Jan doesn't like the title of my blogs

"You want a shot?"

Do I want a shot? God, please. What's my name? The cute little bartender was instructed to divvy up equally delicious birthday cake shots between the three of us, poured out into double shot glasses, sugar dipped lemons nestled beside them.

We had just spent more money than we should have on a rather uncomfortable birthday dinner at Hibachi for Mara, and we were ready to forget about it the instant free liquor was presented before us. Slippery little succulents swashing over our tongues soon to be processed as the warm inside glow that would jump start the inevitably drunken evening of Wednesday, April 22.

It was 7: 30 pm.

After mildly entertaining the idea of getting drunk and then going to the gym, Danielle Nikki and I zipped down kirkwood highway, bouncing to Dani's lesbian techno mix, booming loud like instant thunderstorms vibrating violently within our space. Danielle drove with one hand, a lit candle in the other as we sought out a liquor store. I had no money, Nikki had 9 on her debit card, and Dani had $13 in cash. We bought the biggest bottle of Burnetts we could, a 2 liter of sprite, and with our last dollar between the 3 of us, we let the cashier talk us into wasting it on a little tiny bottle of parrot bay.

The house was a bit crooked feeling when we arrived- something dastardly and sinister resonated about the place led us to the decision to drink heavily on the nearby dorm tennis court. The bright lights deterred us, at first, from bringing out the bottle without a sweater for protection. Half the bottle later, Danielle was using it as a tennis racket as we ran sloppily around the court, screaming, flashing each other and taking constant "water breaks". Vodka. Cop cars were rolling by in shifts it seemed. Sometimes I wonder if maybe we're just asking for trouble. But then I see it. Of course we are.

Sarah became passionate about Mara ditching us for Gilad on her birthday. She put her shirt back on begrudgingly as Danielle stopped cruising around on her skate board. Nikki and I met eyes from opposite ends of the court and screamed. Opened up our arms to the blazing stadium lights above and SCREAMED at the god that might reside somewhere in the blur of brilliant white. We meet for more holy water before we vanish. No more light. But anger was ready to gush from Sarahs eyes at any moment.

Lets hit the streets, dim as they may be. Lets find something new.

She is crying, heartbroken. We try our best to distract her from her soggy, slipping mind. I tied a mood bracelet around her trembling wrist. Happiness. A smile, one of a toddler upon the return of her pacifier. She looks up, a new thought. She is up, ready. Denying.

But now Nikki and Dani are leaving! We hear omething about her Grandmother's last night. Hospital. They go, and I think Sarah has calmed down to the point of readiness to consume more of that holy stuff and a little wiff of weed from the strings of smoke of gregs spliff delay our depature for just a few more moments.

Hit the streets! The bottle, half empty (as we emptied it into our mouths, not filled) is now tucked away between the frozen peas and freeze pops. Sarah is screaming out Madonna songs, Dorothy laughs uncontrollably. I am in a state of calm, like a still field at dusk. As we near Clevland Avenue, we recognize a thin framed girl with red hair and yell to her: "Natalie?" and she stops.

Her arms are folded and her shoulders stiff. Eyes wide and full of something like fear. We infer. Dead battery, needed a jump. "Jack has jumper cables", I think suudenly. But Jack's not here. I remember having seen Andrew's car outside Matt's house down the street so I make a quick phone call for her. No luck, but he would like to join us. To Greg, who also lacks the ability to help us. I don't try too hard, because I'd like her to come to Homegrown with us. Besides, I was drunk and wanting company, trying not to think too much "If only Jack were here..."

We make it to the bar with only a few minor mishaps occurring along the way. Sarah only fell down once, and the palm of her hands only received a bloodless scrape. We share the last of my gum and enter into the purple orange planes of our signature bar. And it's $3 wine night, you know. Everything is alright.

Mad Sweet Pangs, happy campers. We hover around the bar, saying hellos to drunken acquaintances, trying to not be too drunk to order a couple glasses of wine. I pay for Natalie's wine. She needed it.

Sarah guides my attention to the back of a guy whose frame I am instantly drawn to. It's Ben, I know. He's surrounded in a soft, lumberjack sort of glow this evening (It was the flanel shirt and direct overhead lighting, sorry. I guess that's a weird thing to say), and he turns his eyes to me from across the bar, smiles. Oh.

Andrew has arrived, Sarah and Natalie are speaking with him and I am caught up in a genuine magnetic pull between Ben and I. Maybe it was the wine, but I sipped at it slow ... feeling like perhaps the spins might follow if I didn't take care. And I wanted to. He was soft spoken, but clear. Shy, but direct.

"I remember the first time I met you, at East End. You were in mid dance when I introduced myself and I just thought 'wow, you're beautiful'. Just wow."

There's a little color rising to my cheeks. I can feel it, and he see's that it meant something. He slipped his hand across my thigh under the table. Perfect. Only Andrew's got the saddest eyes I've ever seen and I can't let myself feel too warmed. The poor boy. It's just not meant for us, Andrew. Sad eyes. I can't. He leaves soon after. Sad.

Ben drives us home. We sit in my living room, talking. Sarah leaves eventually, as we decide she's finally sober enough. Natalie cannot get a hold of anyone still, and crashes on the couch, claiming she can't bear to go into work tomorrow as I turn off the lights.

We lay in Bed talking of whatever came up. By 5 am, the birds started chirping, and we fell asleep mid conversation about how much we hate them and their disdain for our wanting it to remain night.



This is my attempt at loosening up about the whole thing. Allowing the flow to pass through me. Allowing the change to come.