She's a Party Girl

You all know who I am talking about here.
The Party Girl.

She is that skinny, ultra-bottle blonde who is loud. Her thong is visible riding up over both tiny hips. Her jeans are an impossible size 26. Her shirt is cheap; probably from Deb. Her boobs are small, but her bra makes them look huge and perky.

She smokes a lot of cigarettes. She is drinking Redbull Vodkas, but without ice. Her nails are bitten to the quick, and have a tiny bit of bubble-gum pink polish left near the tips. Her eyeliner is of the pencil variety, and she has way too much on. Otherwise, her eyes would be very pretty.

She's wearing flipflops that are worn in and an old zip-up hoodie. She knows all the lyrics to the Sublime songs that keep playing. She wants to hug everyone who enters the party, and calls them by their nicknames. She doesn't carry a purse, just her ID and lipgloss and smokes in her pockets. Her cellphone has one of those charm-things on it and it dangles off her wrist.

Yes, picture her. You all know this girl, a version of this Party Girl.

The more she drinks, the more people she hugs. Strangers. She keeps pushing her bangs out of her face. She blinks a lot; her eyes are dry from the smoke. She is swaying when she talks, using her hands emphatically. The Redbull has since run dry, so she nurses some straight vodka in the bottom of her pink Solo beer glass. Oh, how she loves the color pink.

Later, when you are amazed she is still standing upright, and without help, you see her take three giant steps to the porch and bend at the waist. She is puking over the railing, and the porch faces the street. Her friends rush to bring her to the side of the house, The Cops will definitely take the Party Girl's puking as a sign of illegal behavior. She mustn't be seen like this.

As you are ready to walk home, you see her again in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge. Someone brought her Taco Bell, and she has lettuce on her shirt. She clutches a dirty napkin, and is laughing at some guy's story. There is vomit visible in her hair, she has swept it into a ponytail to keep the crusty smell away from her face. She is still smiling, still ready to go, still the Party Girl.


Yes, there is vomit on her face. She puked while on her tummy, all her peaches from her bedtime snack. She rolled over then, and smiled. I'm a Party Girl!