We finished forty bottles of champagne on Friday night. It was quite a party. I think there were seventy-five people there, but my roommate thinks more. I'll trust his judgement over mine, though, because I was pretty busy the whole night being fucked-up. It was a very good time.

Oh my.

There were lots of web folks, who posed gracefully under the big Anne Beck painting in the living room. It was almost as if that painting had been waiting for them to sit underneath it. I felt lucky that I knew so many different kinds of people. And I loved introducing Andrew to Sara, knowing that they both had been featured in the same BBC show on online journals but had never met until that moment in my small foyer. I like doing stuff like that. I'm a loser, I know, but it was my party.

Everyone looked pretty to me. People dressed nicely. I changed my outfit at 11 PM, into my new "I heart my pussy" t-shirt, and several people offered to buy it off my body. Maybe they just wanted to see my tits.

Oh my.

I watched a cute young indie rock chick hit on a cute old indie rock boy I was crazy about last summer. He's a little off. I wanted to warn her, and then I thought, "Well, no one warned me." Also I couldn't actually form complete sentences at that point, so it would have done no good at all. And anyway, maybe he's better now.

Yea, right. Sure. They never get any better. Just more miserable, and with better clothes.

At least twenty people were still there at 4, with no signs of stopping. People who had left the party called to see if they could come back. People who had been trying to leave for hours, refused to go because they felt like they were going to miss something, until, finally, I said, "You won't miss a thing." I had no outfits left to change into, except for my red boots. I put them on then, and walked around saying, "I got these for seventeen dollars and they make me two inches taller," and made people look at them and give their approval.

Everyone seemed to have fun. People smiled and laughed and drank and smoked and broke into spontaneous laughter and fits of applause and big, warm, kind embraces. I myself hugged at least fifty people. It was entirely decadent, from start to finish.

I only had to lock my front door twice, once on a man who wanted to get on me, or anyone, but me, as well, and the other time on an insane young Polish woman who insisted she was going to call everyone tomorrow, even though no one had given her their phone number. She stole my hat and gave me a gaudy ring. I let her have the hat, just so that she would leave.

Late at night someone requested I get completely naked except for my red boots and I acquiesced.

"You're magnificent," he said.

Oh my, indeed.

Today I'm still slow, and a little sad, because sometimes I get sad. I've got some minor messes to sort out before I leave town. Or maybe I won't sort them out at all. Maybe I'll just hide out for the next week, and take care of a long list of tasks that have nothing to do with my emotions. I'll sleep late and read and figure out what I want to do this summer. I'll hug myself late at night, and take care of my tender part, because I am one part tough, and one part tender, and no matter what I do, no matter how long I live here, I'll never be anything but the sum of my parts.

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