Monday Night Disaster - Part I

In my case, things went backwards. There was no "experimenting" before the big Monday Night Disaster, no taking it slow whatsoever. I did not get coaxed into taking a bit at a time and I hadn't ever actually tried anything before - I mean, I had, but nothing (except me coughing like an old lady) had happened.

You know me, I had to have the whole thing, all at the same time, in ridiculously huge quantities.

I left the bathroom holding hands with my friend and laughing at how absurd it was that the bathroom was 2-in-1 (men and women in the same sweaty, slippery room). I fished the sunglasses I'd stolen from a guy at another club two months ago and slapped them on, advertising my night's mission - I was to find some ridiculously drunk guy who'd be thrilled with getting free sunglasses, and I'd finally get rid of my "stolen goods" (yeah, I'm silly and supersticious like that; I steal, but I can't keep it for more than a few months).

"Everyone's staring, you know," my friend Crazy let go of my hand and laughed at me.

"That's the point," I grinned back, "I mean, how are they to know what they're in for if I don't put on a show?"

He laughed, then suddenly shifted his attention to a familiar-looking girl by the mirrored wall. I'd met her two months ago exactly, during my crazy let's-pretend-to-play-soccer adventure trip with my uni's team (I sucked and all the girls in the team hated me by the end of the trip, but oh well - I got to go and had ridiculous amounts of alcohol-fueled fun). I'd stolen the sunglasses from a hippie guy that went to my uni's rival during that same trip, so I was feeling all mystical about the significance of running into her tonight. I explained my mission and she laughed, but agreed to help me find the perfect victim.

Suddenly, my friend Crazy pushed me up against the wall and told me to open my mouth. I'd still been talking to the girl, so I was more than just a little startled.

"Whatsup?" I semi-slurred, my eyes all wide and child-like and confused. He looked at me all naughty and mischievous and up to no good, and if I didn't know better about us being strictly just friends, I would have imagined something else. God knows where my head was at that moment, but I just did what he said and opened my mouth (okay, I didn't just open my mouth - I made a totally stupid face and stuck my tongue out at him while I gave him the finger). Anyways, to my utter (and further) surprise, Crazy stuck his thumb in my mouth and under my tongue, then removed it and licked it "clean".

I was about to ask what the fuck was the matter with him when I felt a tiny paper-like thingy stuck underneath my tongue. O...kay.

"Swallow," he patted my head and gave me a patronising smile, as if he was talking to his pet dog.

"What's this?" I felt sort of panicky and glanced around expecting to see pink elephants on parade in the air.

"You said you had a thing for Woodstock," he shrugged, his pirate smile still on, "Now relax, will you? Don't wait for it to kick in."

An hour later, I still wasn't feeling a thing, to my relief. I mean, when did I become this sort of girl? Yes, I had a thing for JD shots and clubs during weekdays, but it was all for the fun&music. I am not by any means the sort of person who randomly takes acid at a club on the wrong side of town at three in the morning with a guy whose secret nickname is Crazy. People who know me can confirm I am more likely to spend a Friday night at home re-reading the "House of Night" Series or watching "Heroes", so this whole situation was certainly... different. To say the least. But then again, I'd been starting to feel like a big fat liar. I mean, how could I say I liked rock and how could I say the twisted truths I said to my friends without dragging the full trouble-maker persona at my heels? I clash. I clash with myself a lot in many respects, so me simultaneously being a book-nerd and the world's biggest JD-shot drinker had recently started to get on my nerves.

I just took Crazy's advice and relaxed. It was in my system already, wasn't it? Nothing I could do about it this far.

It still wasn't working though. I vaguely wondered if I was too much of a good girl for the acid to want to make me nuts, and I half-cringed at the thought of the tiny paper thingy laughing at me from my own insides. (But then again, there I was giving a drug thingy living qualities - maybe I was hallucinating already after all).

