a dangerously good mood

lots of compliments. lots of boys. then some booze.

i made eye contact with audience members for the first time in my life. alone on stage, 83 people (on 80 seats) had nothing to do but look at lil' ole me. i fucking loved it.

if getting to be center of attention was not enough, my exhibitionist tendencies also got to shine. i had a quick costume change, i was forced to strip in front my favorite freshmen boys. (they noticed belly button ring; i'm sure they shortly raised their gaze.)

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a blur of feistiness rolls quickly by, followed by thunderous applause. they call my name for my senior rose. my eye make-up slowly disappears. as i traverse the crowd, i'm bombarded by compliments and grasped in hugs.

the walk downstairs gives me just enough time to realize how amazing that cast was and just how much i love them. opening the door, a half naked flute cries to me in his falsetto, and i laugh, deciding to save my sadness for later.

i jack my hermia beads.

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it's always raining when we're walking to a cast party. so it was, but the careful donation of my umbrella to some one lacking a jacket left me in-between burke and scott. none are better entertainers.

i pull tom-cruises on olivia's hard wood floor, spanning her kitchen to get my neck licked by doug and trevor, laugh (aka make eyes) at burke and scott, aww over pucci & rie and danny & hayley, christina aguilera fight tenney (over the course of the night, i engage in four types of combat—crotch, fetus, chicken, and hand to hand, aka, hand to butt.), perform ariel arce skits with dylan for frankie's camera, confer with joslyn and olivia about pedophilia, and use my wiles to make boys get me soda.

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at pucci's basement i enter to adam c., back from wherever: "you were amazing. i got so excited when i saw you. damn, you were really sexy, all feisty and stuff. that play nearly turned into a porno, your shirt strap fell down so much."

beer pong. i dodge a glass hurled by philip, swaggering in the corner mumbling to jeff about "those goddamn turks," and align my shot.

final score: tracy-3, adam-6, which leaves me downing 9 beers.

i race home as i really have to pee.

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3 AM now, i giggle to my father about my performance, until he sends me off to bed, advising me to drink a glass of water, to help with my hang-over. "daddy, what makes you think..."

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i'm still buzzed enough to make one of the most bi-polar phone calls ever. 'twas awesome.

i snuggled my pillow and fell asleep with a content smile.