FATE.

I've heard that word/concept/idea a lot - but never really lived by it. I kinda believed that you create your own destiny. That if you want something bad enough, you make it happen. It would be nice to believe that there's some higher spirit looking out for all of us, operating under the principles of divine intervention: lightly leading us toward what's best, taking from us when deemed necessary, giving us a slight push when we need the courage, giving us a kick in the ass when we deserve one. But I never really believed it.

Cynic? Yeah, guess that's what I was. But not anymore. I'm a believer.

Sunday night. The last night of the summer and I was starting to feel sorry for myself. Unhappy with my outfit, my mind was heavy thinking about how I hadn't met anyone new all summer, and I was having a silent pity party for myself in my mind.

As I left the house, it started to rain. So I had to get a ride over to my friends house, where I was going to a birthday party. I arrived, and everyone was there and excited because the night was young and everyone was together. I, however, was not excited. I felt very drab. Very boring. I felt just like the kind of person I would never want to speak with, so I cleared my head, and began to pollute myself with every and any substance available. Indian cigarettes abounded thanks to a friend who returned from India, and I had no fear. But, internally, I told myself, I would not be going out tonight. Why bother? I hated my outfit, my hair was ruined, I was tired and felt like I was coming down with something. So I held up my smile for everyone to see, all the while plotting my secret escape.

Hours passed. The taxi pulls up and I let the first group go - "it's early, only 9:30PM," I said. The next thing I know, the phone is ringing, the girls have spotted one of the Philadelphia Flyers at the bar and the rest of the girls go crazy. There is a flurry of activity among these female hockey fans. Half drunk and truly burnt, I got swept up in the excitement and before I knew it I was running downstairs and through the rain to my friend's car and we excitedly drove over to the Sunday Night bar.

Although, Partygirl, wouldn't know this hockey player if she walked into him and nor does she care to.

We arrive, soaked, and see our friends and they see Mr. Hockey USA. I need to admit right now: that guy is a piece of ass. And every girl in that bar knew it, so I took myself out that shitshow. I hit the bar for drinks. Rum Runners with the Power Straw, that's a straw filled to the top with "151" rum. I set the record on these cocktails last summer when I drank five after drinking about 6 beers and then ran around the bar trying to find old connections for a bump. Robert Downey Jr., anyone? Talk to me.

So I order up about 8 of these for all the girls and the drinking began. Good Lord. 5 Rum Runners with Power Straws later - the girls are all puddles. I go exploring down the "Employee only" hallway for a secret bathroom. No luck, but I do open a door and find all the waitresses sitting in this bathroom type of deal smoking butts. I am now pretty sure I am about to be thrown out. So to mask my folly, I take a very drunk Toastgirl and push her through the "Employee Only Door" and as Toastgirl stumbled down the off-limits hallway, I tell her to find a bathroom "but don't open the first 2 doors." No bathroom was found.

Finally, one of the girls takes a look around - she sees me playing my harmonica at the table to the soloist on stage, Toastgirl falling over on her banquet seat, E. dancing up a storm on the dance floor and she made the call that saved us all - "Let's go girls, we are going across the street!"

Yes, it's true. Bombalooed, the girls agree to step it up and head over to the cheesiest club in the area for a little live music and dancing. I mean, the kinda place where you can still find girls in acid washed bongo jeans and banana clips - and this is not an 80's revival, oh no, they still think these items are in fashion. Step outside and it's a shitshow, pouring rain, but the girls are bombed and who the hell cares anymore?

Cut to inside. Drunk girls on a dance floor. You would have thought we were at Studio 54 the way we were carrying on. I, unfortunately, picked up some drunk random who is spooning behind me, so I now have to stop dancing until he gets the picture and dances with some other girl. I decide I've had enough and go over to the bar.

As I sit there, with my Budweiser and smoking a Parliament, I hear a guy saying something in my ear. I look up and see what may be the hottest thing I have ever seen. Speaking to me. I mean, let's just take a break here and discuss this hottie. He looked, like one of those 20-something extreme sport athletes they feature in the fashion issue of Rolling Stone magazine. Unbelievable. Kinda a strawberry/honey blonde. I mean, I don't even like blondes, but this blonde, good lord. He was all man.

It's a good thing I was drunk, or I would have probably done something very stupid. He asked for a cigarette. I drunkenly dug in the bag and find that I have only 2 Parliament's left. And no matter how drunk you get, or how hot the guy, you are not getting one of my 2 last smokes. Nope.

So I ask him if he wants to try one of my Indian cigarettes. He looks confused, so I dig in and grab the pack and pull them out and tell him they are really good. He scratches his head and squinches his Iowa farm boy face as he thinks about the proposition. In a last ditch effort to make him understand they are good, I light one for myself.

He jumps on the bandwagon. He takes one, I light it. He smiles, and says they are good. We exchange goodbyes.