"This sucks," I yelled at Crazy over the loud music ('Friday I'm In Love' by The Cure, at that moment), "It's not even working."

Crazy nodded in agreement and stuck his hand in his Diesel jeans pocket again. He motioned for me to open my mouth and before I could even half-think the whole thing through, I opened up and left it under my tongue for a little longer this time.

About twenty minutes later, the lights start going fuzzy. I'm ecstatic about being at this city's best club in terms of lighting effects because the multi-colored lasers are now making bizarre shapes on the walls and in front of my eyes and I can literally feel neon-blue glitter falling on my face and washing me clean of the night's tricks. People seem to be laughing at me and I tell Crazy and he laughs at me too and says with a knowing look "It's finally kicked in. Enjoy!"

And just like that, he's suddenly the Master of Ceremony of a big, colorful circus with scary women and fat slobby men. But then the song changes to 'Pretty Woman' and both the women and the men are now transvestis with fake boobs and exaggerated makeup and absurdly high heels. "They're gonna trip," I say, desperately making an attempt to hold up a girl who, incidentally, doesn't need to be held up. Jesus, I forgot I was at the wrong side of town - she gives me a twisted smile and jerks her head towards the bathroom, inviting me to some craaazy adventure Goodie-Good Me wouldn't understand. I laugh and Crazy pulls me away just in time.

"I need to dance," I suddenly tell him over Lissy Trullie's 'Ready For the Floor'. I make some unfortunate remark over Megan Fox's utter hotness (somehow, I wasn't high enough to forget that the song was in her latest disaster "Jennifer's Body") and off we go to the very center of the dancefloor. Crazy expertly guides me through the Trip, despite his also very mindless state, alternating between telling me to shut my eyes and soak it all in, covering my ears with his hands and making me feel like The Beatles' yellow submarine (under the sea and on my way to meeting Sgt. Pepper at an octopus' garden - in the shade), and massaging my back as if I was made out of plasticine (and giving me very intense and indecent shudders all over).

Next thing I knew, it was already almost 7am. The girl I'd met two months ago had left and Crazy and I were sitting side by side on a very comfy leather seat facing a particularly disgusting-looking couple. The guy was a goth to the extreme, sniffing at something his dirty hands shakily concealed, and the girl was sort of fat but stylishly dressed, and deserved much, much better than him. Crazy and I were having fun holding hands and staring up at a stain on the ceiling, describing to each other our very own versions of flying 'C's' up in the air (mine was yellow and purple and girly and his was grafitti-like on flames and very guy-ish).

"I gotta call Dad," I heard myself telling him once we were out watching the sunrise. I was having my umpteenth ciggie of the night and in no state to go home.

"You nuts?" he laughed at me whole-heartedly.

"Long story short, I promised him I'd call him tonight. He'll literally kill me if I don't," I told him with a heavy weight tearing at my insides and sinking to the pit of my stomach.

"Sure you don't want to wait till you're... down again?" Crazy offered and I shook my head.

And as Crazy went on and on about being sucked into the ground by the music and feeling every single person's thoughts and souls right next to his, I called Dad and told him I was ready. Dad made some comment on the time and the sun and the morning traffic, but was on his way.

"I'm so, so screwed," I laughed only so I wouldn't cry. People's waxy faces were suddenly scaring me, and despite how beautiful the sunrise was, I knew for a fact I was nowhere near sober yet. In fact, this Monday Night's Craziness hadn't even started - the worst of it hadn't even kicked in. What the fuck had I gotten myself into?



(to be continued...)

*

RE: your text msg

ADVICE FOR MEN: if (and that's a BIG "if") you do decide to text her back, make sure you spell things right. No, your gorgeous accent doesn't excuse you from knowing how to spell "beer".

ADVICE FOR WOMEN: never ever fall for bartenders, bass players, or guys wearing Clash shirts - or in my case, the three combined. Period.

