A few weeks ago, Trevor at Creekside Review wrote a post asking which songs could take you straight to a certain time and place in your past. I could have answered by saying, almost every song I hear. Although, some songs are definitely stronger than others in that respect. Last week, Stinky was listening to the local classic rock radio station in the car when they played Joan Jett's "I Love Rock and Roll". I hadn't heard it in a long time, and was amazed at how it delivered me right back to New Year's Eve my junior year in high school.
My brother had kindly offered to lie for me to my legal guardians and say I was going out with him, so I could attend my friend Kathy A.'s party. Kathy A.'s dad was either a Methodist or Lutheran minister in town. Being raised Catholic, I get many of the Protestant religions mixed-up. I can tell you the difference between the obvious ones like Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, Amish and Baptists, but the subtler sects escape me. Both of Kathy A.'s siblings went to Iowa State and so the party consisted mostly of their friends.
When I first got there, Kathy took me to her bedroom to show me what she got for Christmas. She was super excited about her new Joan Jett album and whatever Journey album came out that year. (Escape?) After we worked up some courage, we went downstairs to mingle with the college kids. I didn't talk at all, at first. I'm usually happier watching the proceedings than participating in them anyway, and college kids were even more intimidating to me than my high school peers.
Kathy jumped behind the bar and asked me what I wanted to drink.
"No. A real drink. What do you really want to drink?"
"Yeah. Haven't you ever been drunk before?"
"Um, no. I wouldn't even know what to order..."
"I'm having an Amaretto Sour. They're really good. They don't even taste like alcohol. Do you want one?"
The first cocktail got me drunk, but Kathy made me several more Amaretto Sours throughout the night. Fortunately, I don't remember much about that evening. I vaguely recall ringing in 1982 with champagne, because for whatever reason, my socks were soaked with it. I also remember very awkardly trying to flirt with older boys, and that image makes me shudder with every muscle of my body. If my older sister had seen me, she would've yanked me out of the party by my hair.
My brother picked me up and coached me on how to be drunk and act cool in front of my Aunt and Uncle. (he was somewhat of an expert on the subject) Too bad I wasn't in any state to learn new lessons. As soon as I entered the house, my Aunt asked me how the party went. "Fine," (I did remember the "one word answers to adult questions" rule my brother told me in the car) I said and promptly walked right into the wall. Because I had always been a good girl, even though my socks reeked of stale champagne, my Aunt didn't seem to notice anything strange about me slamming myself into a wall.
I didn't puke from them, but I've still never had an Amaretto Sour since. Come to think of it, it might be fun to try one again. Does anyone know, are they as sickeningly sweet as I remember? I also didn't get drunk again until college when I more than made up for my high school abstinence.
I didn't relate that quaint little story to my daughter upon being transported back to high school by Joan Jett. My girls already think I'm nutty enough as it is, they don't need to be exposed to the crazy while I'm at the wheel of the car with their lives in my hands.