throwing rocks at his sliding glass door. "Holden!" I screamed.

"Keep it down," one of his neighbors yelled, then came out on to his balcony. "Lady… oh," he paused. "How would you like it if I called the police?"

"Oh, please, go ahead," I said. "And tell them what, there's a crazy M &M outside?"

The neighbor shook his head and went back inside.

After what seemed like a year, Holden finally came out, rubbing his eyes. As soon as he saw me, he burst out laughing.

"Can you just please come down and get me?" I said. More laughing. Now he was doubled over on his balcony, his face turning red.

"You know what, asshole? Can you laugh at me after I come inside instead of while I'm standing on a street corner?"

Holden went back inside only to come back out thirty seconds later with a camera. After his third snapshot of me at my worst, another neighbor appeared on a balcony. "Here we go again! Can't you and your girlfriends just give it a rest?"

That snapped Holden out of it. He went inside to open the door for me. "I'm not his girlfriend," I shouted up to his neighbor.

Holden came down and let me in. I went inside and peed for close to five minutes. This outfit was a disaster and the panty hose were starting to give me a rash.

"Take me home. I can break into my kitchen window," I told him.

I needed to be in my bed, at my house-now. I had been through enough humiliation for one day. And it was maybe time to start focusing on the path my life was taking.

We got to my apartment at around eight-fifteen. I asked Holden to wait outside just in case I couldn't get in. It shouldn't be hard, I figured; since I lived on the first floor, all I had to do was push myself up to the kitchen window and climb through. I punched in the code to open the gate and made my way over to the kitchen window.

It was higher than I had remembered. I looked around nervously. I had never done this before. I knew it was possible because Lydia had done it once, but then again, she had help. Instead of going to get Holden, I tried on my own. It was unlocked, but I needed to hoist myself up in order to squeeze through. Halfway through, my M &M costume got stuck. The wiring that kept the shape of the M &M wouldn't budge. I either had to take it off my head or climb back down. If I took it off, I knew I could get in-I was already halfway there. So I squirmed out of the costume.

That's when I heard the back gate open and shut. There was the sound of approaching footsteps and then they stopped. Here I was with green tights and no underwear hanging out of my kitchen window with my head in my sink. "Holden, if you take a picture…"

"It's not Holden," said the voice of my ex-boyfriend/ landlord.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Please tell me this isn't happening to me.

"Do you need a hand, Chelsea?" he asked.

"No, thanks, I'm cool," I said offhandedly. As if people entered their apartments like this all the time.

He sighed deeply, ruffling his keys. Then he opened my door, entered the kitchen, and pulled me through. When I got to the floor I kneeled down with my arms around myself in order to cover my bra and my beaver that you could easily see through my tights. He had taken the M &M part of the costume from outside and put it next to me.

My ex didn't say anything else, but he stared at me for what felt like an unnatural amount of time with a very calm, almost scary look on his face.

"It's not what you think…" I started to say. I wanted to tell him that despite appearances, I had actually been a very good girl last night and hadn't slept over at some guy's house and that really he should be applauding my heroic effort to get home. I wanted to explain everything, but judging by the look of despair on his face, I knew it would be pointless. It would all sound ridiculous.

"Just don't," he said. He went and got a towel, put it down next to me, and left.

I sat on my kitchen floor wondering what kind of people I was friends with. I also wondered if I was ever going to get married. After about an hour, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Why not look on the bright side? I had just spent my second night in bed with a stranger I hadn't had sex with. You don't have to be a genius to recognize that I was obviously on some sort of a roll.