19

I get there about an hour late and find the tallest, hottest guy standing by the front door - who I just happen to be very good friends with - and engulf him in a very tight "happy new year/christmas/I've missed you" hug. He's on the phone with his mom. Aw.

Crazy emerges from the bar and walks right past Tall and I. "Hey?!" I call, and he turns, wide-eyed and nearly spilling his beer, and hugs me. "Happy birthday, birthday girl!" he smiles ecstatically.

In we go for what will eventually be one of the craziest - if not THE craziest - birthday of my life. No, my Best Friend wasn't there for it (she was in Rome with her BF) and yas, my Party Friend/ JD-buddy passed out before she could make it there, but oh well.

Music gets there soon after and presents me with my favorite birthday gift of the evening, I'm afraid to say. He proceeds to insist on paying for both my drinks (yes, I do order doubles so I'll never find myself drink-less) and I reluctantly swoon. He's supposed to be my friend. We're supposed to be just friends.

Two of my friends get there as Music and I are sliding over to the bar. The three of us girlishly laugh and shriek and jump and hug while Music watches with a patiently amused grin, and off the two go to get their drinks. Crazy stumbles over and announces with a rather triumphant smile that he got us all a table, despite how crowded the place was that night. Perfect.

After one of those fruity red drinks, three beers, and a shot of JD - on just my side of the table - off we go in Tall's car to my favorite club ever. It's MY birthday, so I'm allowed to be selfish and to ignore people's complaints about it being a rock club. We manouver ourselves to the front of the cue and skip all the waiting after Tall charmed the gay bouncer. People behind us rant and protest, but oh well.

Once inside, my two friends and I down a Jager, another girly red something that tastes like cranberry juice, and a conspicuously-named mushy brown substance called "Orgasm". Forget the final exam I was supposed to take at 8am on the next morning to pass the course I'd flunked. I was staying here till the sun came up.

Fast-forward the night until about 6:30am. Bartender with an accent (and a sexy Clash shirt) has been giving me drinks on the house all night (while his boss wasn't looking) and managed to steal my number from Tall, so something interesting awaits. Crazy and I made plans for every single day of the week. I faintly remember agreeing to go to the beach with Music and Tall and my two friends, but of course we all forget about it on the (infamous) morning after.

So I get home, still glittery from last night, at about 7am. I decide I have no time to waste and eat a banana (ew), then change into slightly less nighty clothes and off I go to my car. Yes, I'm still quite drunk and laughy from last night - but I'm already such a great driver that I don't care. I don't want to get there too early, so I decide to take a short 20min nap in the car and set my phone's alarm.

Of course I slept right through it.

To my utter mortification, DAD finds me in a semi-coma in the fogged-up car and scares me to death as he incessantly taps the passenger's window. "Don't you have a test?" he asks, a knowing grin on his face. Oh, shit. "Yeah!" I jolt back to life as I see it's already ten to nine and start the car. Both of us drive away from the house, side by side, him laughing at me and my post-birthday drunkenness, and for the lack of a better excuse I stick my tongue out at him and accelerate. He agrees to stay behind and off I go to class.

I practically fling my keys at the valet guy (no, I cannot for the life of me parallel-park so I do pay a ridiculous amount of money for someone else to do it for me - every single day, cringe) and run across my uni's gates with flushed cheeks and crazy hair. "The professor was looking for you," a faceless girl from my class tells me as I'm bolting up the stairs. "Awesome!" I call back breathlessly, "thanks!" What for, exactly, I'm not so sure.

"There you are," the professor smiles at me as I walk in to find two people still taking the test - thank god - "I was about to call your home," she's super nice about it. Yes, that's one of the benefits of taking a class only six people managed to flunk - the teacher gives a shit.

"What happened?" StonerGirl asks me with a... stoned grin. "Yeah, what happened?" the professor asks curiously.

"Yesterday was my birrrthday," I have a hard time not slurring, "I came straight from the party and accidentally fell asleep in my car," I'm - cringe - totally honest about it.

