Monday, November 03, 2003
I was so out of control Friday night.
I wasn't the only one, or even the worst case - that would be a guy who forgot he was Jen's ex-boyfriend and let his hands get decidedly non-platonic before Carlos showed great restraint in merely kicking him out as opposed to kicking his ass. I really have to admire Carlos for that, by the way - if some guy who said he and Mags were now "just friends" started feeling her up at a party we'd thrown, I would have tried to do him some harm (of course, since I never spent as much time in the gym as Carlos evidently does, I probably wouldn't have gotten very far).
I remember getting drunk - how can I forget, I wrote it all down - but evidently not too well. My first hint was when people started coming in for work, and while there was no difference in the way folks who hadn't come to the party acted, the others... Well, some gave me big grins, others just looked confused, and Marcello made a comment about blondes having more fun. I was like, hey, everyone lets their hair down a little once they get out of the office and get a drink or two into them.
And then Lizzie started emailing the photos.
I don't think I've mentioned Lizzie before; she's the company's "Controller" (I've got no idea what that means, other than having to do with money and being Kate's boss). She doesn't hang around much after work, since she and her husband live a ways up the North Shore, closer to where he works in Portsmouth, NH. Anyway, they came to the party as a photographer and reporter, and I had no idea she'd cleverly concealed a working digital camera inside the big prop one she was holding.
I wasn't the only one who came off not looking so good - Kate actually fell into the apple-bobbing-barrel, and so was wearing something of a "wet pirate shirt" until she was able to borrow a sweater from Jen. I just got caught by the splash, which caused my costume's skirt to stick to my butt for a while without be evidently giving a damn.
What I did with that butt while dancing - grinding it into Godzilla, bumping it with Jen's, laying a hand on it while the other hand touched my boob in a way that's getting me vaguely hot just looking at the picture (which, thankfully, Lizzie only sent to me as opposed to the whole company) - wasn't really a big deal. I mean, you should have seen what Sam was doing (and no-one was letting her drink)!
I guess it's partly that this is the first time I've been photographed in Michelle's body since the switch. It's stranger than looking at those photos of "Martin" and Natalya. I was at least able to feel angry looking at those, like I was the one who was supposed to be making time with the pretty blonde heiress and Michelle had stolen that opportunity from me (even though I never would have attended a ballet with her). Looking at the party photos of "Michelle" dancing that I do remember, they feel half-wrong, like I expect to see my male body looking absolutely absurd in a Supergirl outfit instead of the girl it fits almost perfectly, but also half-right (or half-wrong in a different way).
The ones where I was evidently too blitzed to record memories are the scary ones. I feel nothing at all looking at them. Maybe if I hadn't been wearing the wig, and the girl in the pictures looked the same as the one in the mirror, I'd feel something, but I have to stop and remind myself that it's me in the photographs, and not some random girl. Then I feel embarrassed and ashamed that I'd gotten so drunk that I let a strange man in a Godzilla costume squeeze my butt... and I still don't really believe it's me.
Looking at those pictures, I feel disconnected from my life. It's kind of encouraging to know that despite everything I've done, and the relatively practiced way I'm able to get through my days with, if not ease, then something akin to confidence, I haven't quite lost myself. But, on the other hand, the girl in a lot of those pictures is having fun, and I did, in fact, enjoy the party for the most part. I can't help but wonder how I'll feel twenty years from now, looking at those pictures from my own body (or this one, as sometimes seems more likely, or, heck, maybe we'll all be uploading our minds onto the internet by then). Will I be able to look back at it and simply say "I had a good time even though I wasn't expecting to", or will the memory of that night be tainted by the rest of the circumstances? Heck, if I were to get my own body back soon, will I even be able to conceive of the past four months twenty years from now?
EDIT: And, no, I won't be posting any of the pictures. It would be all I need for someone to recognize me and then either start harassing or stalking me.
But, if any readers feel like sending in a drawing based on what they've read, I'll put them in an entry.
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