'Hood Rat. That's what I just called 'Lil Kim, because even as a white girl, I can get ghetto on her ass. She's on The View right now and we are picking her apart. C. thinks she looks tired. Another co-worker snarkily commented that she thinks the 40 and 50-year-old are really going to bump and grind to her performance. No one is safe among this group.

This weekend was tiring. I went full steam ahead. As I mentioned, I got out of work late on Friday. I slept restlessly on the bus, maybe 10 to 15 minutes at a time. During one of these "naps" I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that I was sitting on the bus, and as we pulled up to the station, I woke up and I saw that everyone was standing in the aisle, moving to get off the bus. I opened my eyes, but could barely lift my head because I was so tired. I looked up at the older, large, black women standing next to me and I saw a look of horror on her face, and it quickly turned to pity. She put her hand on my forehead like a mother and said "Baby, you'll be okay. Don't move." I couldn't understand what she was talking about, so I looked down and saw that my wrists were cut, the right way, and were bleeding all over my lap. I think I started to cry, but I was so tired, even in my dream, that I just wanted to sleep, even though I was fighting for my life to stay awake.

That dream made me even more tired. But I decided not to sleep again on that bus.

I got in about midnight and my mom offered to drop me off at the bar that everyone was at. I just couldn't do it. Instead, I went home and went to bed.

Saturday, I got up early and started helping to prepare the food for my friend's surprise party. This took all day. I had about an hour to run errands b4 I had to run back and get ready. I wore my new bedazzeled wifebeater, which read "GENIUS." It was Genius. Anyway, my friend was surprised and we all had a great time.

We had a limo take us to our favorite bar, where we had a ball. I got BOMBED at the party, I mean to the point where I almost didn't think I could go to the bar, so you can imagine the time we had. At one point, the scene was so strange, I started using keywords to make mental notes for my diary. Here are a few of the things I remember seeing:

The rush of girls in the group, all competing for the attention of, mediocre guys. This is what happens when you drink. You lose your sense of judgement and make a run for whatever is there. Because god forbid anyone go home alone. I mean you should have seen it. One of them would think she had closed the deal and would go to the bar or the bathroom, while she was gone, another moved in the for the kill. I was like - I am sooooo not dealing with this. I guess I'm just not competitive enough to play that game. I'd rather have a drink and a cigarette and laugh to myself as I witness this ridiculous behavior.

Another thing I noticed: White guys can't dance. I'm in a bar, surrounded by guys in golf shirts, or something close to it. Golf shirts, or frat boy - take your pick. This can make for great entertainment, if you so choose to take it all in. So I watch as I see my friends shimmying up and down these golf guys, but the best part is watching the guys.

Watch them dance. Their passion is sweet. Truly, it can be charming. But the moves! Good Lord. They half jump up and down, half jog, but their arms are both swinging and maniacally pumping up and down. At one point, I thought one guy was having a seizure. Truly. I was genuinely concerned for his health.

At one point I was swept up in the madness. Springsteen came on, and although I am not a fan, I was in a crowded South Jersey bar at 3AM, and people, there's nothing to do at that point then join in the chaos. These people, they love the Bruce. You have to go with it. The next thing I know I'm screaming the lyrics with some guy who looks like a local landscaper - who's playing airguitar to my singing. Good LORD. What are you going do? This went on for the next couple of songs. Somehow, and this is where it becomes a blur, I ditched the landscaper. The next thing I remember is getting back into the limo.

Somewhere in between there, I remember promising one of my guy friends that I would make bedazzle a t-shirt for him that said "American Badass." He tried to get me to commit to making a rhinestone American Flag below the words, but I told him it would take too long. And then he upgraded the t-shirt to a jean jacket. I'm not sure how we got on this topic, although it may have been when this girl came up to me in a half shirt and told me she liked my shirt, and then pointed to hers, which said "I do bad things." I started laughing and I said, "That's so tuff." I believe I also promised this random girl I would make her a shirt too, but who can be sure?

So we get home. And we are bombed. The birthday girl is unconscious, so we have to carry her out of the limo and up the stairs, into the house. There is a discussion about ordering pizza, but it's 4:30AM and no one is open. The next thing I know, I announce I will ride my bike to WAWA and get sandwiches for everyone. Everyone agrees that's a great idea and gives me money and food orders.

Maybe you should have some background here. WAWA is a minimart of sorts - with a deli counter. This particular WAWA is located in the middle of the projects in this resort town. In fact, if you drive slowly down the alley behind the WAWA, local crack or cocaine dealers will walk out of their house at any hour and sell you a bag. It's probably bags of baking soda, I wouldn't know because I never tried it, but they'll sell you something nonetheless. This WAWA hasn't been open after 10PM for years, after a number of burglaries and after my friend had his head kicked in there one night, when he tried to cop a $20-bag and make off with it. About 6 guys kicked the shit out of him and took his bike. They probably rode over him with it.

And this is where, at 4:30PM in the morning, I decided to ride alone and get food.

I made the trip in record time. Literally 15 minutes to and fro. I get back and everyone had forgotten I went to get food. Burnouts. But, as you can imagine, they were very happy to see me.

I got home about 5:30AM. Tired.

I woke up on Sunday and my parents had made breakfast. Due to the late night buffet, and the severity of my hangover, I couldn't eat anything. It was all I could do to put my bathing suit on and ride my bike to the beach. And then walk, in the pounding sun, the 1/4 mile through the sand to where we sit. I felt like I had completed a tri-athalon. It was all I could do to sit in my chair. And then I decided to go into the water. In my inflatable raft. The waves were HUGE. I mean, it was The Perfect Storm. My friend D. took out about 3 9-year-olds when she rode the boat in on this tidal wave - she rode right over these kids. I was in tears. People saw us coming at them in this monsterous boat and sprinted out of the way. If I had the energy, it would have been a great day to try to surf again, but I just couldn't pull it together.

Came back last night on the bus. Wish I could have stayed. Wish I could stay down there all summer.

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