"You're kidding me!" StonerGirl and the professor laugh simultaneously.

"Unfortunately, no," I smile back with droopy eyelids.

Bottom line: this sort of thing only happens to those of us who were born during the holidays. Or not. Who cares? Best birthday ever and even if I hadn't passed that course with a super-satisfying B+, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

The First Thing One Should Paint/ Are The EYES

Golden-Tipped
Like Yours
Is exactly what I seek.

Come make me GASP.

Draw in purple on my skin
To the sound of crumpling plastic cups.

Spray-paint the shit out of me
In silver and in gold.

Hang me up on the wall of your soul.

Run by me again.
Let's start rumors of our own -
Because with me in the picture/ it just looks a damn better.

I'll give you a guitar pick alright
Yeah, I'm talking to YOU.

Because Golden-Tipped like yours
Is what I seek.

***

I am I am I am. Like Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar". But different. I am. I. Am.

...what, exactly? Not a name, not a word. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet," said Juliet to Romeo.

What's. In. A. Name?

Ugly. The Name in question is ugly. It sounds like a particularly nasty STD. It makes me sick.

But that which it represents, is not. That which it represents is... beautiful. I like it and I'm drawn to it and I ache for it and I want it and I'm getting it and it makes me throb with mad desires and it has everything to do with a pair of certain golden-tipped eyelashes from back in the days when the Name scared me. When the Name felt alien, like death - could happen to others and did, but not to me. Never to me.

I guess Romeo makes all the difference. Poor Romeo, for having to wait. Poor Romeo, for being merely a distraction from the Name. Poor Romeo, for falling so hopelessly in love with Juliet, when Juliet was actually looking elsewhere. My Juliet, at least.

My Juliet is falling for the Name.

My Juliet is scared by the Name.

My Juliet wants a fresh start where she can chase after the Name. Forget Romeo, forget Paris - hell, even forget about Mercutio!

Juliet died because of love. Too much love. But not for Romeo, no. Not even for herself. Juliet didn't even get to taste the reason for her death.

I sure hope my Juliet gets what she's after.

The Classic New Year Post

Here I am, back again. Today's excuse for my long absence: I was finishing off my new book. Yes, I'm afraid to say I've spent a huge chunk of my holidays on that - wasting my days and nights away in front of my brand new laptop (woohoo!) and falling in love with my hopelessly troubled characters. Anyways, I'm back because I have too much to think about and need to unload a little. So here goes my classic New Year post.

I was reading one of those crappy neighborhood newspapers while I got coffee with my Mom today (yes, she was on the phone as usual) and was surprised to read something that actually got my sleepy holiday brain thinking. New Year can only be called New Year if we step out of our comfort zones to make it different. It's supposed to represent a brand new start and all, but the more I think about it, the more I see how January 1st is on January 1st for me and most people. Always. With very little exception. Why do we even bother to make up New Year's Resolutions when, at the end of the day, all they amount to is a brand new to-do list like the ones in our agendas? Okay, yeah, so the agenda might be brand new and stuff, but what you're writing there is just the first little list of pending chores - and nothing more. If you don't turn it into something more, that is.

So I guess my only New Year's Resolution this year is exactly that - to go the extra mile with everything I vow to do, and to turn things into that pretty pink and glittery something more. Hell yeah, do I have more stuff I want to get done this year; I'm just not going to tag them as a Resolution with a capital 'R', is all. I could go on and on now about how we tend to name things so they sound more important than they actually are, but that's a whole other story. True, but momentarily irrelevant.

Let's change the subject, then, shall we?

Since the new laptop came, I've been spending more and more time in my room hunting for interesting blogs to read (notice the brand new box that's replaced my lonely playlist of random songs), and that's how I came across this. Self-centered and quite useless, yes, but fun nonetheless. Like pretty much everything we do.

