Anna David - Party Girl

It is a truth universally acknowledged that crazy things happen

Back in L.A., Stephanie asks me about the wedding and

Im just finishing a Where Are They Now? story on

Im in Brians office, griping about how I pitched something

Can we please concoct some reason we have to move

When I wake up later that afternoon, things seem a

While I really did convince myself that Chad Milan could

My first instinct when I see Stephanie standing at my

I read everything I can find about Kane on the

Kane has one of those video camera doorbell things that

Its completely unfair, I say to Mom. I mean, I

Ive always heard about how people come to and have

When we pull up at Pledges, I marvel over what

Im trying to focus on reading the Pledges book when

Im not sure when rehab starts to seem like the

The day Im getting out, I decide to check the

Would you like to have your lawyer look over the

Im sitting at the Starbucks smack in the middle of

Tres belle, Jean-Paul coos as his camera snaps away. Three

Im dreaming about signing autographsand in the dream, my handwriting

Oh, youre adorable! a brunette in a wraparound Diane Von

Here we go, Tim says as the Town Car pulls

I cant imagine doing all of that sober, Stephanie says

When I walk in the door after a pre-Emmys party

I need to talk to you, Justin whispers in my

Its a Sunday night, arguably the most depressing time of

He didnt call me back, I say into the phone

Here you go, Stephanie says, reaching through a throng of

When I come to at about three in the afternoon

I spend the next week writing down my resentments, only

Amelia, we already went through thison our hike, remember? Stephanie

Youre something else, Joy Behar says after she takes a

It is a truth universally acknowledged that crazy things happen at weddings. Or at least thats what I tell myself as my activities segue from outrageous to risqu to downright depraved.

Theres the bathroom blow job incident, which I categorize as outrageous rather than downright depraved, solely due to the fact that my eighty-two-year-old stepdad walks in while Im going down on the cousin of the bride in the poolhouse bathroom. Because of his eighty-two-ness (the stepdad, not the cousin, thankfully), he was prone to more senior moments than nonsenior momentsand thus is easily convinced that what had just happened never in fact happened. By the time Im done talking to him, Ive actually managed to convince him that not only was there no blow job, but also there had been no cousin of the bride. Im pretty sure if Id kept going I could have gotten him to believe there was no wedding. But the point is, in convincing my stepdad, Im pretty sure I convince myself. And thus: outrageous, not downright depraved.

Dont bother asking me how I go from sitting next to the cousin and finding him mildly attractivenot gorgeous, just mildly attractive, someone I might have gone out with had he asked meto kneeling down in front of him while he sat on Moms bidet. It wouldnt have been my style to have asked, Care for a blow job in the bathroom? At least I dont think so. Its possible that after a bottle or so of good wedding champagne, Amelia Stone is replaced by Paris Hilton minus the millions, plus a good twenty pounds, but since my exploits havent been caught on tapenote to exes, not that I know ofI can only venture this as a guess. Id like to imagine that I happened to visit the restroom just as he was leaving and that our sudden passion erupted spontaneously. But by the end of the nightwell, morningthe whole cousin incident was so comparatively pristine, I may as well have been a virgin in white in that bathroom.

Later, I find myself in the sauna with the groomsmen. It had been my moms idea, that all the young people from the wedding should sauna and swim, but somehow it got down to just two guys and me. By this point, I know that Im way more than mildly intoxicated, but since technically Im on vacation, arent I supposed to be? If I were this drunk in L.A., someone would probably bring out the coke and Id thus be able to alleviate my alcohol buzz a bit, but parties at Moms house tend to be pretty short on drugsat least non-SSRI ones. And since in some ways theres no better high than having two men vying for your attention, I figure its just as well that Im not holding.

Im going to be graduating in May, Mitch says, as he offers me a sip of his warm Amstel Light. Medical school has been a bitch.

Oh, but now youre going to have to do your residency, Mitchs alleged best friend Chris interjects, while interjecting his body into the minuscule space that exists between Mitch and me. Youll be working, like, ninety-hour weeks for no money.

Which is so much worse than doing your residency at Paramount for a salary just above the poverty line? Mitch lobs back, looking at me.

I swear I never get tired of the attention of boys. But I prefer direct attention, rather than transparent male dick-swinging contests. Do they honestly think that the one who gets the last dig in will win my affection? Dont they know that being an assistant and a student, even a medical student, arent exactly lady-killer positions to be in, and that they should perhaps be digging into their personal arsenals for more compelling things to compete over?

I stand up and theyre silenced. Last one in has to do a shot, I say and before Ive even finished the sentence, theyre pushing each other aside in their zeal to jump into the pool. I stand at the sauna door, cold air rushing in, their wet towels at my feet. If I didnt know better, Id swear that the two of them just wanted to have sex with each other.

Okay, were going to sleep now, I instruct them, as I try to get as comfortable as I can while lodged between these two guys in a double bed. Sleep.

I honestly think were going to bed. Was anyone ever that naive? I cant even sleep on two Ambien by myself, but the birds are dangerously close to chirpinga horrifyingly depressing time to still be partying, as Ive recently learnedthis is the only bed left in the house, and neither of these guys are in any condition to drive. I turn toward Chris, whos facing the wall. Mitch is on the other side, facing the other wall.

A few minutes pass and I hear Mitch breathing heavily in that way that means he could be asleep. I sigh and feel more relaxed. My insomnia always seems embarrassing, and Im all too relieved to be able to suffer through it without witnesses. Miraculously, I drift off for a moment or two.

And am awakened by lips on minespecifically, lips belonging to Chris. My eyes swing open just in time for me to realize that Chriss kissing skills arent half bad. Some people pride themselves on their gaydars. I pride myself on my kissdar because I can usually tell on sight if a guy is going to be one of those drench-your-face-with-saliva kissers, too-tentative pecking kissers, or a possessor of one of those lizardlike tongues that darts into places its not wanted. Most guys, unfortunately, fit into one of these categories. Its the ones that dont that drive us mad, in all the good ways. Unfortunately, their kissing skills always seem to accompany a tendency for unemployment, a lack of an IQ, or just a general asshole-ishness. If they could kiss well and also possess qualities that actually made them good boyfriend material, women would probably maim and kill one another to have them. I had assumed that Chris would be some combination of too-tentative and lizardlikethat hed start out with inappropriate propriety and then swerve into too much without the required sensualityand am startled to discover that he seems to know what hes doing. He even knows the take-my-face-in-his-hands move.