---------------------------------------------

Last Wednesday (almost a week ago, jeez) I went over to Jessica's house for the night. It was our friend Amy's twenty-third birthday, so we decided that we should go over and see her before midnight. But Amy has the lead in "Fame", so we had to wait for her to get back from rehearsal before we could jet on over to her place, which is only like, two minutes away.

(Sorry for the lack of details in this story. It was a long time ago, and I don't remember everything. Confused? Read on.)

We decided to watch "The Craft" at Jessica's apartment before we headed over to Amy's. So Jessica decides that she wants and beer, and she asks if I want one. Okay, I was thirsty, so whatever. I drank it.

Then we went over to Amy's. We are only there about five minutes before Jonathan Goodman shows up.

Stop. Let me explain. Jonathan Goodman has got to be about the most gorgeous hunka-hunka-burnin-love ever to walk the face of the planet. He is the King Of All Hunks. He is also a very talented actor and singer, and I've seen him in a bunch of plays, including "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat", where he had to do the entire show in a loincloth....heaven.

So I'm having a little coniption fit in the corner of Amy's apartment when I realize that Jonathan is there. Why? I don't know. In fact, I don't care. But he was there, as my friends in the ghetto say, aiight?

So we hang out and he compliments me on my beautiful skin. I practically fainted and said thank you even though he called me pale and Amy pointed out that some pale people are very sensitive to being called pale. But I said it didn't matter, mainly because it was a compliment. I don't what he says, as long as he says it to me.

So we eat some cookie cake that he brought and I get thirsty again. So Jonathan offers me a pina colada. I hesitated to drink it, because, after all, I just made 14.

What the hell.

I drink it.

And I'm still thirsty. So I drink another.

Then I want some different, but I still claim to be thirsty. So I completely down two strawberry daquiris.

By two, I was passed out on the couch with my head in Jonathan's lap. I didn't even realize that part of it until the next morning until Jessica told me. I could just kill myself for not taking advantage of that situation while I had the chance. Argh.

As we left Amy's apartment, I remember Jonathan saying, "Great. I've intoxicated a minor." And I thought it was funny as hell. Why? I don't know. Don't ask. But Jonathan thought it was funny as hell that I thuught it was funny as hell. (So funny, in fact, that he invited me over to a party the next night. Apparently, he likes drunken teenage girls. Then again, who wouldn't? Damn.)

We go back to Jessica's place but we go over to her neighbor's apartment instead.

Her neighbor is Jamie, but there were two other people there: Mary Lauren and her brother, Andrew. I found out later that Andrew is in my drama class at school.

So I claim to be thirsty and down one glass of champagne in one gulp. One swell foop, as I would have said. Then I take and pour another glass. A small glass.

I drink it. Still thirsty. I down a Doc's Hard Lemon. By now, I have nicknamed Mary Lauren Sister Mary because it's too hard to remember a name like Mary Lauren. Andrew is still sober like he should be.

"Oh my god," Sister Mary suddenly exclaims.

"What?" I ask the three Sister Maries that I see dancing around.

"Anne of Green Gables is drunk!!" she laughs and practically falls on the floor.

"I am not drunk!" I drunkenly shout.

Then I noticed the word "penis" taped on Jamie's wall.

"You have penis taped on your wall," I observe.

"Yup," she says. "You want to learn how to play the Penis Game?"

"Sure!" I say.

"Well, you start off as a whisper and you get louder and louder. It's really fun to play in Wal-Mart," she explains.

So we played the Penis Game. Jessica dragged me next door to her apartment but I kept running outside and yelling "PENIS!" through Jamie's open window. Then I would run inside her door and hide in her closet until Jessica discovered I was gone and she came to retrieve me.

Yep. I was drunk. Wasted. Stoned. Drunk as a skunk. Loose as a goose. Whatever.

So I finally passed out again at Jamie's apartment and Jessica carried me up to her bedroom. I was asleep for the night. By then, it was four-thirty.

I woke up at seven-thirty having heart palputations and thinking I was going to die. I couldn't open my mouth because it was too dry.

I go back to sleep. i dream about a song called "Holiday in Reno." Is that a real song or did I make it up? If I made it up totally in a dream, then fuck awesome. But if you shun my psychic powers and think it's already been copyrighted, let me know.

I sleep until 12:30. When I get up, me and Jessica run some errands.

"Pull over," I said suddenly.

"Why?"

"Pull over."

Pull over. Stop. Open door. Blow chunks.

Shut door. Pull onto road.

So we decide to go back to her place while I toss some cookies. I threw up six times. And I never felt better, so I gagged myself with a straw and made myself throw up again.

Next day? Still not better.

The day after that? Nope. No puking, but not feeling quite up to speed.

We are talking a three day hangover here. Three days. That's got to be a world record, or something. Really.

The next day I saw Andrew again. We actually met as sober people and I saw him when I started school yesterday. that was kind of embarrassing, you know, because he first met me when I was drunk. I mean, that's a little weird.

---------------------------------------------

Speaking of school....

Shit.

I'm about to do some serious sophomore-head-bashing in a few days.

Here's the lowdown: my Biology teacher is a serial killer; My geography teacher is a lesbian, I think; My French teacher is Portugese or some shit; my drama teacher is only like, 25 and let's us drink gin at his house; my English teacher has a board up her ass or something, and I'm being tortured by the sophomore class president, Whitney Breaux, who affctionately calls herself "Ella Presidente."

Is it just me, or is that incorrect grammar?

And she's the one who takes Spanish, for God's sakes. Jesus.

We have to build our own drama classroom in the basement under the theater. Right now it's just being used for storage of flats used in previous shows. Graffiti from previous casts cover the walls. But it's actually pretty cool. We're going to build a stage and all.

We're performing "Rent" this fall. The regular drama kids are really pissed off at us Talented Thespians. They don't get to actually take part in productions. They just get to come to all of out shows, improv nights, monologue showcases, and watch our movies that we make. And they critique us.

That's their whole class.

Wow, that's enough to make a person conceited, huh? And yet I've managed to keep it from going to my head.

That said, I am just the greatest actress in the world, huh? HUH?!?

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!