raw sugar : gaby
Mar 27, 2018 14:07:59 GMT -5
Post by goat on Mar 27, 2018 14:07:59 GMT -5
miette reno
I don't like parties that much anymore. I used to, and I think I'm still supposed to, but lately they've been such a bore. Here's how it always goes- you show up, you drink too much beer, you vomit behind a bush, and you go back to drinking. It's so predictable. Nobody gets wild anymore. What happened to making bonfires in living rooms? Or mixing alcohols you definitely shouldn't be mixing? I don't know when everyone lost their sense of fun, but I'm so over it.
I'm standing in the backyard of a house who belongs to somebody I don't know. I knew the party was happening because my friend was told by her friend who was told by a different friend that it was happening. I'm the only person out here, I needed some fresh air. I watch the party unfold inside through the glass. People bob their heads to the music and raise cups to their lips. I take a sip of my own drink. I don't know what's in it. That was kind of the point. Sometimes I play a game with myself to see how sick I can get after parties. I know I won't get grounded or anything, which is the best part. My mother never emerges from her room, not even when she hears me vomiting all night. I don't care if she does. Maybe I do.
No, I don't.
I drain what's left in my cup and go back inside through the sliding glass door. The music hits me like a bullet train, heavy beats slamming into me. I push through the crowd of people, all of them with their own individual agendas despite being in such close proximity, to find the drink table. I pick three bottles at random and pour a shot of each into my cup, topping it off with a splash of cranberry juice for good measure. As I turn away, raising my drink to my mouth, I run into somebody. I stumble back, wobbling on my heels. My drink is sloshing around in the cup, and I can't tell if it spilled or not. Whatever. This shit happens all the time. I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it.
"Sorry," I tell whoever I ran into, but I don't really mean it.
I'm standing in the backyard of a house who belongs to somebody I don't know. I knew the party was happening because my friend was told by her friend who was told by a different friend that it was happening. I'm the only person out here, I needed some fresh air. I watch the party unfold inside through the glass. People bob their heads to the music and raise cups to their lips. I take a sip of my own drink. I don't know what's in it. That was kind of the point. Sometimes I play a game with myself to see how sick I can get after parties. I know I won't get grounded or anything, which is the best part. My mother never emerges from her room, not even when she hears me vomiting all night. I don't care if she does. Maybe I do.
No, I don't.
I drain what's left in my cup and go back inside through the sliding glass door. The music hits me like a bullet train, heavy beats slamming into me. I push through the crowd of people, all of them with their own individual agendas despite being in such close proximity, to find the drink table. I pick three bottles at random and pour a shot of each into my cup, topping it off with a splash of cranberry juice for good measure. As I turn away, raising my drink to my mouth, I run into somebody. I stumble back, wobbling on my heels. My drink is sloshing around in the cup, and I can't tell if it spilled or not. Whatever. This shit happens all the time. I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it.
"Sorry," I tell whoever I ran into, but I don't really mean it.
