|dress: Forever 21 glasses: ARMY eye wear necklace: Sophia Zuno plugs: Body Jewelry Source ring: vintage shoes: Target|
A lot of lifestyle bloggers are lucky enough to live in gorgeous places with wonderful landscapes, apparently where there are antique trucks laying around, growing daisies right out of the engine. It either snows everyday in this perfect blogging world, or you just seem to "stumble" upon a beautiful babbling brook to hop across. I get it, I get it. Guess what? I live in the 'burbs so you're getting the real grit here. My air quality, as well as my lighting, is poor. If I want to see an antique truck, the closest thing I'll come to it is seeing it is at the set on Cars Land in California Adventure.
Rocklin is a suburb of Sacramento, which fifteen years ago meant it was a sleepy little city with absolutely nothing to do. Today, it's a bustling hub bub I'm told, but I haven't been back there in years. All I know is I was bored out of my mind living there, which basically meant that I had to find some trouble, and someone to cause it with.
Amanda and I met because we had a little class called "Advisory" or some unnecessary crap like that. My high school, wonderful though it was, was highly progressive and very much into indulging us in "enrichment" otherwise known as "goofing off." I thought she was uptight at first, but I knew she was very smart and I respected that. I could sense that within her innocent soul, there was a demon waiting to come out.
One thing about Amanda is she doesn't mess around. That girl was waiting tables at fifteen and making big girls' money at a very young age. She knew exactly what classes she was taking, that she was going to UCSB, and that her parents had no idea what we were up to. I could not conceptualize of such naivete, as my mom and dad seemed to know when I had even one sip of alcohol or one drag on a cigarette. They had lived, they knew things. Amanda's parents were adorable high school sweethearts, her mother made quilts, home-schooled her sisters, and her dad was a preacher.
Her parents were SO NICE to us. Her mom seemed to really like me, her dad made me watch "What About Bob?" and I loved it. They let Amanda drive around their white Volvo sedan, which was probably the most awesome car known to man. It had a sunroof, and well... it was a car!
Because of her job, Amanda had access to more "adults" than anyone else did, and of course these "adults" were more than willing to purchase alcohol for us. Our tastes had not yet evolved, so it was usually something awful like cheap vodka and juice, Boones Farm products, or tequila.
I honestly was not a drinker in high school, I was far more entertained by drugs. Therefore it was my responsibility to be the designated driver. The fact that I was fifteen, completely unlicensed and probably really stoned did not seem to matter.
One evening, we decided to crash a party that was being held at some ridiculous house in the "rich" neighborhood. I think the only reason the "crowd" allowed our entry was due to the fact that we were packing some serious booze. I'm sure these idiots were planning on drinking their parents wine, or replacing their gin with water-so us showing up with our own alcohol was a pretty big deal.
It did not take Amanda long to become drunk, in fact the party was so boring I wanted to become drunk too. Plus, I felt super awkward, standing their in this fake "beach" pool, talking to the host of the party while his girlfriend glared at me. She did that a lot. The host of the party was that guy from high school that you know liked you, but he was on the football team and his girlfriend was a cheerleader, and his friends thought you were weird because you were in plays and smoked weed.
As curfew approached, Amanda insisted I drive us home to my house. That was fine with me, I loved the thrill of driving, plus I was very good at it for someone who had no training and smoked joints all night long. I was always smart, taking the side streets and quiet neighborhood roads. It helped that basically we only traveled in a five mile radius anyway, and that our town was about as heavy on cops as it was crime.
As we rounded the last big turn, Amanda announced she had to pee. We were almost to my house, so I tried to assure her that holding it was the best option. She disagreed heavily. Basically screaming and insisting I pull over, I did so. I left the lights on as she stumbled out of the car and onto a greenbelt. I ashed my oh-so-tasty clove cigarette and became very afraid.
I peered out the window into the darkness, watching Amanda struggle. She was emphatic about wearing these Abercrombie and Fitch overalls, and they were giving her quite the hassle. After she got them off, she assumed a position on all fours and began to pee. I started laughing so hard I thought for sure I would never recover. The best part was when she got back in the car, staring at me while I tried to compose myself. "What's so funny?", she asked. I'm like, "Uh, you just peed on all fours..." Her response was even better. "Uh-huh. Anyway, do you think it smells like cigarettes in here? I don't want my dad to get mad."