He-he-help!

I'm on my way to dance class. Maybe I should retitle my blog "Overanalyzing My Life While Riding the Subway."

Anyway I have two confessions today.
First, I am a born party girl. I am just naturally really good at it, even in spite of my usual introversion.My roommates and I threw some real ragers back in the day, and I loved playing hostess, often toting a jug of wine around and offering it to guests in one for you, two for me style. My friends all loved my parties; music was always chosen with guests in mind, and my eclectic taste in friends produced some awesome mix CDs from my burner. My roommates' only complaint was that by the end of the party I had usually disappeared...generally I wound up after-partying, because once I get going I never want to stop.

I am an even better party guest, which a friend in New Orleans once attributed to my uncanny ability to have fun anywhere I choose. The term 'social butterfly' was created for party girls like me! I flit around between all the guests, pollenating them with my infectious fun-having. I am mindful to help the hosts entertain their guests even when inebriated. When in party mode I often find the most bored looking person at the party and start dancing. I love dancing of absolutely any kind--I am that girl everyone wants at their wedding! A partying force to be reckoned with!

When I was with JH my partying became parenting. He was an alcoholic and would sink into fierce rages when he drank too much. Our friends loved and encouraged his drunken antics but left it to me to deal with the violent aftermath. I tried for a long time to just leave him to his own devices, but it was so hard to watch him sink...so hard. Especially when I saw how sorry he always was the next day. So instead of party girl I became a constant babysitter, always watching him and keeping the hard liquor away. Making sure three beers didn't become twelve. Spilling his drinks "on accident" and half-carrying him home.Now that I don't have him on my shoulders parties are...great! I forgot what it feels like to go home half drunk and not have to worry about dodging fists or cleaning up half-cooked macaroni and cheese (his favorite drunk food). It's amazing to me that I no longer have to constantly worry about taking care of someone else just so my day-to-day life won't be hell. I just realized it a week or two ago... I don't have to take care of anyone but me! I can go back to being the party girl!

Well...the other night I dropped the ball by getting so f'ed up that I couldn't take care of myself. As is my proclivity, I've been overanalyzing the whole experience of waking up at the Producer's house (and I still am not entirely clear on the sequence of events that brought me there). It's been blowing my mind just a bit. See, what happens to me does not directly impact his life; as far as I can tell I'm just some girl who pesters him to hang out all the time. So why did he bother? I'm kind of amazed he didn't just pack me in a cab and send me home. I feel lucky that he was kind enough to take care of me when I needed it.

I'm more than a little shaken over the experience because as a rule I feel like I can't count on anyone but myself. Nobody at the party helped. PDF, my best friend, didn't respond. I don't blame them because I feel like even asking for help in the first place is something of a failure on my part. I'm a grownup; I should be able to take care of myself.

Ha. Salty, as is her proclivity (and right as a big sister), chided me for thinking that way. She encouraged me to look at things from a different perspective. So. Time for confession number two. This one is harder to get out. I keep it a secret as much as possible. I try to hide it as best I can, and I try, I try to change it. I am afraid to admit it. I am a little resentful of it. It scares me. I might even deny it if you ask me about it to my face, but it's true. Deep breath. Here goes:

I need to be taken care of sometimes.

AUGH! I hate admitting that! I hate it I hate it I hate it! This is something that permeates my entire life. It is so hard for me to ask for help with anything... I'm coming to realize though that this isn't a responsibility issue, it's just an issue, and one that holds me back on a regular basis.

Having finally put it out there, I do feel better. So I'm okay with what happened. Every now and again this force of partying nature might have a party foul...And why not? Now that I don't have to babysit why shouldn't I revisit that long-forgotten territory and do a dumb thing or two? I feel like I never really got to sink into the party girl thing quite as much as I'd have liked to. And...well....when you have that weighing on you and your brain is a little lubricated with a drink or two, being that girl sounds like a great idea. And as it seems, since I timidly thanked the Producer (party guy extraordinaire, I hear; I'm sure he's had his moments in the sun) and he responded warmly, I can't have been too much trouble to take care of.

So whatever. Occasionally I need help. It doesn't make me a failure, it just makes me human.

Anyone feel like getting crazy next weekend?