...

My life has officially ended.

I just got invited to my first party ever. And I mean my first. Never got invited to those illicit jock parties, or cheerleader parties, or preppie kid parties in High School, and a College student would rather eat their socks than invite me now.

But I just got invited.

I mean, even if I could drink I would die.

Want to know why?

Went out to check the mailbox just now (still haven't figured out what time exactly the post comes on Saturday) and my Mexi neighbor (nice guy. cute kid) waltzed up and said he was having a birthday party at his place tonight. You know. With drinks. You could come. You and your roomie could come. If you can't, I can bring you some drinks. Join us if you want. Cool. Bye.

...I wish seppuku was socially acceptable here int he states.

My first party invite. So many things wrong with this!

1. I can't drink cause I'm underage and blah blah blah.

2. Obviously we were invited as the 'girls'. You know, prolly the only ones. The rest will likely be guys.

3. He's calling it a "birthday" party. Which does not bode well.

4. He offered to bring drinks over if we couldn't come. That spells out desperate.

5. It's my neighbor. 'Nuff said.

6. Did I mention that he was Mexican and that I doubt that anyone there will speak English?

Yes, hello? Operator? Please tell the men in little white jackets to come take me away now.

Regards from Purgatory,

Monica