Dara and the Big Sleepover

Am I the only one who feels like a trashcan after a sleepover?

Because I had a sleepover last night and I definitely feel like a waste receptacle.

(Ooooh, a sleepover… was it with a boy, a girl, Phi Phi O’Hara?)

{PS Does anyone know if RuPaul’s Drag Race is on Demand? on OnDemand? May I demand it at my leisure?}

(It was a platonic lady friend, by the way, not that it’s any of your business. I won’t say who, though, because a lady never eats Chipotle, drinks Skinnygirl Pina Coladas, goes to bed by midnight, and tells).

I don’t know what it is about being at someone else’s house, but I never feel yucky-er than when I wake up the next day.

For one, my irresponsibility and forgetfulness never ceases to amaze me. I almost always forget a tooth brush, but this time I raised the bar and forgot another pair of daily contacts. Like, the one thing I actually need, I forget. Trust that I remembered this:

I could remember to pick up and bring a $15 bottle of low calorie booze, but the item that would allow me to safely drive from Point A to Point B without killing myself or others– I forget.

So, I’m about to go to bed and take out my contacts (because I have dry eyes and at this point my contacts feel like shrink wrap keeping my peepers nice and fresh) and then I realize I’ve got nothing to wear tomorrow. And I just have to leave them in. No matter how uncomfortable they are I have to leave them in because I can’t call AAA the next morning to bring me my glasses. This then became a moment of reflection where I look at my life and look at my choices, and I think if I could just act like an adult once in my dumb life I would have a pair of spare glasses or contacts in my car at all times, just in case!!

Did this become about something other than sleepovers? I digress.

This is how I feel before and immediately after every sleepover. Like, Dara and the Big Sleepover-- it always feels like some sort of low stakes debacle wherein our heroine forgets her toothbrush but eats Mexican food anyway.

What’s weird about sleepovers is that everything seems worse and grosser because you’re at someone else’s house. It’s not like I’ve never slept in my contacts or didn’t brush my teeth before I went to bed. In fact, one of my greatest qualities is the ability to fall asleep wearing that day’s clothes and a sports bra, surrounded by more clothes, a laptop, and a dog with his butt lodged in my spine. It just has to be at my own house. I could bring a change of clothes and shower but still feel like I spent the night in the bathtub of a frat house. I could brush my teeth a million times, and the taste of tacos won’t leave me until I’ve gone home at the absolute earliest reasonable time and then slept in my own bed for nine hours.

One thing I do like about the morning after sleepovers is the excuse I give myself to eat bagels on the drive home or get a Diet Coke at McDonald’s at 8 am. Nothing tastes better than Diet Coke in my trashcan mouth.

3 thoughts on “Dara and the Big Sleepover

  1. I used to crash at friends’ houses before I got my car. I’d strand myself away from my place, and rather than try to figure out a million dollar cab situation, I’d sleep over and hop on the T or walk in the daytime back home. That inevitably meant sleeping on an uncomfortable couch with either my contacts in my eyes, or, if I was lucky, in a shot-glass full of contact solution. Classy, I know. Then, off I’d go, leaving for home with eyes that felt like they had been tortured by an eye squeezing machine.

    Thank goodness I have a car now. Now the only time I’m stranded on a couch fully clothed is when I’m too lazy to walk from my living room to my bedroom.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s