Just got an email from an old OLD OLD friend. I met him back in May of ‘96 when I was down in SF for my 21st birthday with my mom and my aunts. Through a strange series of events (involving me walking into Housewares, a raver supply store on Haight street and asking strangers for rides) I was hooked up with a ride to a rave with an irresistably cute boy. We went to a party, got all sorts of messed up together, and have been friends ever since (five years? Damn, how did I get so old?).

At my family Christmas dinner this year my mother was retelling the story of that night, how I insisted on going to the rave and how, knowing what a stubborn determined little shit I am, my mother let me…under the glaring shocked eyes of my aunts who were all HORRIFIED! “How could you let her do this? She could be raped, murdered, robbed–anything!”

But a determined Ariel is not a force to mess with, so mom knew better than to stop me. I did all sorts of ridiculous things that night…lieing about how long I’d been raving (I said “a couple months” instead of “three weeks,” which was the truth), sticking my bra in the boy’s back pocket and then sneaking behind him, lifting up the back of his shirt, the front of mine, and plastering my tits on his back (what was I thinking?!), and scaring the bejesus out of my mom when I called her at 6am the following morning and my cell phone cut out. All she heard was “Maaaahh….*click*” and she was sure I was dead. Of course I called back a few minutes later with even worse knews “Um, yeah, so I’m going back to the boy’s hotel with him–we’re going to hang out, I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t worry!”

Ha. What a funny way to meet! We keep in touch. But I would like to see him again…some day.