I placed myself under house arrest this weekend, after my performance on Friday night.

Every single night that I've gone out drinking while staying with my parents, they bid me one cautious reminder: "Everything in moderation." That's all. Not - do you have enough money? Who's driving? Don't drink and drive. Don't do drugs. Don't do shots. Don't smoke. I think my parents almost knew, from the time before I could walk, when I would manage to get all of my clothes off, climb out of my playpen, crawl down a daunting flight of stairs - and somehow - we are still unclear as to how Partygirl the amazing baby did this, open the front door and crawl up to the neighbors. All so I could play in the mud. Naked. In the early hours of the morning, I didn't want to wake anyone. I didn't want to play with anyone and I didn't want supervision. I could do it on my own. And so I did.

Hundreds of times they've said to me "Everything in Moderation," but come on, it's just not in my nature. All or nothing, baby. All or nothing.

With that in mind, I went out on Friday night to Riot's party. It was. So. Fun.

(This is where I write like Cube Girl because I spent an extended period of time speaking with her.)

And Riot has the most excellent friends. All of whom I enjoyed speaking with and fingers crossed that I didn't stick my foot in my mouth later on into the night, after I had crossed into the "zone."

I also met the binx. Whom is all of the Virginia charm that one can behold. She also, somehow, became my benefactor for the evening. Binx, next time you are in NYC, the champagne will be on me.

Somewhere all the line, I managed to really get drunk. One of those, I'm not feeling it�still not feeling it�shit! I'm bombed.

Before I managed to make a total ass out of myself, I found myself in the arms of an Australian stranger. He had a smile that reminded me of Heath Ledger (could have been the effects of alcohol, though) and the build of Russell Crowe and before I even knew what happened his face was *thisclose* to mine and he said to me, as a follow up to an earlier exchange, "You still haven't screamed for me." The liquor in me replied, "You still haven't given me anything to scream about," - the liquor also provided a sassy wink - and before new it he pulled me even closer (if that was possible) laughed. He whispered in my ear, "You, are Christmas" which sent shivers of Thornbirds glory down my spine,

*NOTE: Once I start thinking Thornbirds and Richard Chamberlain ("Go on now�go on to that GOD of yours�.You'll be back.") it's pretty much a closed deal.

�and before I knew it, I was kissing this hulk of a man whom I had never met. I don't even know his name, nor he mine. At the bar. In front of all the diarylanders. Nice buzz.

And frankly, if he had asked me to go home with him, I would have followed him out the door without a second thought.

But as soon as it had happened it was over. He put me down and walked past me, straight out the door.

And this was EARLY into the night.

As I relayed this much of the story to my friend Anna, whom does NOT know about this site, she said to me, "uh, oh - Champagne? You know that stuff is crack! Couple of glasses and you turn into Partygirl." I had to laugh. Alter ego coming back to haunt me.

It would have been shortly after this incident, when I felt the need to get high. Moderation, no thanks. So I did. I would have been fine, too, if I had ended it there, but nooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I have to continue on with this charade in the next bar.

Until I got busted by the waiter. Which was slightly embarrassing. But not really, since it takes a lot more than that to embarrass me. It's at this point that I suddenly realize I've hit the wall.

The room is hazy and spinning. Conversations that were a moment ago lucid and logical are now sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher. I am hearing that woooont woooonnntt wooonnnttt. I steady myself. I work to focus. I work to ride it out. I pay more attention to everyone. I try to ask questions. Words spill out of my mouth but they are as warbled as the sounds around me. I wonder if anyone else feels this way? I wonder if I look as drunk as I feel?

I must take action. I stand up. Wordlessly, I hug Riot and I bid adieu to the others. I work to exit gratefully, but I think I knocked into a chair. I purposely make eye contact with the bouncer with the watchful eye on my behavior, as if to prove to him that he will not intimidate me and my bad habits.

I step outside. The cold air smacks me in the face like an unpaid mistress. I try to flag a cab. While doing this, the hot piece of chocolate next to me starts up a conversation. "Where you going?" "Home," I replied. "Home!? It's too early to go home. Come to another bar with me." "No thanks, I've been to a bar, now I need to go home." "No, you're just getting started, the night is young, come with me," he urges.

"I need to go home. Now." The next thing I know he's putting me in a taxi.

*~*

So I wake up on Saturday, green monkeys abound. I look up at my ceiling and quietly think to myself, "Good God, what have you done now?"

I think maybe what the binx had mentioned about embarrassing drunken moments had slipped into my subconscious. Because all the sudden, I am like, "I don't even KNOW these people and they must think I am CRAZY."

Which I am, but in a good way.

So I sat around, mulling the damage I could have done. Well, I thought to myself, I didn't wake up next to anyone I don't know - so that's good. And I didn't wake up in jail, so that's good. And I didn't strip in public or anything, so that's good. And I didn't throw up in public, so that's good. I'm pretty sure I didn't steal anything, so that's good. And I wasn't dancing on the bar, so that's good. And I didn't tell anyone any secrets that I promised to keep - or so I think.

But I couldn't shake the feeling. And it lingered and lingered. And even after I enchanged gifts with my roommates and I got this HUGE "SuperFly" original movie poster and cool "make you own lip balm set" among other fun items, just felt like I needed to reign it in.

Problem being, I had committed to four parties on Saturday night. I don't why I do this. I must think I am supergirl or something but I hate to say no and figured the least I can do is pop in and spread the Christmas Cheer.

I choked.

I started to freak out about my behavior and my life and I wallowed in utter dispair. I tried to talk myself out of it. I showered, I got ready, I applied festive make-up. I could not pull it off.

I tried to psyche myself. "They're counting on you, Partygirl," I thought. They are counting on you. But I couldn't do it. Because worse than not showing up, in my mind, is showing up when I'm "off."

It's the whole theory of wanting to die when you're young so you'll be immortalized as young and beautiful. This is how I think.

Better to be a no show, than a poor show. And so I sat, in my party clothes, ready to go, in my apartment. And mulled the nature of my ways.

I decided to use my time well, and found myself writing out Christmas cards, which sent me back to my days of Catholic school. "Penmanship ladies and gentlemen, is the secret to the soul. NO LEFT HANDS. Sit up straight. Left hand holding the top of the page, right hand poised to write. Perfect Slant. Partygirl, bring that note up here and read it to the class!" And I started to freak. And then I started to clean. Which was generally my punishment during catholic school.

I cleaned well into Sunday. Reorganizing, recycling, retarding my emotional growth. The skies poured and poured and I thought about going to church. Then I thought about missing church.

I thought about confession. I thought about the act of being forced to confess things you hadn't done. I though those nuns that fucked my head up should be in confession right now. Then I felt guilty.

Then I felt guilty again about my bad behavior. I looked at my penmenship and saw how it had deviated from the loops and the perfects slants I had been taught.

I looked for erasers to stomp, but could find none.

So I did what any respectable fucked up Catholic girl would do at a time of utter duress:

"Forgive Me Father for I have sinned..."

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