House Party

I went to a house party last night. I think the last time I went to a house party I was 15 going on 16. My girlfriend’s and I wanted to see some boys that we liked and they were having a house party. There was alcohol floating around the place. So much alcohol. I wasn’t much of a drinker back then. Especially not beer. Which means there was no excuse for me ending up in a bedroom making out with some dude from the Catholic school down the road and yet, it happened. I would say that was when I first started feel “sexual” feelings, but it happened shortly before that incident. Todd Evans. He rocked my world (not that night) and gave me a hickey on my chin that I convinced my mother was a bruise from getting into a fight with some girl on the railroad tracks. She said she believed me. I hope she didn’t really. She probably wouldn’t even remember it now if I tried to remind her now. If I were going to blame anyone for my Woodstock Free Love way of living, I think he would be the one I blamed. He made me feel things. And those things were good. And I wanted to feel them all the time. And so was born this sexually aware and free person. Thank you, Todd. So I made out with a guy at the party while my friends were getting too drunk to walk home and we ended up having to call one of the girl’s dad to pick us up and we got the third degree all the way to our houses. I got off the hook because my mom was in a coma at the time from a car accident and I think he felt bad for me. But that was the last “house party” I went to. Until last night. The only difference between last night and way back when is that the house was full of adults instead of children. I flew solo so I didn’t have any drunken friends to cater to and there was no bedroom make out session. There was a small, very small, make out session with a Puerto Rican guy who I had talked to half the night when he walked me to my car. I think it’s safe to say I have a thing for Puerto Ricans. They remind me of home. Not Puerto Rico, but Pennsylvania. One of the first guys I ever crushed on hard was a little Puerto Rican dude who worked at Little Caesar’s and always smelled like Crazy Bread when I saw him. I still think of him every time I walk into a Little Caesar’s. But enough about him. The guy who walked me to my car was really nice. I actually met a few guys last night. I met a really drunk guy who I got a plate of food and some water for and then hugged him and told him I hoped he felt better. He was drinking his sorrows away. I don’t know what the sorrow was but hugs make me feel better so I thought it would work for him too. I know all too well that point when you’ve had too much to drink and all you can do is stare at your feet and will the world to stop spinning while trying to hold your head still. Yea. That’s about where he was. And then after my Puerto Rican make out session, I was driving home because I had to be to work early and some guy is two lanes away from me and says, “hey, my son thinks you’re cute.” His son was nine. I asked dude his name and when he told me, it was a very uncommon name. An uncommon name that I had heard one other time in my life 12 years ago. Turns out, it was the same guy I knew from 12 years ago, so we pulled over and talked for a second before exchanging numbers and moving on. I think the whole night had something to do with my lucky dress or maybe my lucky flashy red shoes. Not sure. I do know that I had a lot of good luck last time I wore that dress. I’m going out again tonight and I can’t wear the same thing because a lot of the same people from last night will be where I am going tonight so now I am stumped because I’ve told you all before that I have a hard time dressing myself to look like an adult. Not that I looked like much of an adult yesterday either. Oh, well. I’m pretty sure none of them are the prince charming type, but it’s cool because I was having a good time not looking. It’s cool when things just happen out of nowhere.