At a certain 4th of July party the other day, I found myself on one (or rather three) too many tequila shots. Now usually, I am a lightweight of almost comical proportions, but this particular night, the shots just weren't getting me tipsy. This pleased me so much, that I was inclined to tell everyone how not-tipsy I was. Which, in retrospect, probably means that I was tipsy.
At one point I lost an earring and heard a cling against the hard tile of my kitchen. I bent over, in my new smocky-mini Urban Outfitters dress, to retrieve the jewelry and, inexplicably, exposed my rump to 3/4 of the party. I spent about a minute on the floor--searching for my precious $4.00 earring, and had a moment of revelation. I thought to myself--"How silly it is that, at eighteen, we can't find anything better to do with our lives than get shitfaced." All of this introspection occurred to me during the oddest moment. I was bent over, like an abused housewife, with my ass exposed to two dozen guests. But, somehow, I found myself oddly at ease knowing that...well, we were all drunk and no one would really remember seeing my butt the next morning. And I guess it all occurred to me in that minute--we love to be bad because it means we aren't being good. I guess that in of itself, is fun. Doing what we know we shouldn't be doing, and then being able to pretend as if it never happened, when the sun rises.
And with that, I will leave you with a picture that is capable of summarizing my entire 4th of July evening.
Yup, that's me on my way up.