until, you know, a couple of hours
It’s very quiet in my house. It’s just me, and the two cats. This is amazing.
Dammit. Someone just knocked on the door. A party-goer coming back to pick up his toothbrush and organizer that he left here.
This is not my beautiful life.
There were lots of people here this weekend. Lots of people. I can’t even explain how many people Ray had invited into the house. At one point there was no place in the entire house where I could sit down. There was always someone in the shower or going to the bathroom. There was a giant stack of wet towels.
The music. The screaming. So loud, y’all. It was so loud.
I don’t know. I’m just not that kind of a person. I never have been. Not even really in college. I will have a couple of drinks at a party, or even sitting at home with friends. But my idea of a party is ten of your closest friends hanging out. Or six playing games. Or a group at a bar. I don’t like big house parties too much because you don’t really see everyone and someone’s always being an asshole ripping up the house like it’s a game to destroy things you don’t own. It makes me terribly nervous when that’s happening in my own house, particularly if the house is filled with strangers. I get ultra-paranoid about my belongings.
I’m not even a neat person, but I know where all of my stuff is. When something like this happens and I can’t find my own stuff through all of these other people’s stuff, I get very stressed. I didn’t feel like I lived here this weekend. Part of that is because some of the people staying here didn’t even know that I lived here. I think I said, “I live here,” about six times this weekend.
Why haven’t I ever been that drunk party girl? Like, these people that were here this weekend, they party to a point where it’s like a profession. They get drunk. It’s not just a night thing, like “We got so trashed at that party.” They were drunk when they got here, drank all day, took “disco naps,” got back up to go dancing and drinking all night long, came back in the wee hours, slept until lunch and then started drinking again. They drank and partied for four days straight. I couldn’t do it. One crazy night with a bottle of wine and the next day I hate myself all day long. I can’t stay awake. It hurts to eat.
One girl was practically naked the entire time. This group of friends loves to talk about taking dumps and peeing and they shower together and go to the bathroom together and sleep together and at one point I saw a girl take the pants off of a boy who was passed out to put his party clothes on him. Her major achievement was that she got him completely naked in front of a group of people and then dressed again and never spilled the beer he was holding while he was asleep.
I have never been this kind of person. Does it make me a prude? Does it make me old or boring? Because I don’t have these stories of watching my friend dance on a ten-foot ledge covered in Christmas lights or because I haven’t ever tried to sleep inside a fireplace, or I haven’t taken drugs and then spread my legs while wearing a thong in front of a group of strangers — does that make me the dull one? My mom calls it “being a nice girl.”
Ray invites, like, everyone he’s ever known to his parties. People come over that don’t know anyone in the house. They drink and dance and spill things and put cigarettes in places no one should ever put cigarettes. They break chairs. They try and take over the stereo. They scream. They sing as loud as they can. There was a party here Saturday night that was so crowded, I never even made it onto the porch. I couldn’t even get to the kitchen without someone stopping me, asking me where the rum was, or showing me the undercrack of an ass or asking if I mind all of these people over.
Do I ruin the party because I just want to sit and talk and listen to music? Am I lame because I don’t want a stranger’s ass on my face when I watch television? Am I the lame one because I’ve never tried a beer bong?
I don’t know. I’ve just never wanted to be that drunk. I’ve never really wanted to shut down like that. I also can’t think of anything worse than sleeping in a place with eighteen other people. I’d never want to have to get so drunk that sleeping on a hardwood floor wouldn’t bother me. I’d hate to be trapped in a place with a bunch of strangers and the only thing bonding us is the fact that we all shared two kegs in two days.
Do I just not know how to party?
I did have a great time with Chris and Allison. Al and I went and got girlie nails done, because it’s quiet over there. I got a French manicure and pedicure. I’ve never had one before, and I tend to think they can look kind of trashy. But I did it anyway. And I think it looks really good. I don’t know if my manicure lady was just really good, but they look really pretty. My nails always look dirty, and with this they look quite clean. And the toes are just too damn cute. As Allison said, “They’re like tiny pieces of art.”
By the way, she also wrote of her weekend.
And if I haven’t said it lately, Omar is very funny.
Today has been spent in the quiet, talking on the phone to friends. I’m cranking out the work I couldn’t do this weekend.
There’s this little writer’s strike thing starting tomorrow. I have a feeling it’s going to get very strange here in LA soon.
But for now, I think our neighbors are going to think twice before they ever try and piss us off. I can’t imagine they got one minute of sleep for the past four days. Right now my upstairs neighbor (She Bangs, as we call her), is doing something that sounds like she’s rolling bowling balls across her living room. You know what? She has every right in the world to bowl all night long.