Orgies and Birthday Parties
So, the other night I decided to call a friend. The hour was one past midnight, the streets were quiet, the sheets in my bed were soft. (As much as I detest the task of laundry, it gets done — yes.) I couldn’t sleep. What’s new? I’m an over-the-counter diagnosed insomniac. I’ve tried dozens of remedies and easy to get (legal) drugs; Zzzquil made me yawn. NyQuil swings and misses. Ambien — which I only tried once — made me hallucinate: [Read in the voice of a drowsy Meryl Streep] My bed was a rowboat, gently swaying in the calm sea, in pitch black. With every breath in, I ascended into the air like a hot air balloon. I pierced through the white clouds. Sleep teas are a hack. Aromatherapy is pleasing to the senses, but is not soporific. Benadryl *sometimes* induces a languidness. Still, I don’t want to become dependent on a certain pill. Still, my thoughts run amok.
I was tossing and turning in my bed, in the lightless room. I attempted to slow my heartbeat/rate, to cool my body with the ole leg outta the covers trick. My efforts were futile. I reached for my phone and idly opened a few apps and scrolled through forgettable words. Then, I opened snapchat. I was shooting messages back and forth with a good friend. After little time, the messages weren’t making sense — from his end. I will blame my friend’s enervation, because duh. I decided to call. And boy, I wasn’t disappointed with the two and a half hour conversation that followed. We caught up and grazed over a canvas of topics. My favorite: birthday parties and orgies. I knew, immediately when my friend and I were talking about this, that I had to write about it. I found it amusingly hilarious. I was in fits of laughter, and sit here giddy as hell recounting the short simile.
“Having an orgy is like throwing yourself a birthday party. Everyone’s seemingly looking out for you and your pleasure, but at the end of the day they’re just trying to have fun.” — my friend
Now, I don’t want to plunge into the deep end of analysis of the aforementioned quote. But whether or not you’ve been a part of an orgy — we all know what they’re about: gluttonous hedonism. And a birthday party can be gluttonous too, whether the greed lies in attention or food. Still not sold? There are parallels.
- You go to a birthday or sex party for a good friend. You survey the house or bar or wherever and you start thinking deep thoughts and how you don’t really want to be there, but you don’t want to be a jerk. So you smile and laugh and clap and sing and socialize and think it’s great. Somehow you kissed someone. Then you go home and think about showering and shrug your shoulders and opt for a glass of “eh” wine on the couch while scrolling through Netflix titles and your ex’s Instagram.
- “Will there be food?” — things I ask myself before a sex or birthday party.
- “I’m going to eat this cake so good.” — such a gross euphemism.
- Hot wax might fall from candles.
- Regret may hit you like a tsunami after each event.
- You might make new friends? Or is that too optimistic.
- You hate taking pictures. So please, no photography today. *clumsily readjusts sunglasses
- There will be screaming…the title of my new erotica, c’mon.
- Saying goodbye might be awkward. That’s putting it lightly. Don’t make eye contact.
- Somehow — somehow — you ended up with a goody bag while walking out the door.
I could go on. I’m done for now. I hope this piece of farce perhaps cracked a grin out of you. We all could smile more. A heart below would be like wishing me a happy birthday. Be well!