I return to my drink. I'm thinking, guys like that don't like Partygirls like me. As I take another drag, I see him walking toward me, again.

Now I'm confused. Did you forget something, I asked? Nope, he says, I just wanted to tell you, I don't even smoke cigarettes but I saw you smoking Parliaments and I like them every so often, so I thought I'd ask you and then you gave me this and I love it so I shared with my friend and he loved it too, they're great.

I mechanically reach in my bag to grab the smokes, thinking he came back to ask for one for his friend, but he says, no thanks. And then he leans over and whispers, Do you smoke weed? ::SNORT:: He says, I smoke a lot of weed and this tastes like weed, I'm getting a buzz off of this. And he parked himself down next to me.

The rest is history. Partygirl grabbed her dugout and the game began. Right there at the bar. At first, the corn fed boy was a little put off, but the Indian cigs had gone to head and he threw caution to the wind. Partygirl made him hold the treats in his hand to fill the bat. He held it for about 2 hours. Hell, he might still be holding.

Somewhere along the way, I remember him telling me, "I can't believe this�all these people in here and I found the coolest girl in the bar." I was not inclined to disagree with the hottie, who was clearly smart too boot. Love that.

So the hottie and his friend and me hang out. As we chatted (about what, I cannot remember for the life of me) my drunken friend D. randomly grabbed him and pulled him out on the dance floor. He resisted a little but I told him to go and that I would wait. As he was pulled on the dance floor, he had told me not to leave without saying goodbye - premonition? Had we met b4? How did he know about my Houdini act?

Anyway, that's when I realized many of my girls had left and that :SHOCKER:, I was way overserved and had to leave immediately (not to mention Toastgirl could no longer stand). So I went to leave and the friend was like, you're not leaving are you? And I smiled and was like, of course not, just going the bathroom....and, well, HOUDINI!

Poof, she's gone.

I helped Toastgirl walk to another bar down the street and hoped that the friends were there. We found the friends with the boys, and realized, "Whoa!" - I'd reallyreallyreally overdone it. Toastgirl and I plopped into a taxi with our friend's F. & E. My was plan this: I'll quietly ride in the taxi to the late-night bar two towns over and when everyone jumps out to go in, I'll tell the driver to keep driving and loop back and take me home. This covers several bases: 1) They won't notice until the last minute that I couldn't make it to late-night on the last night of the summer; 2) when they start to give me shit I can technically say I was there; 3) I wouldn't have to stand on the sidewalk to wait for another taxi - because I could no longer stand.

This worked pretty much to plan except that Toastgirl gave it up too early that we couldn't make it out of the car and we had to hear it on the way over there. I kept my mouth shut, mainly because I thought I was going to throw up. The last I remember hearing was: Partygirl, you are so disappointing. In my mind, I responded: Sorry buddy, I'm like Scott Weiland to your Keith Richards. You win. I'm not that tuff.

In the taxi on the way home, I was deteriorating. Upon arrival, I ran to the bathroom, doubled over, violently ill - bright red rum runners are not as tasty the second time around. Truly.

I passed out. When I woke up, my mother asked me why I slept with the lights on. I didn't know I had, but I was happy to know my mother didn't notice that I also slept with my platform shoes on and purse wrapped around my wrist.

Cut to: Monday night. I'm heading out of town. On the way to the bus station, my friends blast the entire 'N SYNC CD. To drown out this atrocity, I allow my mind drift back to the hottie from the night before. Lost in my thoughts, I thinks about him for the full half-hour ride.

The next thing I know I am a block from the bus station. A car pulled up next to ours. They were trying to get in our lane. The guy reverses fast past us and I snapped out of my daydream and caught a blur of a profile - I exclaimed, "He's HOT!" So he pulled back up and I looked at him and he looked at me - and he smiled that shit-eating corn fed grin and says, "It's YOU, from last night!" I am literally speechless (and this rarely happens).

It was the hottie I had met at the bar. About 4 towns away now, the guy and his friend PULL UP NEXT TO ME and I AM DYING, literally cannot BREATHE - he's even hotter than I remembered! And he's like "wait!," and fumbling in his car for something - HE GIVES HIS CARD TO MY FRIEND TO GIVE TO ME (I was in the backseat) and is like "thanks for last night, that was fun!"

And I asked him where he was coming from and said, from his BOAT. Have I mentioned yet how much I love Boating? Oh, you have no idea. I LOVELOVELOVE the water sports.

I MEAN, HELLO! WHAT ARE THE CHANCES OF THAT HAPPENING????

Here I am, daydreaming about this random guy and he pulls up next to me??? IT'S FATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I CAN'T STAND IT! I'M SO EXCITED!!!!! I HAVE A CONNIE! I HAVEN'T BEEN CONNIE FOR SO LONG!

YIPPPPPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

And that's how Partygirl learned to believe in Fate.

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