Hung-over-ween

Wow, what a night out. I really don't go all that often; I'm done with college, I'm an established grown-up with a career. That's right! Ca-reer...with a salary...and benefits. But last night was like old times again.

It started in Westwood. I went to school in Westwood and I figured, hey...where could my girlfriend and I go when she's looking to score some fresh meat? You see, she's recently run through every guy in LA, including the daddy-types, um, the 'fresh-faced' types, and *cough* attached *cough* types. So, where indeeeed?

Why to scavenge up some of the latest batch of fresh-off-the-farm-in-Kansas college boys, of course, thought I with guile. Hee hee. So after having dropped off B and my other girlfriend (married and living 'the married lifestyle') and heading up to my apartment to slut it up a bit, the night was ours.

Oh, quick backtrack. I was perfectly happy to wear a pair of jeans and a tee shirt...after all, I'm not supposed to be looking...but, A (we'll go with initials to protect the um, innocent...chyeah) had called on her way over a bit earlier and done the girlie what-are-YOU-wearing? thing. This is code for: If I look way too slutty, you'll have to slut it up to balance me out. So, I had changed into a halter top and we were just. breasts. Yup, just fantastic, life-altering breasts that could walk (sort of...heels, you know), talk, and pour many a drink.

So J goes home, B goes up to video games, and A and I head out on the town, in a prowly sort of fashion. First bar, first bar...pub really. We're looking around and nothing. We go to the next pub--nothing, no one. What the fuck? we ask ourselves. We see a group of acceptable fellas across the street and follow them with our eyes...the sushi bar? A looks at her watch, "It's 7:45."

Everything makes sense. We go to CPK and she gets food. I call my bestest friends, S and M. Heh heh. S&M. Nice. How appropriate.

Skip, skip...words words words. M doesn't want to go out since he worked all night, but he knows of a thing in Echo Park. I tell him to man up and get dressed. After a couple of minutes of berating, he was persuaded to shower up and have some coffee. We'd be around in an hour to pick him up. Remember this...he has a whole hour!

S rings me and starts squeaking, "I've missed you! I love you! I'm going to ditch my sick friend for you!" and inside, I'm aflutter, because really, I do love her as one of my favorite people in the whole world. I'll tell yall about her sometime. One of the only good things about hippies, she is. So, in short, she's in and she's calling L!

Sweet, the gang's all here.

A and I head over to pick up M, who is still not ready. I check out his new digs while he's brushing his teeth and applying his product, and discover that he has, in fact, replaced the pot that his ridiculous "cooking" ate through. (M thinks that six packs of Ramen and a kielbasa in a pressure cooker, a good dinner makes...not so. Especially when he forgets about it for eight days and his kitchen ends up smelling like a dead body.) He finishes primping and we three head up to Hollywood to get S on our way to the party.

S and her roommate are hanging out on the porch, partying a bit, having a beer or four. Her roommate is a great guy and I was bummed he opted out of the party. I am informed of some exciting upcoming events of their house and catch up on the comings and goings of the friends I have been neglecting so fucking badly.

This is getting long. Let me fast forward. We hit a liquor store and the guy who works there offers M a trade for S. She really is a fine looking girl, but way too accomodating of the skeeve on Sunset under the cover of night. Yuck, I say. We have our booze; we make it to the party just in time to meet L and her...sigh...fanny pack, N. He's a funny guy, but really, L? What the fuck really? Still?

The music is jumpin, but the girlies were those ridiculous scenesters and dirty, orphan-type, Indie rockers. They usurped our chaser and got their filthy, grubby mouths all over it. I was drinking Grey Goose straight after that. Thanks, ladies. Can you really blame me for wanting to buy shoes that haven't been worn by someone else first? I mean, really?!? Eye rolling. Bloody muppets.

So, lots of drinking. Well, except A and I, who drank a bit, but for once in our lives together, did not end up shit-faced fucked. I think this had to do with the fact that people were doing loads of drugs in the one bathroom, and A and I are not the piss-on-the-sidewalk type of gallies. A seemed to really like my friends, so that was cool. She even put up with the gratuitous grinding going on. I was litterally just a pole for L and S to hump on. Yes, yes, high-larious. But I do adore those girls...crotch-grabbing, tit-squeezing and all. Sometimes I wonder if there's such thing as too close to your friends.

We considered bailing to go over to Karaoke, but opted to stay and had a time, a time, I say, until the wee hours of the morning. Goodbyes were said. We took S home, and love was spread all around, smoochy promises to see each other soon (which I am way stoked about). Fast forward more to the car; A and I are buzzed, happily chatting. M is straight retarded in the back. We have had a great night, love is in the air. Still early for A, so there are considerations of calling her favorite fuck buddy, of me finding something fun to do when I get home. Grin.

We're giggling and laughing our merry way down La Brea when this black car shoots across the four lanes of traffic, causing everyone to slam on their breaks. Our hearts are in our throats; the orange car parallel to us, three lanes away SLAMS into the car in front of it, bouncing across traffic and coming within inches of our car. I scream. A swerves (and thank GOD she had her stepmommy's Mercedes or we'd all be dead right now...handles like a dream) and narrowly misses being S.M.A.S.H.E.D. The night has come to a crashing halt, both of us nearly pissing ourselves and cursing out the damn druggies from the bathroom earlier.

M nods, "Cool."

Plans changed. Right there. We were lucky to be alive, so gettin' lucky could wait. Going home to the safety of our beds, a little grayer, a little frayed. Happy Halloween, yall!

PS. I dyed my hair for the festivities. Wanna see? Anonymity is key with my dirty, dirty ways. Red's my favorite color.