“Son, don’t date girls like that.”

This, said to my first roommate and I, at a Cleveland-area Bob Evans location on one (early) Sunday morning. A continuation of Saturday night’s fun for us. YES, we were partying our balls off until the wee hours, and hungry for breakfast natch, went to our favorite local chain… in our club wear.

I still remember what I was wearing, how my hair looked… thinking, “why on earth would this man refer to me as a heathen?” before CHURCH, of all things. I was likely also donning body glitter and a sticking out my tongue piercing. Hey, it WAS still the 90s. The family scooted into their booth, while we were on full display (not-giving-a-single-fuck) at a middle table in the restaurant. And that boy STARED at us from his tall stack of pancakes, probably hoping his life would be at least partly that interesting when he “grew up” (when not under the rule of an angry fist, one could only presume) to be eating omelets with your best girl friend at 6am, laughing away… with zero care in the world.

This was certainly not the first time either that a father figure told his son NOT to date me. Including one, “get that whore out of my house” from a “dad” around those same years in my early 20s. I know, what a SLUT (!!!) having only two boyfriends in seven whole years! Then, I had little money and a retail job that paid for shit, but I acted like I had a trust fund (ahem, credit cards); I shared a room with aforementioned bestie in a “luxury” apartment (with an additional two roommates) just to live somewhere with a pool (and tanning beds)… and I lived like there wasn’t a digital camera in the world. THANK GOD FOR THAT! Those days were fun, thinking back, but I’m not surprised what others thought about me, based on my actions and irresponsibility at that age.

Being a party-girl-for-life is rarely in anyone’s “plans.” And while you can honestly only play that game for so long (seriously, ask me about my hangovers), it’s still a small sense of my identity. But, I like to think that I make a pretty damn good girlfriend now.

Let’s take a moment to laugh at our 20-something self though, shall we:

• First, sunglasses on my head… in a bar.
• Pierced tongue…
• AND pierced pinky nail.
• Besides that one being pierced, holy hell on the length of those fingernails!
• Menthol cigarettes in the bust of my dress.
• Beads: the necessary accessory of ANY party girl. And a Hawaiian lei. And “bar bracelets.”
• Zebra-striped dress.
• Maybe a little bit of the crazy eye.

I mean, is it any wonder why such damning things were said about such a “nice girl.” Snort.

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