So You Want To Sleepover: The Panic Diaries – Girl Edition
January 29th 2013
You have those sleepovers. And I’m not talking gal pal- bros night sleepovers. I’m talking about the scandy ones with someone you wouldn’t mind doing questionable things to.
But here’s the thing.
They’re not your significant other.
They’re not even someone you’ve hooked up with before.
No no. This is the virgin of sleepovers for you two. And you’re kind of freaking out. Whether you’re a guy or a girl. You’re totally freaking out. But differently. So I decided to break this into two. The girl freak out and the guy freak out. And as always, ladies first.
So you want to sleepover.
You can crash with me.
Hope you don’t mind every piece of furniture with the exception of my love bed is otherwise occupied by friends, belongings or an animal by sheer coincidence upon your arrival. Who said that?
Maybe we’ll hook up maybe not. Why have you thought about it? Not me.
… Wait why did I say yes to this?
Because I want his bodice. That’s right. Alright he’s on his way. Prep activities…prep activities.
1. Few last-minute crunches – check.
2. Lightly febreezed room for a casual lavender mountain appeal – check.
3. Pictures of me and my friends laughing charmingly at each other on the walls – check.
Wait a second, what kind of bra am I supposed to wear? How does this work? Do I wear makeup? Is that weird? “Heyy it’s 10 pm and I just happened to be wearing a lace push up and full-blown mascara with smokey eyes!” Think I’m gonna stick with a sports bra. Can’t look like I tried too hard. Don’t want to blind him with bedazzlments and free boobin makes it too easy. I mean, sports bras just scream “I’m sexually flexible from years of hot yoga!!” right?? Mmmm…then again…I’m risking a uniboob. I can’t seduce anyone with a fucking UNIBOOB! Alright let’s think about this.
The bra dispatch:
There’s no sexy way for you to take off a sports bra. And there’s no sexy way for him to take off a sports bra. Too many possibilities for head trappage. TOO MANY POSSIBILITES FOR HEAD TRAPPAGE.
There’s a knock at the door.
Check yourself. Tousle your hair. Go girl.
Hey hey. Nice to see ya. Come on in. Make yourself at home. Just throw your stuff wherever. Oh you want to see my room? Certainly.
15 minutes later.
Alright outfit change. We’ve small talked the shit out of each other and he’s fiddled with about every thing on my dresser and stared down every thing on my walls. (Look at me and my friends laughing at each other LOOK AT THEM) Most certainly forgot to stow away my copy of “Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret” my mom sent me in my latest gift package. Doesn’t particularly help there’s a picture of feet on the cover:
I feel like I’m a fly on the wall of an episode of fucking room raiders. Where do I change? I suppose I could drop trou in front of him but that’s a risky move especially when I can’t even remember what underwear I’m wearing. Could be laundry day underwear and I would never forgive myself. So where do I go? In front of him? In the bathroom? That’s weird to excuse myself out of my own bedroom to change. And what do I even wear?? Something tells me there has to be a happy medium between the dancing penguin pajama bottoms from Mom last Christmas and the “i’m-asking-for-it silky onesie” I just so happened to pick up… oh he’s holding his pjs ill just go rip a shot in the kitchen for 3 minutes and stomp down the hallway extra loud so he’ll be warned upon my return.
Okay movie time. His idea, not mine. Inquiry. Are we cuddling? What’s his arm doing? Is he trying to cuddle me or is he really stretching? Oh my god the boob graze. Well played sir…then again. What if it was an accident? Tricky son of a bitch. Just play it off, just…play…it…off–…okay, well now entirely too much time has passed for me to even acknowledge it. What a waste. Moving on. Ok we’re cuddling- my face is totally in his armpit.
10 minutes later
I’m now sweaty and think my cheek is stuck to his chest. Don’t move it. Don’t twitch. Omg a scary part I just head butted him. He’s in pain. And I’m sorry. Currently sinking farther and farther into the pit. Christ how fucking deep is this thing. I’m motherfucking suffocating.
Alert: There’s something in my throat and I can’t stop coughing. The bed is now shaking…with my potential bronchitis. We just missed an epic line of the movie because I was choking. Chug water. Do it! Crisis averted. Offer him the water. He says sure and takes a sip. Look at you. Quenching thirst and shit. Okay avoid pit hell again. Readjust accordingly. Shoulder – a good choice, self.
