Ally was a friend of a friend, living in a relatively well sized apartment in the Pacific Heights district of San Francisco. She was one of these girls that got jealous when she wasn't the pinnacle of entertainment to her friends, and became overly nice to anyone else who could be stealing her glory, in order to gain it back. She invited me to a Halloween party and to spend the night afterwards. My dad, being a generally careful man, said that I could go as long as I went to my first French class in the morning. This didn't appear to be any major obstacle, since I took the class in the city, not far from where Ally's apartment was. I had decided that year to not do anything for Halloween, until I got the call from Eryn a few hours before her party. I made my way to a church on the corner that was having a huge yard/bake sale of sorts. Not a very appetizing combination, when I think of it now. Things were thrown all over the room, and I managed to find a poodle skirt, which I shredded and frayed, along with an old tank top, pairing them with heavy jewelry and eyeliner. Badabing, bada-gypsy, an instant answer to a costume party for an Arab with huge curls.
Being 16 meant that I was the first at the party, having been dropped off by my dad in the classiest manner possible. He came up stairs, took a look around the place, assured himself that I would be safe, and went on his way. Fortunately, he forgot to look in the bathroom, which furnished a tub full of sangria. The kitchen had also been somewhat overlooked, since he did not inspect the interior of the refridgorator, also wildly decorated with drinks ranging from the small and timid to the tall and deadly. I was also unaware of the presence of these dangerous party favors, until they made their way into my system. Ally, being the wonderful host she was, poured me a cup of the dirty tub water. It was amazing, I'd never thought of combining fruit with wine before! That was probably because I didn't drink, so it was pretty far from my mind, if not absent. I helped myself to another three cups, and people finally started showing up. I was the youngest, drunkest, best dancing gypsy the Lower Pacific Heights had ever seen.
Later in the night, I was asked to make sure people weren't "ashing" on Ally's bedroom rug, so I punched the door open, demanded that people don't ash, whatever that was, and managed to nudge someone hard enough to cause a cigarette to land straight onto the carpet. I had failed. I said thank you and left the room, forgetting what my mission was. I met Inside Out Man, a costume that was created somewhere around 4 hours after mine. He wore a suit, and it was inside out. I was impressed. People began thanking me for throwing such a great party. I told them it was no problem, and that I was glad they could come.
I was soon reminded by a low rumble in my stomach that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Ally had made some chili which I mindlessly wolfed down. Then I asked, "Hey, is there meat in this?"
I should mention that I was a vegetarian at the time. This, as I was to find out, would complicate my day drastically.
I woke up on the floor, a few feet away from Inside Out Man, Bruce Lee, and someone wrapped in toilet paper. We'll just call them 5 Minute Mummy, though I think they came as something else. I made my way to a phone, called a cab, and got to my French class. I hadn't really checked the time and was about an hour late, which I realized after opening the classroom door, letting it creak like a cemetery gate, revealing a horror beyond your wildest nightmares. That was me, by the way.
Everyone went completely silent for a few piercing seconds. I took a seat, then after a few minutes, I weighed my options. I could either throw up there, or I could throw up in the bathroom. I fumbled my way to the door, blinded by a headache I couldn't explain, and a desire to expel what felt like a barrel of arguing slugs from my stomach. I made the mistake of looking in the mirror and discovered eyeliner smeared as far as my forehead. Tre belle, Sara.
I didn't know what to do after that, so I loitered in the hallway, which was full of beautiful French men, which then encouraged me leave the hallway. I went back into the classroom. My teacher said "derrier" and I laughed. Bad idea.
I decided it was time to leave.
My dad picked me up and asked how class was, noting that I looked like a trainwreck. All I could think to say was, "Je suis tre mal."
"Hey, not bad!" He said.
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