1. My uncle once: bought two identical Tiffany's diamond necklaces and accidentaly gave them both to me - one for Christmas and the other one for my birthday, about 20 days later. I didn't complain a) because I wanted to be polite and b) because it was a fucking diamond necklace, for christ's sake.
2. Never in my life: have I celebrated New Year at home.
3. When I was five: I wanted to wash cars for a living and own a vintage VW bug. I still want the VW bug.
4. High school was: a sort of bipolar experience - awesome and perfect in some ways, scary and miserable in others.
5. I will never forget: my first ever kiss - 3rd grade, in my (locked) bathroom with a super cute blue-eyed boy called Gabriel while my nanny desperately pounded at the door.
6. Once I met: an apparently super famous tattoo artist (who was on the cover of Maxim last month). She's my neighbor at the beach and she was the one who gave me my Blackbird.
7. There’s this boy I know: who has the prettiest eyes in the universe and a killer rebel-without-a-cause attitude that makes me swoon. Sigh.
8. Once, at a bar: I somehow ended up being the rope in two guys' game of Tug of War. I was flung inside the bathroom and left the bar with a big fat smile on my face.
9. By noon, I’m usually: hungry and wishing I was out at the beach, roasting in the sun.
10. Last night: I watched "Inglorious Basterds" with the Infamous Zipper Man. Heh heh.
11. If only I had: just a little more patience...
12. Next time I go to church: I will try (harder) not to feel claustrophobic.
13. What worries me most: is having to wake up tomorrow at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY in the morning to re-take the class I flunked this semester. Five whole hours of Math 1, anyone?
14. When I turn my head left I see: a Calvin Klein gift bag, an unpacked backpack, my guitar.
15. When I turn my head right I see: my room's balcony.
16. You know I’m lying when: You don't - I hate lying, but I'm awful good at it.
17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: Siouxsie and the Bansheens, New Order, Gang of Four... you name it.
18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Viola - pretending I'm something I'm not and accidentally falling in love with the guy I'm supposed to be helping has my name written all over it.
19. By this time next year: I hope I won't be dreading having to wake up at FIVE IN THE FUCKING MORNING. Ugh.
20. A better name for me would be: Ten Tons of Ideas, Too Little Time
21. I have a hard time understanding: my mother.
22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: probably be picking my little sister up as usual.
23. You know I like you if: I keep smiling like a moron with a face glitch.
24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: Mom, Dad & Little Sister. Aww.
25. Take my advice, never: say "I will never ____." Next thing you know, you're doing it and people are looking at you with big accusatory question marks on their faces.
26. My ideal breakfast is: bunches of fruits (in odd numbers, of course), cold milk, and a slice of toast with honey.
27. A song I love but do not have is: Joss Stone's cover of Queen's "Under Pressure".
28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: bring shitloads of money. That saying about the best things in life being free is utter CRAP in this city.
29. Why won’t people: just say what they think, PERIOD? I. Do. NOT. Like. Playing. Games.
30. If you spend a night at my house: please don't break my bed again :)
31. I’d stop my wedding for: wow, I'm getting married? THAT in itself is such a miracle I don't think I'd stop it for anything. (yes, I'm a little up to here with men at the moment)
32. The world could do without: fanatic preachers. Ick.
33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: Ew. I think I'd prefer doing anything else rather than licking the belly of a cockroach.
34. My favourite blonde(s) is/are: oopsy, I'm busted. This is my twisted and deranged little secret. For now.
35. Paper clips are more useful than: staples. I always staple things in the wrong order and then spend ages trying to pluck it off and end up ruining my nails in the process.
36. If I do anything well it’s: sitting around on a rainy Sunday afternoon doing absolutely nothing.
37. I can’t help but: have a major crush on Taylor Lautner's insane b-o-d-y. Yum.
38. I usually cry: when I'm royally pissed off.
39. My advice to my child/nephew/niece: follow your dreams (yeah, major "Almost Famous" reference).
40. And by the way: I'm not going out with you again, listen to Lily Allen's "Not Fair". Get the point?