Ohhhh great, now the main characters are going at it like rabbits. THIS. IS. SO. AWKWARD. Avoid eye contact at all costs… oh my god I just moved my hand. What if he thinks I’m trying to hold his hand? Wait is that a boner?… jeans just… do that sometimes? Whatever. Oh fuck. The rolling credits. How long are we going to have to pretend like we give a fuck who costume designer #3 is? Now what?
We’re gonna have pillow talk and snuggle all night or does he want to hook up? Also, how did my leggings get so high? How did that even happen? This is like unitard status. Is he going to tell everyone we hooked up and I was wearing a unitard? Whatever. Better than my double knotted PJ capris. Haven’t been able to untie that bitch for years. Dodged that riddle. Also. Did I shave?
Discreet leg swipe.
Negative…At least I wore nice underwear. Confirmed as I was changing…in my bathroom. But in retrospect when outfitted with my sports bra and sky-high leggings…this could make for a conflicting ensemble. Alright. Okay. He’s going for it. Omg the last thing I ate was broccoli with dinner. Covered by cheap wine that I’ve been downing all night. WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. I wonder at what point I was planning on giving a fuck today.
Shits heating up. He goes for the sports bra. He panics. As expected. He tries to give it a go but my head gets slightly trapped. Sports bra is officially still in tact. He gives up. That went terribly. Note to self: that was your fault. Shift focus. Okay. This is good. Great even. I shouldn’t have drank that much water post cough attack. Alright.
So like…now what…do I say goodnight or just roll the fuck over? I’m so hot laying on his arm. But I know this is supposed to be precious and shiza.
8 minutes later
Alright no. I can’t do this. His arm is a fucking hot stick that I’m very certain is filled with fucking lava. I’m committing. I’m gonna roll over. This spooning business is nothing but a heated utensil trap. But shit. I’ve got a 50/50 decision to make here. If I roll toward him he’s gonna think I’m staring at him. If I roll to the wall it’s like wtf we’re butt to butt. And there is nothing sexy about being butt to butt. I can just hear it now “Yeah man we hooked up and then slept ass to ass.” I DON’T THINK SO. Ok happy medium. I’ll lay flat on my back – Jesus. I look like I’m in a coffin. Do I just fucking look straight up all night? Now we’re in that awkward time period where he’s not asleep, and I’m not asleep, NOBODY is asleep and it’s completely silent, and it’s lasting for literally ever, and… Oh no. but what if I fart in my sleep? No. Don’t think like that. It’s not going to happen. Wow. He just did. And again, NO ONE is asleep. Do I laugh? Do I acknowledge it? Keep your shit together!
3 minutes later.
I have to pee. I really have to pee but that’ll admit that I’m awake and heard what just happened. Whatever. Better than having a pee belly. He’s snoring. SO loud. There’s no way I do that. Do I do that?
…45 minutes later.
Still hot. Still awake. He twitches and instantly my eyes are closed and I roll towards the windows? To the wall? To the sweat drop down my – Just kidding. To the wall.
3 hours later…
I have never been this uncomfortable in my life. In fact, I am 98% certain that I will never feel comfort again. I can literally see daylight outside. How long do I have to lay like this?? Oh no, oh no, he’s moving. We’re going to have to do the awkward “morning” thing soon… great I probably look like shit since I haven’t slept all night. OH! SWEET BABY JESUS! Eyeliner… spotted within an arms reach? Sent from an angel perhaps? Maybe I can just… would it be overkill to just… Fuck it. it’s happening. Yes. Eyeliner blindly to the face…What? It’s morning? Mmmm I had no idea, I’m so sleepy.. yes I do look this good all the time…
Yes yes good morning. Yes I slept great. Last night was fun. For sure. Oh he’s not done sleeping. Okay he’s going for the morning utensil heat trap. Classic. Except this time it’s face to face and let’s be honest morning make outs are cute by theory but either one or both parties really wish there was a floating bottle of listerine hovering above.
16 minutes later
He’s getting up. It’s time to go. He said he has to get running but we should definitely do this again sometime. I said for sure and I wish he didn’t have to leave so soon. I am not so certain that’s the truth.
A hug. A kiss. A lingering smile. His face gets smaller as I shut my front door. Victory is mine. Stomach no longer sucked in. Hair in a giant ass bun. Cheetos officially out of the pantry. Mass text to the girlfriends. Think that went well. Wonder what he thought.