Around 6am I gave up on sleep and stumbled my way out of my bedroom and somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom door. Strange, the pizza Aixa ordered never showed up last night.

"Ouch!" I rubbed my forehead and stepped backwards. Why was the bathroom door shut? Aixa shouldn't be up for another hour, let alone be taking a shower. I try the knob. Locked. What is this? I pound on the door for a second but don't get any response. Of course, she probably can't hear me over all that water.

I look towards the living room and decide that 5 yards is too far to walk and sit on the floor instead. If she doesn't get out of there soon there won't be any water left for me!

Finally the water stops and I stand up to give her hell. And then a buzzing starts. What is she doing in there? Minutes fly by and I'm fuming. We agreed that I'd get the first shower since I have to get to work first. It's been like this since I moved in! I get up at six, I get a shower, dressed, and then wake her up. What on earth would make her jump the line without telling me?

The door cracks open and steam rolls out obscuring my vision. When the steam clears, what's standing in front of me is not Aixa. It's Scooter.

"What are you doing here?" I pause. "And what were you doing in the shower?"

Scooter just laughs. "What? No hello for your new roomie? I'm going to start thinking you don't like me."

Well, I don't like you Scooter, but Aixa seems to, so I'm not going to press my point. "The shower?" I know he wasn't taking a shower- not when he smells like a dungheap.

"Ooh. That. Nah. It's just a steam bath for Willy."

"Willy?"

"Yeah. I was giving my Willy a bath! Hah! Get it?"

No, and I don't ever plan to.

Scooter disappears back into the bathroom and pulls out a very ugly, and very stunted tree. "My bonsai. It's good for them. Make's 'em all green and stuff."

He's stroking the tree like it's a pet. How weird can this get?

"Anyway, good ta see ya Den. I'm gonna go give my woman a good wake-up."

Ewww!

Ding-dong!

First Scooter and now the door? What's going on today? I look out the peep-hole, but don't see anything. Cautiously, I open the door.

An extremely short, spotty delivery boy looks up at me. "Pizza?"

So much for a good night’s rest. I spent the whole night counting water stains on the ceiling looming faint in the weak glow of Aixa’s aromatherapy night light. Why didn’t Rorschach use water stains? They’re just as good as ink and much, much cheaper. Anyhow…

We polished off Ben & Jerry from the container. Why bother with bowls? You only have to clean them. My lovely roommate and I laid on the floor with our feet on the couch (Aixa claims it helps reduce one’s chance for varicose veins later in life). My eyelids drifted downward. I felt the tension seeping from my body into the old orange shag carpet.

“Uh, Deni?”

“Mmmmm.”

“I have something, like, I need to tell you.”

Uh-oh. She said ‘like’. Whenever that annoying word laces her vocabulary, you can bet on hearing something you wish you hadn’t.

My eyes opened into tiny slits, “Shoot.”

“Well, it’s kinda like this. You see, I like, asked Scooter to move in with me.”

Oh. My. God. Spasms ripped through my cheeks. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to prevent my whole face from shaking like a NYC jackhammer was remolding my nose. “You mean move in with us.”

Aixa rolled to the side then sat up. Her patchwork prairie skirt wadded up around her tiny waist. Did I mention I hate people with tiny waists? “Sort of. He’ll be in my room. You know.”

“I know?”

“You knowwwww.” Aixa rolled her eyes as she stood up and paced back and forth, stepping over my near-convulsing body.

I feel the need to disclose something here. Aixa’s uh, boyfriend belongs in the zoo. I’m not saying that to be mean or anything. It’s the God-honest truth. That man has more hair on his body than an Asian gorilla! He also smokes weed, and doesn’t believe in daily showers. He quotes from Al Gore’s Inconvenient Truth as it were the Bible. Heck, the dude even started a fan club for Sheryl Crow’s one piece of toilet paper campaign.

And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. Yeah. Right. Ew.

I set the empty, soggy ice cream carton in the kitchen sink and reached into the fridge for a bottle of Fiji water. “Not as good as the ice cream Dad and I had on my birthday every year.”

“Really? What kind was that?” Aixa asked as she clicked the remote to the Food Network channel.

