Good Time(5)

“I did, but to be fair, in order for anyone to hear anything someone has to start saying it to begin with.”

“Right.”

“I think it’s got a fair shot at catching on,” I add. “Far stupider things have caught on so it’s possible.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Trust me, I’ve got a lot of inventive ways of looking at things.”





Chapter Three





“Do you ever think we should have been required to pass an adulting test before we were allowed to get our own apartment?” I pop a Cheez-It into my mouth while watching my roommate spread jelly on an English muffin.

“Um, no?” Lydia looks confused by my question as she wipes the knife clean before placing it into the dishwasher.

Okay, maybe it’s just me. She is having an English muffin for breakfast while I’m having cheese-flavored crackers, so this might be a me issue versus a regular twenty-something issue. Still though.

“You don’t find it the least bit concerning that we could eat chocolate Cheerios for breakfast every single day and no one is around to tell us not to?”

“Are chocolate Cheerios a real thing?” Her nose scrunches, her face lined with doubt.

“So real.”

“Hmm.” She takes a bite of her normal breakfast while I finish off the last of my Cheez-It breakfast—because the box is empty. I need to start buying the family-sized box or learn how to properly divvy up the amount of crackers I eat between trips to the grocery.

“Who would run the test?” she finally asks, because she’s a good friend and a good friend always considers your ideas before dismissing them.

“Mrs. Butterworth.”

Lydia blinks several times while she stares at me. “A plastic bottle of maple syrup shaped like an elderly woman should be the judge of who is ready to adult?”

“Who else would do it? It’s not like we could trust the government to make a fair assessment.”

“That’s probably valid.”

We’re both quiet then while Lydia thinks adult thoughts and I think about the questions I’d put on that test. Do I need rental insurance? How exact is an expiration date? Is it really that bad to eat cheese-flavored crackers as a meal?

“Are we carpooling today?” Lydia asks, sliding her handbag over her shoulder, keys dangling from her fingertips.

“Absolutely,” I agree, grabbing my own bag and following her out the door. We work at the same place so sometimes we carpool. And today is Friday, so if we drive together Lydia won’t be able to stop on the way home at a thrift shop, because that’s how she’d spend her Friday evenings if I didn’t intervene.

We were both hired at an on-campus job fair during our last year at LSU and it’s sort of a big deal. Real jobs. Adult jobs with 401K plans and benefits at a brand-new resort on the Vegas Strip. My job is in event marketing so basically I get paid to help people plan events. Events that happen in Las Vegas at a fancy resort. How cool is that? I’m adulting like a baller, breakfast issues aside.

Lydia and I decided we’d share an apartment when we moved to Las Vegas, which is turning out to be a great decision because while we’re the same age, we have very different skill sets. We’re like two peas in a pod. If one pea was organic and one pea was fried and served with a side of delicious dipping sauce. Wait, no. I’m thinking about those crispy green beans at P.F. Chang’s, so not a pea. Whatever, you get the point.

She’s a brunette.

I’m a blonde.

She’s a virgin.

I’m not.

She was a Girl Trooper through the twelfth grade and earned every life skill badge available.

I was kicked out of the Girl Troopers over a badge pyramid scheme.

It’s fine. I didn’t want to go anyway. Not really.

The point is, I’m helping her break out of her good-girl shell by encouraging her to live a little. Speak to the cute guys at the pool. Kiss the stranger at the bar. Earn all the fun badges, so to speak. It’s a work in progress, but I think I’m making a real difference in her life.

We didn’t meet until junior year in college and we never roomed together before moving to Vegas, or I’d have realized earlier that she needed my help. Event planning and helping people socialize is basically the same thing. At least it is when I do it. Or it will be. As someone fresh out of college I’m not working on the good events yet, but I’m having a great time on the projects I’ve been given thus far.

For example I’m currently organizing the rewards dinner for a chapter of the American Dermatology Association, who’ve booked a week-long conference next spring. I know, you think that sounds boring, but it’s going to be real extra by the time I’m done with it. I’m working on a couple of weddings too, which are the worst, but I’m paying my dues. Eventually I’ll work my way up to the really good stuff, like organizing launch parties for celebrity denim lines or a cosmetics conference. Events where I won’t have to mediate between a bride and groom fighting over menu options and where to seat that uncle who won’t shut up about politics while I bite my tongue about how stupid all of it is.

A wedding is just one day. One annoying day of trying too hard to have the best day of your life, which is impossible because the best days of your life are never planned. The best days always happen when you least expect them to.