Party Column
by Stefi Sparer

Krista is pale, petite, and wearing a deadly shade of red lipstick that makes her look like she just sucked someone’s, probably her boyfriend’s, blood. I don’t judge her even though I exited the I-Vwahnt-To-Be-Alone Greta Garbo stage of my life roughly around the same time N*Sync and Britney Spears became popular. Only through conversation do I realize that we went to high school together and had graduated in the same class and had friends in common except we never even crossed paths once until now.

heathers.jpg “I knew, like, everyone,” she says, “I can’t believe I didn’t know you.”
I shrug at her incredulity. It didn’t surprise me. I was barely at school, especially my senior year.

"I was on the school news," I offered. Referring to the in-house ‘news channel’ that offered school information like what was for lunch that day and what cheerleader was nominated for Homecoming queen.
She adjusts herself on her boyfriend's knee. John looks like Keanu Reeves except with eighty more piercings. Earlier that night, five minutes after I met him in the kitchen, I pulled him aside to tell him, "I think your fly is down."
John turns red and feels for the zipper on his jeans, "You think? There was only a fifty/fifty chance!" He's embarrassed. "A fifty/fifty chance!" he repeats then groans as he pulls his zipper up.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I was just doing what I would want someone else to do for me."
He laughs, "No, yeah, thank you for letting me know so I didn't walk around like for that the entire party." He dips his head down a little and checks out my jeans. "Your fly is fine, by the way."

"Were you the one who made fun of Stugo or something?" She asked, entwining her hand with John's.
Krista is referring to the news cast where I told student government to stop sending in tapes about upcoming fundraising events that were boring and ill produced. “At least make them interesting,” I had pleaded, “And then maybe more students will participate in Clown Day or whatever it is you want us to do so you can raise enough money to have senior prom at the zoo again.” The last remark was sarcastic since the year before I had gone to prom at the zoo and it had been disastrous. In addition to mud and stink, a Girl Scout troupe was holding their annual Sleep Over In the Zoo that night, too. Little girls in pajamas ran amok on the dance floor where juniors and seniors traipsed to the same three songs over and over again on a CD player since our DJ had canceled at last moment, taking his security deposit money with him.
“That was like, five Stugo carwashes!” I remember Melissa Pilley, our class president, shrieking in a dress without a back or much of a front that must have been held to her skin by massive amounts of double stick tape.

spikeliz.jpg "Yeah. That was me."
"I never saw you again after that."
Stugo wasn’t too happy about my rant.

Krista gave me dish about everyone I never cared about. She told me that this kid I hung out with for about an entire summer was an unstable, creepy stalker who slept outside of her best friend's porch when she was in middle school.
"I thought that was just a rumor?" I ask.
She laughs, "No, it totally happened." She goes on to tell me how he had to practically trick his high school girlfriend into dating him. I can't determine who is more pathetic, him for begging or her for giving in. Then I decide in the long run it’s me, since they were at least getting laid in high school and I wasn’t.

Apparently, I was known as the school bitch, "but everyone still agreed you were funny."
Hell yeah I was.

You can't really ask for more than that I guess.

Stephanie is currently organizing an FTTW Clown Day to support her ever-increasing Rooster Sauce addiction. Won't you sponsor her?

Obscene And Heard Archives


Clown day?? I don't think I even want to know what that entails.


Who holds a prom at the zoo?! I can just picture the girls in their finery and corsages doging the flying monkey poop. Although, all the hormonally hyperactive boys were probably desperately trying to draw their dates attention to the masturbating monkeys all night in the hopes that it might give them "ideas."


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