“There was this stand on the corner.” I plopped back in the chair and took a swig of water. “Since my birthday’s in August, it was always open. Dad and I would walk up while Mom was making my birthday dinner. That was the fun of it when I was a kid. Even though it would spoil my appetite, it was my birthday, and I was queen for the day. I always got the same thing every year - a peanut butter banana split. Always a cherry on top.”

“You’re making me hungry. I’ll call for pizza.” Aixa pulled out her cell phone and looked through her contacts for Domino’s.

But there was no stopping me now. I was in full swing Memory-Lane mode. “When we got back we could smell Mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese wafting through the windows.”

“Can I get a large sausage, peppers, and extra cheese pizza delivered?” Aixa motioned me to hold that thought. She gave our address and after hanging up said, “Macaroni and cheese? I l-o-v-e that. What else did she make?”

“Asparagus. With browned butter. I usually had to wait an hour or two before I had room for the cake.”

“Cake?”

“And more ice cream. You wanna come with me next month? The stand’s gone, but we make due with Haagen Dazs in the freezer. They’d love to have you.”

“Sure. I’d love to meet your parents. I guess that means I have to bring a gift.”

I lobbed another pillow in her direction.”You better!”

Aixa returned it, right in my face. I jumped up and began pelting her with stuffed animals. This was war.

Or not.

I’m propped up in my one extravagance in life—a plush La-Z-Boy—flipping through the channels. Only there’s not a thing on. I hate that about tv. Every time I’ve ever loved a show it’s been canceled after one season, or worse, during a season, and I’m left hanging with character’s lives on the precipice. Sometimes literally. I’ve even stayed awake at night plotting out what I would’ve had happen in their lives just to keep myself from going crazy.

I throw the remote on the sofa and lay there sprawled in my La-Z-Boy like a dying fish. Okay, this isn’t a tv show. This is my life. I feel like I’m on a precipice and my show’s about to be canceled. There has to be more than this. Sometimes I feel so empty it’s pathetic.

That’s when I hear the key in the lock, and the apartment door swings open. Aixa walks in, her cheery face a sight for my sore eyes.

“Uh-oh,” Aixa says, dropping her purse (a handmade number she’s hoping to sell to some of the local boutiques) on the sofa beside the remote.

“What?” I say, still not moving from my dying fish position.

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The one on your face right now.”

I make a move to sit up, then flop backwards again. “Do we have any ice cream?”

“And you’re about to drown your sorrow in Cherry Garcia. What happened?”

I roll my eyes.

Aixa sits down beside me, patting my arm. “Come on, girl. Spill the beans.”

"You really want to know?"

"That's what friends are for."

I tell her the whole story of my crappy day. When I'm finished, she cracks a smile. Then she starts laughing. I mean a full out, belly laugh that soon has me smiling too, despite my best efforts to stay somber.

"Some friend you are." I throw a pillow at her.

Aixa catches it, looking me right in the eye. "There are two pints of Cherry Garcia in there."

This was the worst day of my life.

I kick off my Manolo/Payless pumps as I trudge into the apartment I share with my best friend, Aixa. After I suffered through the humiliation of Gorgeous Guy seeing me in all my smiley faced glory, and listened to Marlene's repeated stings disguised as “as a friend” isms (and why is it that only people who aren't your friend say “I'm telling you as a friend”?) I still had to agree to meet her for dinner Friday night before she'd let me get back to work.

“Ow! What the...?”

I hop around on one foot while grabbing for the other one. A needle. Beautiful. Aixa, my stunningly attractive best friend, housemate, and personal torturer has taken up needlework in addition to her job as massage therapist. Ok, it's not too bad having a massage therapist for a roomie, but having a roomie that is into needlework and is a slob is not so much fun. Not that I'm much better, but at least my hobbies don't involve sharp objects.

Brrrriiing!

I hop over to the phone, still clutching my foot. “Hello?”

“Good Afternoon, My name is mumble mumble and I'm calling from mumble mumble, may I please speak to... ah...ah...Ike-sa... Alza- nay-do?”

Telemarketer. “She's not here, can I take a message?”

“Um. Okay. She can call us at mumble mumble mumble. Thank you, goodbye!”

I hang up feeling pretty sorry for the guy. Aixa's name isn't exactly easy to pronounce if you've never heard it before, and telemarketing isn't fun. I've been there.

I remember my day. And I might have to go back to it.