I used to hold my freak back, now I’m letting go” We can have one party, but we will keep having it for a long, long time A party that is just for you is a party that no one can break up. You are the best place to go when your friends are sick of their own parties, and you are sick of people begging to come to your party when they don’t know you well enough to get in the door. If you’re feeling nostalgic for my party, click the link and go have a couple drinks. It was good to see you there, dear reader. It was just as good to see you at the real party last night. We have a saying in our house – ” you are my party”, and it’s true. The feeling of being at a real party that has been in full swing for hours is a hard thing to describe. The energy is high, the music is loud, and there are drunk assholes everywhere. I am always proud of my friends when I see them at a real party. Let’s be honest, there are some parties that you know will be shitty, so you don’t go to them. Other parties that are supposed to be shitty somehow just end up being great, and you can’t describe how shitty they were because you didn’t drink too much. This is the real story of my night, and this is the real story of why it’s not a real party until I’m in someones face and spitting on them from behind my eyelashes. I got shitty with a couple of friends of mine a few weeks ago when I went out to a show in Nashville. I had spent the day driving from Chicago and drinking and smoking pot, as well as having conversations about why I’m in love with a woman, or a man, who isn’t in love with me. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and so I put it in my drink. It was a horrible mistake, but you know what? By the time that it hit my stomach, the poison had already been absorbed, and I was happy to be going to a place where I could actually make new memories that might be a little less shitty than what I had experienced before. There was booze, and drugs, and my wonderful friends. And even though we weren’t talking about him, I could feel it the entire night, this energy in the air. Something was happening, something was going to happen. We were going to have an amazing time. The music and the vodka were flowing, and I was enjoying myself. All that was left to do was wait for the sunrise. I was talking to one of my many friends, and she said something that we have all been thinking ever since it happened. She asked me if I was happy that we didn’t do the thing that was supposed to happen. It was dark, she said. And all of a sudden, she understood. We would have wasted our time. There’s no room for bullshit when a show is going on. When I was in high school, we used to call our little group of friends the wild bunch, which was a perfect name for us. We were all teenagers, but I don’t think any of us were out to impress or make friends with anyone but ourselves. All of the girls were pretty sure we were going to rule the world and none of us really cared. We knew that most of the boys were going to get married, probably had little babies soon, and we knew that it wouldn’t matter much to us because we were going to be doing what we were doing forever. We were going to be the wild bunch until we were old ladies in our nursing homes, remembering when we went to Nashville, how loud it was, and how close the other people in the room were to us. There was never any question of whether or not we had all been there. When I was in the car, driving away from Nashville, I realized that I was in the middle of my Wild bunch. My friends were all around me, and I was glad that I had come. I wish I could say that we went to a fancy restaurant or restaurant that you could have in a magazine, but we went back to the hotel and got into the beds, drank as much as we could, and remembered how awesome it was when it was just the two of us. I didn’t care if I ever had to see him again. I could live with that. Because we had a good time. We had a great time, and when I look back at the night, I am so glad that I didn’t go home with a fake smile, a hug, and that “we’ll see you tomorrow”. No, I had a great time. I don’t need to leave home, or take a train, or go on a plane to be all up in someone’s business. They say that Nashville is heaven on earth, but I don’t know how to get there anymore. All I know is that I want to be where I belong. Let’s get honest. I’m one of those girls that can take charge in any situation. I may or may not make my way across the country. I may or may not end up in the mountains of Colorado. I just know that I have to get somewhere, and I have a pretty good idea of what I need to get there. I know that the best way for me to get there is on my own two feet, but there is one problem with this plan: I also have a pretty good idea of what I’d be missing if I were to do things the normal way. I really don’t care to meet people. I’m usually not sure who is talking to me, or if I’m being talked to, when I’m at a party. Most of the time, I can see the words move, but no one can hear them. We keep talking to each other because of one reason: we care. We care about the person we are talking to, and we know that if they are talking to us, there is someone who will be listening to us. We don’t need to think about what we are doing. We don’t care to have someone to answer to, we just want to know that someone else understands. We don’t care if they have a job, or if they are just as lonely as we are, all we want is to have another person to turn to, or to understand the feeling that we are having. We are more or less the same person. Maybe not as far as having a job, or a place to live, or knowing what the person in the mirror is going to say next. We are just the same as each other, and that’s all that matters. I have had a lot of friends who don’t see eye to eye with me. I have had friends who don’t want anything to do with me. My friends have even said that I’m obnoxious. They have said that I’m too loud, that I’m annoying, and that I’m annoying the people that I’m hanging out with, but it doesn’t matter. If they want to talk to me, they have to listen. When someone cares enough to talk to me, they have to care about me enough to actually listen to me. The more they care about me, the harder I’m going to fight for them to know how much I care about them. It’s not that hard to be nice, or maybe it is, but when someone cares about you they know what