Mama's don't let your daughters grow up to be Partygirls.

Here's what you missed. On Thursday, my mother and I attend a mother-daughter bridal shower in Phillie. It's a wine tasting at D.'s house so I plan to stay over and leave for NYC from there in the morning.

We have a few drinks. We have a lot of drinks. We drink an enormous amount of red wine. Our faces are flushed and we are giddy. We INSIST that the hottie wine taster guy, come out with us for a drink.

He gives in, but only for 1 drink he tells us. We girls exchange glances over his head.

The next thing I know, we are at a neighborhood bar, he mentions he has a rented Minivan and then asks, "Who wants to roadtrip to Atlantic City?!?"

I think you know what happened next.

D., S. and I pile in the car and start calling people who may want to join us. Bingo! Our boys down on South Street are in if we pick them up.

Fly down to South Street, I run into the bar and grab the boys. Basically, I drag them out of the bar and they are bombed. I am running toward the car when I see I beautiful, bleeding Latino looking boy with his arms pulled inside his white t-shirt, shivering in a doorway.

"My God!" I exclaimed, reaching my hand to his face, "You're bleeding. What happened?" His eyes were shifting all over the place, and he said "Nothing. I'm fine. You didn't see me."

"I'm looking at you right now and we have to get you cleaned up," I said. He looked at me with a sense of urgency and said, "I was in a knife fight, the police are coming, get out of here. You didn't see me."

I stood in that doorway staring at him and debating getting him inside somewhere warm before he froze to death and behind me I could hear my boys screaming, "Partygirl, THAT'S IT! GET IN THE F*ING CAR!" They were pissed. I guess they must have been yelling for a while.

So I jumped in the car and we were off. But the boys wanted to stop to smoke before the trip. I felt that was a reasonable request, and so we did.

And before I knew it were in their hidden back alley apartment, listening to Belle & Sebastian as a bong was passed.

One by one, they all backed out of the road trip. And they tried to tell me I wasn't going either. One of them went out to the car to explain to D. and the wine guy.

But I wasn't staying.

I'll spare the details of any illegal activities that may or may not have happened on the way to Atlantic City.

We arrived at 3:30AM. We hit the Taj. I've been there a million times, but this time, I felt ever so badass.

I played roulette. I pretended I knew how to play craps. I tossed the dice and at one point, threw them down the aisle. "Just Kidding!" I announced to the pit boss as I smiled and they gave me new dice, and then I blew over them and yelled, "Baby needs a new pair of shoes!" I'm sure I saw that in a movie somewhere.

The next thing I know, I looked at my watch and it was 7:10AM. I put my drink down. The wine guy had to drive back to NYC to catch a flight to Fla. and D. and I had to get back to Phillie and then I had to get back to NYC.

I suggest we take a taxi back to Phillie. "Only $100!" I protest. But D. puts her foot down and says we are taking the bus. It will be faster and way less expensive. She's right, of course.

By chance we caught a bus just as it was leaving the bus station. Some dirty man sat turned around, staring at me with his tongue hanging out of his enormous lips. Gross.

We arrive at the Philadelphia Convention Center. People are milling around, en route to work. I just stopped drinking an hour ago. I try to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Nothing will help.

We think about calling my brother's roommate to pick us up, but I am exhausted and can't even think about waiting in the cold for nearly and hour until he reaches us. I take the lead and insist upon taking a cab. We hop in, direct the driver to Mickey D's and head to the burbs. Nearly $50 later, we arrive at D's house. Her parents are at work, Thank God. I nap for an hour, we get up and head to the train station.

I am miserable. The hangover sets in and I can't even bear to look at a mirror for fear of what I might see there. I want to click my heels and be home in my apartment with my new pajamas.

Instead, I am on Amtrak. The hangover is getting worse and I can't sleep to boot. I try reading "Valley of the Dolls," but nothing will cheer me up. I need a hot shower. I need to be CLEAN.

I arrive at Penn Station. I am wearing a red wrap, that I've been wearing for 24 hours now, and it's below zero. I wait outside for an hour and my eyes are tearing. I am crying. I want to be at home. Please get me home.

I get there around 4, 5 or 6PM. Who can remember? Time means nothing to me. I strip. I go to bed. I don't get up until Friday.

*~*

Friday comes and I start to feel bad about my adventure after someone tells me it's a cry for help. Help for what, I wonder? I have everything a girl could want. Right?

But then I tell my friend Jen my story and she loves it and I know, I'm okay. We all agree to go out on Friday. We are meeting Riot and Cube Girl and the Binx is in town and Gingi will be there with pablo and I invited the newcomer Joana to the gathering.

Everyone gets bombed. I am actually in check, even though I threw back about 3 Southern Comfort shots and a Tequila (what was I thinking???).

My roommate joined us, and brought some out of NYC boys and one very special cupcake who moved to Chicago and left me here to survive him. So happy to see him and all of them!

At some point, and I can't really pinpoint it, some activities were introduced into my evening. Activities that I really try to stay away from. But I went there anyway.

And so the decision was made for another all nighter.

I think I'll end this entry right here and protect the innocent. But I will just add one thing.

It was really nice, to watch a blizzard descend on NYC in the early hours of Saturday, with someone you like spending time with.

That's all I'm saying.

New Year's update to come.

previous next