how to party like an old fart 101

This past weekend, I indulged myself in going to 2 parties in the OC. The first was a jungle party, for which I dressed up as a bush...aka...going naked with some strategically placed leaves. The 2nd was a bbq/pool party. To which, ironically, I showed up fully clothed and bikini-less. Moving on. At party number 1, I ran into my entire past. I quickly went from present day, to the summer of 2005. The best summer of my life. Whenever you run into your past, you're instantly pushed into the glorious "remember when" conversations. It was these conversations that reminded me of just how daring I once was.

"Remember when we spent the entire summer with red plastic cups glued to our hands?"
"Remember going into work hungover...everyday?"
"Remember the time I passed out in your old apartment in the kitchen with that bottle of tequila?"
"Remember when we made jello shots...and you finished the entire bowl of jello?"
Maaaaaaan those were the times. Those were the days when a migraine wasn't a pain in the ass...it was a sure sign that you were a hero. A hero of liquor. You were made of steel.

It was a time when there were no worries. No bills to fuss over. Only school to focus on. As I stood in the middle of that party wearing nothing but leaves, I began to realize something dreadful. I had somehow grown up a little bit. And I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I managed to stay sober during the party, realizing that the crazy girl I used to be was slowly escaping me...and I had to get her back.

The next day, I made an appearance at party number 2, and ran into a chunk of the same crowd from the night before. It was like marathon party weekend. It was incredible. I quickly downed a shot in an attempt to bring back my 'crazy girl' spark. It didn't work. Not even a buzz. At one point during the night, I was sitting on a couch with some of my closest friends staring off into the backyard. There were 2 teenagers making out. Both drunk off their asses. One of them without a shirt. The other must have had some beer goggles on, because there was no way a guy of his calibre would've landed her under normal circumstances. I remember watching those two, and thinking, 'what idiots.' They're going to wake up with a hangover filled with regret. It was at that moment that my friend laughed and said, "Erika, that was totally you a year or so ago." And she was right. That WAS me. Carefree in the middle of a party living in the moment, because that was all that mattered then. What had changed so much?

I talked with my mom about this fear of mine. She always seems to have an answer for these sorts of things. She explained to me that she was head over heels in love with my dad and planning their wedding at my age. Before that, she was the party queen. There wasn't anything that she wouldn't do. She told me that I still have a lot to get out of my system before I'll truly be ready to settle down. This gave me hope. It gave me hope that there are more shots to be had. More couches to pass out on. More beers to down. My time is not up.

play by play

I ran into a punk teenager in the middle of a dark alley. He spat gum in my face. When I tried to push my way into him to walk away, I realized that he was made of stone. And he was mocking me. And I was stuck there...in that cold alley....staring into his heartless eyes.

That didn't really happen to me. Nonetheless, that's how it feels. I run into that punk teenager everyday when I sit down and try to write something thought-provoking. Hell, I run into him when I try to write anything I remotely care about. The fire that used to occupy my brain has fizzled out. I don't even get the same rush from caffeine anymore, and alcohol is starting to lose its flare. This is my attempt to write about absolutely nothing in the hopes that it'll turn into something meaningful..maybe even cool.

Here it goes.

I woke up momentarily at 5:30 this morning. Not because I wanted to. Because my alarm clock made me do it. I decided that I am mightier than the clock, so I promptly ignored it and "rested my eyes." "Resting my eyes" always turns into "Oh my god I slept through my alarm I'm such an idiot and I'm so going to be late." I don't know why I don't accept this fact. Maybe because if I did, I would have darker circles under my eyes. Maybe it's meant to be this way.

Wake up at 6:00. It's difficult to find the motivation on this particular day. It's hard to talk myself into taking a shower. In a moment of delirium, I convince myself I can go without, even though I hadn't graced the presence of the shower in at least a whole day...and in this world of Purell and paranoia, I could potentially be seen as a modern day cave woman if I ditch the shower.

As I get ready, my bangs piss me off. They haven't been trimmed in over a month. I blow dry them, and they don't lay right. I could have pimples all over my face, but if my bangs aren't right, it throws everything off. I consider pinning them back for the day. I realize that I have a high forehead, and I remember that that is the reason that I have bangs to begin with...to cover it up. If I had lived during the Elizabethan era I would've been considered royalty or at least gorgeous with my high forehead. Present day, I just better know 20 different ways to style my bangs because that forehead cannot be seen in public.

Can't wear jeans today. It's too hot. Sitting all day I'm bound to chafe since I'm too lazy to do crunches at night. I decide on a pair of capri pants. I should've tossed them months ago because the fly no longer stays up, so I scrounge around for a long shirt to cover up the mishap.

It's the day of Michael Jackson's memorial. KIIS FM plays MJ music on the radio. I'm stuck in traffic on the way to work in the MJ traffic jam. What the hell. I pull the window down and blast the MJ hits. The neighboring cars must think that I'm on the way to the memorial service...the concert of the century. When in reality, I'm just playing the game..the traffic game, and if you can't beat em', you join em.