August 12, 2002
Partee Partee
I was a respectable girl and crawled into bed at 5:19 a.m.
And, while I most definitely did not get drunk, I can honestly say that I had a good buzz going. Four drinks. I am an alcohol virgin no more.
So. The party. The party that I almost did not get to go to. I hold no grudge against you, my dear, if I seemed upset yesterday it was just because there appeared to be no way for me to go at all.
At any rate. Crystal, another one of the cooks at the buffet, claimed that her boyfriend was going sober and he was going to give her a ride home, and she lives near me, and that he'd drop me off to.
I told her to give him a kiss.
As soon as Mike picks me up from work he is chatting my ear off. He looks at me, his eyes almost manic.
"I've already had six."
I slap his arm.
"You have not."
He laughs.
"No, I haven't even have one. I just get like this before a party."
I heartily agree. I was legitimately excited. Imagine that. Me. Excited. About social interaction.
At his house Kasey's friend is already rocking the turn tables, the fog machine is pumping and the beer is flowing. Nick and Skippy are dancing with thier little finger lights. Mike and I are almost immediately invited to a game of euchre, and, at his peril, we agreed and became partners.
Guess who got their asses kicked?
After one game I was through, but he stayed on. I joined Owen at the pool table, and the two of us actually ended up winning a game. Mostly due to Owen, but I helped. A little.
Mike blew me a kiss from the card table. That, of course, initiated my going over and snatching a real one between shots.
It was lovely. I was being independently social, enjoying myself, feeling only slightly fuzzy headed after my second drink. I kept waiting to begin behaving foolishly, but it never happened. If anything, I'd hear myself talking and wonder, why am I saying that? And it wasn't necessarily something I wouldn't say otherwise, perhaps just not as loud.
I giggled and claimed that I wanted to be a mean drunk so I could get in a fight. The closest I got was telling both Mike and Chris to fuck off more times than was absolutely necessary.
Mike told me how to say it in German. If I thought I could spell it I'd put it in here, but, seeing as that is not the case, there will be no vulgar enlightenment today.
Retiring upstairs, our kisses were followed by my being heartbreakingly honest with him. Was it the alcohol? Was it his sweet grin?
"I'm thinking about having sex with you."
His eyes widen, even in the dark I can see.
"Tonight?"
"No, obviously not tonight."
Smiles grace both of our lips.
Moments later he speaks again.
"That kind of intrigues me, that you would say that. Wow."
"I just feel like it would mean something, if it were with you. You are an exceptional person. Don't let it go to your head."
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me in response.
I'm not sure how I feel about having told him. My paranoias are still a steady current in my veins, but I explained that to him, too. I told him probably not soon, but probably. It makes sense to me.
I just don't want to be a statistic. I don't want to be another stupid girl, stupid girl number five hundred eighty-six. I told him that is the end of the world for me. And it is.
Also, I just have this really potent fear of telling my mother. I can get birth control on my own, and she'd never have to know, but I don't want to decieve her. I've always told her that when I was ready, I would let her know. And she has always encouraged me to be that way. Now, I wonder, is it because she wants me to feel as though I can trust her or so she can do something to stop me?
I just don't know.
For now, we're just going to stick to good old familiar fears. Like pregnancy through clothing.
astera at 11:06 a.m.