02 September 2001 - 1:39 p.m.

What's worse than partying with your wated parents and their wasted neighbors?

Realizing that you might be just like them soon.

Being at what feels like a school party, but hanging out in a well-paved driveway instead of a crappily-carpeted rented apartment, and having to listen to the drunken ramblings of your district's representative in the PA House of Representatives instead of those of some freshman engineer or whatever is pretty friggin' surreal.

As is being flirted with shamelessy by your parent's friends, who are so drunk that none of their overtures make any sense. So you find yourself saying, "I -not to mention my father- should probably be offended by what you just said, but it didn't quite meet the criteria of a salacious comment. Better luck next time!"

But at least I felt free to be blunt. I let them know that hanging out with them was about the biggest train wreck of a social experience that I could recall. "This is the weirdest party I've ever been to," I said. "But I just can't leave." I think the most sober person (other than my mom)felt as weirded out as I did, but had no qualms about defending himself and his neighborhood. "This is really all we have to go with here. But don't forget - you're only a ring and a mortgage away from this! You think this is weird? Wait till you see your mom and dad and your aunts and uncles getting drunk at your wedding! Wait'll you see THAT chicken dance!!"

At that point, I could have launched into a number of rebuttals, including setting him straight about what poultry the guests will NOT be imitating at my wedding. But why bother? I had just been victim to perhaps the greatest tirade of all time.

I just really hope the state representative is there to see me on my big day, because after last night, he may be my new best friend.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: