Dad, you really don't want to read this one. Betty, you already know the story.
And let me reiterate. This was nearly a decade ago. I don't do this sort of thing anymore. Just so we're clear. It's not my party trick.
So a few weeks before I left San Diego to move to DC, I went to this lesbian party.
Actually, it was a housewarming. Thrown by a lesbian couple, and most of the guests were lesbians. We got invited because my boyfriend worked and was friends with one of the house warmers.
The house was really cool, and it was on a canyon, with a lovely back yard, sprawling fuchsia bougainvillea, and a gorgeous view. They'd had it catered; there was a fantastic spread. The bartender made really, really strong gin and tonics.
Important detail. Foreshadowing.
I don't know if you've ever ended a relationship in which you lived together. In which you loved the person and he loved you, but you wanted very different things. And one of you wanted to live in San Diego until you died. And the other, well, just couldn't.
The end of any big relationship is traumatic, but it's somehow worse when you feel like it should work, but for this one ginormous life detail. You feel like the person ought to love you enough change their mind. You fight about dumb stuff. And then, you decide to break up. But you live together until one of you moves to DC.
So at the tail end of this scenario, I was in a pretty fragile emotional place. What better to do when you're feeling unwanted (no matter that you're the one who is leaving) than run around and drink and flirt at a party?
Just to put you in my head. As if you don't live there every time you visit LG.
I headed immediately for the bar. It was an uncharacteristically warm night, and the gin and tonics, with refreshing lime! went down so easily.
And then I ran around socializing. We'd come to the party with another of my boyfriend's colleagues and his friend, who was a cop. Or maybe she was an ex-cop. I don't remember.
What I do remember was that she was really, really nice to me. Even when they had to pull over on the side of the 5 on the way home so I could vomit.
Yes. It's like that.
I was wearing an orange silk top with a Chinese dragon on it. The kind that's really only a top in the front. The back is just a tie, easily undone.
It was the kind of night where the stars all align and somehow everyone thinks you're fabulous. Lots and lots of people - both men and women - thought the little blonde party girl was really, really cute. So, this was me: Whee! Mind-numbing alcohol! Cute men! Cute women! Gin! Flirty flirty! Proof of desirability! Warm San Diego night! More gin! Whee!
At the pinnacle of my gin consumption, two women larger than me beckoned me over.
"Look at you! You're so adorable!"
In head: Why yes, yes, I am!
"And look at how tiny your top is."
In head: I know, very tiny. Whee!
One said, "That would look like a postage stamp on me."
Me, I responded, "Oh! Want to try it on?" And reached back, pulled the string, and took off my top, and handed it to her.
And then pranced off into the crowd. Whee!
I cannot precisely say how long I was topless - but I believe it was a good couple minutes.
Apparently one of my boyfriend's gay guy friends stood up and said, "When the women start taking off their clothes, it's time for me to leave." He exited immediately.
On the other hand, a number of other people, as they left, thanked my boyfriend for bringing me.
Because I was so entertaining.
They might have thanked me, but for the fact that by the end of the party, I was vomiting in the bushes. I cringe as I write this, as you may imagine. I'm very, oh-so thankful that I left town shortly thereafter.
For months afterwards, guys asked my by then ex-boyfriend if the story was true. And if so, how they could get invited to the party next year.
I've been back to San Diego a number of times since, and as my ex-boyfriend and I are still friends, I've seen a number of those people, including the house warmers. And I'll tell you what makes me feel lucky.
They only remember the nudity. Not the vomiting.