A Short Trip to Hell

So, I just received an invitation to a party. My neighbor's party. And while it's not the same neighbor that I've described below, it reminded me of this night, two years ago...

If it started to rain before I entered my neighbor’s house I didn’t notice. My mind wrapped itself like a piece of cotton candy around the red glow of the lava lamp. It was almost five feet tall, hypnotic, and hit me right at the nose. I watched as the thick menstrual light rolled over a Nickelback poster reminding me I was too old to be here. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore it didn’t.

Before all of this, last week, I declared (to no one in particular) 2006 my year of living dangerously. I needed to! Three months, fifteen pounds and three cases of Chardonnay into my first major break-up, I had become the dullest person I knew.

With a hard snore face down in the crack of my couch, I couldn’t figure out if I was dreaming or dead. I rose, determined to revive my glory days, and looked out the window. Three fat men were smoking cigars on a balcony next to a plastic snowman. The freakishly short one puffed in my direction because he knew that this was the closest I had gotten to a party in three months.

I needed a change. No, I needed a declaration! In twelve weeks, the only action I had received was a fat man blowing smoke rings up my window. Standing alone in my cotton briefs, I knew I had to get the rebound hook-up over with in order to move on- and up!

I pulled a green flyer out of the trashcan for my neighbor’s “Get Weeded” party and thought about Jake. Or was it Blake? I wasn’t sure. The only thing I was certain of at this point was my newly single ass had grown with such enthusiasm that I no longer fit into my underwear. That, and my rebound hook-up would be much easier with my hot, young neighbor who rode a ten-speed bike. Jake?

I stood in the entryway for fifteen minutes before anyone noticed me. The red lava rolled over my face highlighting the fact that I was too sober to be at a party where I knew no one until I heard a familiar voice say, “Up here.”

I turned around to find my neighbor, bare-chested, at the top of the stairs. Without warning, my head spun like a drunken teenager on Spring Break. Could it be this easy? Standing half-naked in front of me was a twenty-four year old who met all the rebound requirements: He was younger than my ex-boyfriend, better looking, flirtatious, single and in no danger of becoming my boyfriend. It was perfect!

I followed my potential rebound down the hallway. Sweat gathered on my upper lip as he explained the heater was stuck at ninety-one. The good news: His room was the coolest spot in this hell-house. Blake (as I came to learn) flipped the black light on in his room and took a bong hit. Randomly arranged stars started to glow overhead, and I decided pot smoking should be part of my declaration as it dulled the fact that I was trying to hook-up with my unemployed neighbor who had his own galaxy.

After my first (and only) bong hit, I decided to take my declaration to the next level. I grabbed the back of his neck where his collar would’ve been and caught him off guard with a kiss. Smirking, he pulled back and- in a voice that sounded like a baby hosting a game show- uttered something about his “naughty neighbor.” Before I could react to my hideous new nickname, he pulled my shirt off and flipped me onto my back, making me forget about game-show-baby. I giggled. I couldn’t help it. I was now a man’s length away from my ex-boyfriend, and it felt great.

I would’ve giggled again but a feminine squeal sucked all of the joy out of me. I shot up in Blake’s futon, and peered over the edge. What the hell was that? Through the black light I could just barely make out a freckled body wriggling on the floor. No, two! The squeal came again, and then a guy’s bare ass flipped in my direction so I could see he was sucking on his girlfriend’s left breast.

Whether it was from the heat, the pot, or the stranger’s hairy ass, the room started to spin. Frantically, I felt around in the dark for my bra and underwear. Blake laughed at the galaxy just long enough for me to recover my clothes without having to speak to him. Leaving the trio behind, I ran through the party and out into the rain toward my apartment.

Ten blurry minutes later, I stood, sopping wet, in front of the plastic snowman. I stared out my window for another ten minutes before I turned on the shower and started to undress. My lips curled in a forced smile as I reminded myself that no matter how inglorious the night was I still managed to open a new chapter in dating. It was only up from here! It had to be. Slowly, I turned, half-naked, toward the mirror. My eyes rolled over my red bra, and then stopped, abruptly, on my polka dot thong. Only, the thong on my newly single ass wasn’t mine!

Stepping into the shower I started to laugh because it hit me: The only thing I had to lose by putting myself out there again was a pair of underwear. What I stood to gain was everything else.


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