Saturday, September 18, 2010

She has got to love nobody...

The success of a clubbing night party can be measured based on the following parameters :
  • the puke generated.
  • the random hook ups of the night.
  • the friends you make in the loo.
  • the men/women willing to grind with you through the night.
  • the possible fuck up.
  • the pain in the body the following day.
  • the drunk calls made to the love(s) of life.
Anyway, Wednesday night. What a night! 
Happy Birthday T and the best birthday ever, for sure. 

No scene was created, really. It was a little after one of us had had her fill that she innocently slipped away to let out. Personally, I think party pukes should steal the show. No, this is not being sadistic one bit. I don't want for anyone to poop anyone's party. But there is something about your puke that makes you legendary. I understand being identified by one's puke is not everyone's ultimate dream but having been a part of some of the greatest puke stories, myself, I can't help but feel sorry for people whose pukes haven't made a mark in World History. Sigh.
Anyway, "the puke generated"- CHECK.

Amidst all the dancing, screaming, drinking, smoking and other nonsense, one of us went missing. The fact that she was the one in possession of maximum mood swings, vulnerability, general hang ups in life and the maximum intake of intoxication at that time, did not help too much. A frenzy was launched, obviously. Suddenly the humble little Urban Pind seemed like a huge ass mansion. Love a person, hate a person, you CANNOT lose a person. Finally, the back of her head was recognised, courtesy the helpful bouncers and the photographer. A sigh of relief was soon cut short as while pulling her away, we found her face stuck to this thing with very eager lips. Getting a drunk, horny and big person to stop the 'action' is harder than one could crack it up to be.
Anyway, "the random hook ups of the night"- CHECK.

Ideally, when you go to take a leak, you do just that; take a leak. But when has 'ideal' been a favourite word, anyway? So, one of us goes to the loo, only to bring back a companion. What do you know? The new companion was gay and being surrounded by us (since we are not particularly ugly), gave her immense pleasure. Yes, she chose to be very evident about the pleasure, inappropriately so. She claimed to be a DJ from Mumbai, amongst her other claims. We did wonder why all of her 'claims' about self included her vigorous touching of our body parts.She danced and kissed in manners that I might not be too willing to mention. Anyway, seemed like a sweet person, however sexually charged. We didn't mind her little over the top dance moves either. Ah, Our humility.
Anyway, "the friends you make in the loo."- CHECK.

One of the (many other) advantages of partying with very close people is that you can dance slutty with unknown people on cheap songs and no one judges you! Paraphrasing what was previously mentioned, none of us looked completely ghastly hence there wasn't any lack of attention. Also, no one reallllyyyy wants to say no to a guy who can dance, right? Fortunately enough, we all managed our own personal grind-ers for the night. Obviously, the gay loo friend refused to leave are side hence, every now and then we almost gave in to our bi curiosity...or wait! was it just me? 
Anyway, "men/women willing to grind with you through the night."- CHECK.

I know how there is dramatic rolling of eyes every time one hears how 'teenage is hard'. That, however, is not going to stop me from supporting the fact that it is. Yes, somewhere down the line when I'm facing my quarter/middle/end of life crisis, I would probably kill to come back and yes, it IS a hell lot of fun; However, it has its hardships. One, of the many, being that the most fun things you ever do has to occur (most often than not) under the veil of a lie to parents. 
Over the past few years, I've realised that the only time my mum would call me on my phone is when there had been a death in the family. No, not even then, actually. If my call log is traced, the last call by my mum is when I was ringing to my cell because I couldn't remember where I had kept it. Point being, she doesn't call unless it is an absolute emergency! Now when you're bringing up your kid with that insight, it is not cool when you think it's funny for you to suddenly decide to call on your kid's cellphone!! 
yes. SHE CALLED! It is hard for us to fathom the intensity of the drama that would've been caused had we been a little more drunk, or a little more close to the loud music or a little more naive in lying...
Anyway, "the possible fuck up.'- CHECK.

I don't think I need to waste any writing space on this. Hangovers and bad ones, at that are factual element. The fact that we chose to not sleep through the night at all and continued a mad house party the next day with more people, didn't help matters.
Anyway, "the pain in the body the following day."- CHECK.

There is that moment, every time you are under the influence of alcohol, that you want to fight this unbelievable urge of embarrassingly calling a person! This usually happens right after you're done dishing out some major pseudo philosophical crap about life, death and all the in between. The calls maybe for various reasons, generally designed around the emotion of love.
You call people you are not 'supposed' to have feelings for, to tell them you love them.
You call people whom you had only subjected to your hard exterior, to tell them that you miss them.
You call people who haven't been the nicest to you but you can't help thinking about, to tell them how they need to get out of your life.
And some others...
As embarrassed as you may be the very next day, you must stop to ponder over one beautiful thing; that you feel. that you love. There is nothing more precious than that.
So at the climax of my high-ness (?) that night, as I smoked like there is no tomorrow, it hit me. It hit me that I had no one to call. How can I not have anyone that I want to make a drunk call of love to when I am too drunk to think straight?? It hurts. Really.
So there I was, stubbed the cigarette and went back to being touched by strange men on pretext of dancing. Was it only a coincidence that the very next song was 'Poker Face'- Lady GaGa.? "...No, he can't read my Poker Face... She Has Got To Love Nobody.."

Anyway, I have a cold after one million years. It is a strange feeling.

P.S- I don't like the man I am with these days, anymore. I miss calling my guy, 'guy' over 'man'. As much as I loved the whole 'older man' part, it's starting to tire me out. Also, he is too nice for me. There is too much pretence from me to keep this going. Sex isn't keeping anything intact anymore... though, he IS the best I have ever had. I like imperfections; keeps me sane. This is too much pressure. Also, he probably wants to and will have to 'settle down' soon. I have always had a problem with the phrase 'settle down'. It is way too demeaning. Point being, I'm lost. Sometimes we don't get each other and sometimes that becomes a little too clear for our liking. He calls me 'kid' and I refer to him as 'Good English', but amidst all the cuteness is a lot of chaos (READ: urgency to break free). I like to be in control, I feel incompetent otherwise. Feeling stupid is not my favourite feeling. His 'kid-ing' me around is nice, alright but a little clingy for my liking. If only i knew clearly what my liking was but this is not it, I know. I hope.
Go on, call me a fickle minded escapist, if you will.
"...She Has Got To Love Nobody..."

1 comment:

  1. By all means, a perfect Saturday Night. That's why I love girls (and gays). What fun!