Happily Self-Aware

I'm not necessarily trying to convey that I think I'm above anyone.



After this weekend, I am aware of the change I have gone through in the past 6 or 7 years.



Coming out of High School, I wanted to belong. To anything. A magically ambiguous puzzle piece that fit into any picture available. And I would wonder why I never quite fit in completely. I just wanted to be every one's best friend.

I gradually changed. I grew out of that just like I grew out of all high school fads like butterfly clips and skorts. My vision of myself began to coalesce and form edges that didn't necessarily fit into every picture. I realized this especially while being forced to watch reruns of the Dog Whisperer and the Playmate Girls Next Door with my old roommates.

This past weekend, on Halloween, I made an appearence at a party up in the Berkeley Hills. To begin with, I just came off a 12 hour shift working the Boys and Girls Clubs of Napa Valley's annual Halloween Carnival. A frenzied 8 hour day of preparing, blowing balloons and hanging posters... followed by a 4 hour block of standing, running, jogging around a crowd of about 1000 little ones. All of this plus an 80 minute drive in the rain - I was not in the most humored of moods. I was grateful for my friend V, who made sure I pumped the breaks a little before joining the party. This put me in a more observer mood, which allowed me to be in touch with who I was and who I no longer wanted to try to be.

A word about this particular group of individuals - the house in question is owned by the devilishly charming Dr. L - a thirty something man with uncomfortably good looks and a wicked sense of humor, right out of a Nora Roberts novel. His "tenants" are a group of good looking 20 somethings - J, A, T, and L. Each roomie brings a unique ingredient of friend to the party. J's is perhaps the most potent. A group of fellows who grew up with her ex-boyfriend and formed such a good relationship with J that they stuck around. These guys grew up together, ran track together, graduated high school together. B is a hopeless flirt, A is irresistably adorable, M is an individual, his brother a lot more subtle, and P is seemingly the rock of the group, the calming force. I am friends with this group through P's girlfriend, my bestie V.

This story orbits around M.

M is known to drink to excess at every party. One St. Patrick's Day he drank to a point where his actions put everyone in danger. At P's birthday he got into a fistfight with his brother. One party he hooked up with his friend's love interest, and subsequently started dating her. M is a loose cannon triggered by alcohol and possible deep seeded insecurities. There is an old saying that when M's shirt comes off, all bets are off. Much like warning ink given off by squid or the puffing of a blowfish: Caution... handle with care.

At the after math of each party everyone likes to recount where they were when M blew up. Kind of like the '89 earthquake. "I was on the porch and I heard the crash." "I was holding him back." "I was asleep on the floor in the bedroom when he ran in."

In this case, I was in the bathroom blowing my nose.

I heard people run by and someone yell "M, wait!"

Whatever, I thought. He probably got into a fight with some friend. When M gets drunk, everyone around him runs about looking like doctors in an ER - same concerned look, same purposeful gait, same urgency to save a life. I wandered out of the bathroom, already sick of the bullshit. B was off hooking up with someone while his confirmed regular hookup had stormed off somewhere like every other party he goes to. There had already been the "intellectual" rants filled with useless buzzwords instigated by the same guy who vomited and then passed out in the bathroom. I was done.

Until I walked into the living room, saw the blood on the carpet, and the party reached a whole new level of dra-ma. V and P were blotting at the stains, P's roommate was playing ER Doctor, and everyone else was either watching Dr. L assist the wounded M or having a political discussion about M's behavior.

"If he would only drink more water."
"He really gets out of control."
"He's just trying to have a good time."
"It's Halloween! It was bound to happen."
"What's up with that guy?"

V brought me up to speed. He had fallen on top of the table and cut his arm on a broken bottle. Blood - everywhere. The only bodily fluid missing from this raucous Halloween party. And here were his friends, left to clean up after. Forget their party, they had to clean up his vitals. Bottles of brew were replaced with bottles of hydrogen peroxide and club soda. One drunkie thought he was cleaning up punch until we brought him up to speed - to which he said "That's fucked up!" and ran outside. What is there left to say, really - M's shirt came off and he apparently lost control of his balance. Just like every time before - M loses control and possibly endangers everyone around him. M lives without being aware. M is out of control.

I was so fucking glad at that point. So glad I was aware of my shit and had my shit together more than I thought. Forgive me for getting onto a soapbox, but when you're approaching mid-twenties and still behaving like it's your first frat party and your behavior becomes legend... in my eyes something's up. It's one thing to be known and quite another to be harmful to yourself in pursuit of that. I believe the two times in my life I vomited from drinking - both times before I turned 21 and knew my limit - I cleaned up myself. That's how I learned. I never enjoyed cleaning vomit so I never did it again.

I wandered into the kitchen and began cleaning up the empties, collecting my thoughts. V joined me and we shared a "What the fuck" conversation over empty cans of Natty Ice. Some random guy who would later steal my blanket and pillow was asking everyone in sight for a lighter for his pot. I tried delicious pizza with caramelized onions and yams. Drama over. How to Have Fun Without Compromising Your Values.