Seconds later, I�ve carefully formulated a list of everything that needs to be done before my weekend guest arrives. Once the list is ordered and organized according to priority, I set about to accomplish the tasks methodically and efficiently.
Step one: sit down and watch television.
There�s still plenty of time for things to go awry, and as my life often proves, things can always go awry. She could be calling at any minute telling me that she lost her nerve, or that all the busses have broken down. There are a limitless number of potential last-minute complications that could derail this fantasy weekend before it even begins. Thus, there is no sense in getting myself all worked up so many hours before she arrives.
A sufficient vegetative portion of time is spent watching the Food Network while considering what we should do over the course of the weekend. Eschewing the obvious conclusion of marathon sexual relations, I�m hard pressed for any good adventure ideas.
The obligatory stop at Grimaldi�s Pizza will have to suffice for now.
About an hour later, I call her back. I say that I�m calling to make sure she�s got the departure schedule in order, but really I�m just checking to make sure she�s actually coming. She says she�s getting her bags together and that she will defiantly be on the eight o�clock bus.
Strangely enough, it seems as if this is actually going to happen. She keeps saying over and over �this is so not like me� and �I can�t believe I�m doing this�. Frankly, I�m still a little surprised myself.
This whole event is so completely uncharacteristic for her. She hates riding the bus, she has panic attacks in tunnels, she has a mortal fear of large crowds, and she doesn�t ever go anywhere alone. Ever. And here she is, riding a bus alone through various tunnels towards one of the most heavily populated cities in the world.
Her life is so ingrained with fear and anxiety, that it is nothing short of revolutionary for her to be coming up to New York alone. Thinking about it, I�m not sure if it says more about her resiliency or about her attraction for me. In a spur-of-the-moment move, she�s walking into a den of potential terror, and she�s doing it all for me.
I tell her that I�ll be waiting at the bus station and if she feels the need, she can call me at any point along the way. I hang up the phone and take a moment to smile to myself.
Continuing down my checklist with a new sense of urgency, I struggle get the apartment in order for her arrival.
Step two: change sheets.
Girls like things that smell good. Girls also like things that are clean, which obviously requires that I change the sheets on my bed.
I banish the slightly smelly green tee-shirt sheets in favor for the Perry Ellis cheetah-print set. I am class, personified.
Remembering her distaste for tucked sheets, I leave the top sheet loose. At this point, it strikes me that I never even considered that she would be sleeping anywhere other then in my bed. That sort of assuredness is not typically part of my personality, but here I find it strangely appropriate.
Step three: clean up my room.
Again, girls like things that are clean. My random piles of dirty laundry and used tissues do not inspire feelings of comfort, thus I must away with them. Soiled jeans and used socks go in the laundry basket. Clean sweaters go back on the shelf and all the random effluvia gets crammed into a trash bag.
One thousand ships were launched for the sake of Helen, and here my loft gets swept for the first time since it�s construction. The difference is a matter of scale.
Step four: eat.
This step if familiar to most of you, so I�ll refrain from explaining it further.
Step five: clean the bathroom.
Girls use the bathroom a lot, so it�s probably beneficial that it be clean.
I wipe the random scum and dust off the sink and attempt to give the toilet a once-over. It certainly does not help that my roommate just broke the toilet seat, but I�ll warn my guest before it becomes a slap-stick memory.
Combining tasks six and seven, I wash myself while cleaning the shower.
Black algae and mildew are not pleasing things for girls, probably due to their propensity for cleanliness. So with a bar of soap in one hand and a scrub brush in the other, I wash my skin while scouring the grout.
Pleased with the appearance of the shower and myself, I turn my sights to the final item on my list.
Step eight: acquire the girl.
She should be arriving at approximately 11:30 pm at the port authority bus terminal. A quick check of the time reveals...
