OYM Day 50: Judy

Guys… I made it! I’m officially halfway through my 100 day writing challenge. It feels much longer than 50 days, but I’ve also been writing through a pandemic quarantine, social uprising, and full-time motherhood. Send moisturizer and potions. I am rapidly aging.

Nonetheless, I’m half way there. I’m going to celebrate by using a store credit that’s about to expire. Maybe I’ll buy a pair of cheap sunglasses. Or a pair of shorts that won’t fit. The options are limitless!

I need to take a moment to apologize to my junior year college roommate, Judy. I moved to Chicago to complete my Bachelors degree in Fine Arts in 2005. I wasn’t able to make the move until a week before school started and ended up needing to stay in the dorms my first semester. I was in talks with a guy on Craigslist for an apartment nearby to the school, but figured out he was trying to scam me out of a few thousand dollars. Short on time, I had to swallow my pride and move into a dormitory full of 19 year olds. As a 21 year old, this was a big deal. I could legally drink and it was a dry campus. This meant no booze in my room and just about every person in the building asking me to buy them cases of beer or peach flavored vodka on the regular.

I received an email with my roommate assignment, Judy. I looked her up on Facebook, and within a few minutes, I wondered why I didn’t just trust the guy on Craigslist, wire my money off to a foreign island, and end up on the streets. Judys interests: historical butt sex (still not sure what this is) anime, Back Street Boys, robots, sex dolls, knives, pirates, sexy Abraham Lincoln.

I mean, we had so much in common!

I moved in, much to Judy’s surprise. She told me that she somehow managed to live solo in the dorms for the first year and a half of school. All of her roommates ended up needing to transfer for various reasons. Imagine!

One magical St. Patrick’s Day night (it’s quite special in Chicago…), I had stumbled home from working a promotional gig for a popular whiskey at a pub nearby. I managed to fall into my twin bed, completely clothed in jeans and a strappy emerald top. Our beds were just feet apart and now ,as an adult, I wonder how I slept so comfortably next to a complete stranger. A stranger with quite the Live Journal fan base, I might add. She would post my every move in her online diary. What I ate, my toothpaste, the notes on my desk, the way I organize my shoes. It was all there. Judy! So observant.

I don’t know if it was the whiskey or the spirit of St. Patrick’s day, but I woke up at about 3am in a dizzy haze and an intense thirst. I sat up in bed and looked over to my right, at this bed with a lumpy body under the covers. Who was in there? I had totally forgotten.

I stood up out of my bed and walked over to hers. I grabbed a hold of the comforter and with a quick thrust, ripped it off of the bed. There she was. Judy. Laying as stiff as a board in her nightgown. She looked terrified.

Oh shit, I thought. Now I remembered where I was.

Judy blinked at me, shocked and confused.

“You were screaming and crying…are you ok?’ I said.

“Really? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That’s so strange! Thanks for waking me” she whispered.

“No worries,” I said, as I climbed back into my bed.

A fast save, right?!

The next morning I woke up at about noon and Judy was already gone. She was going to visit her dad for the weekend and I sunk even deeper into my bed, in the comfort of being alone for the next few days.

I spent the weekend sobering up and trying to be an honest person.

When I saw Judy a few days later, she made sure to apologize for her late night outburst.

“These should do the trick,” she said, shaking the pill bottle gingerly. “My doctor says they’ll knock me out to the point I don’t have any night terrors or dreams!”

And just like that, I’m going to hell.

Sorry, Judy.

35/F/Las Vegas — Not a dutch milkmaid as picture may suggest. Question? Ask me anything. Info@oymandtrustme.com