Of course I'm accompanied by my brother Alex dressed as the "Pickle Queen", hot pink hair piled high, pickle staff in hand.
"I'm nervous to go in!" I glance over at Alex.
"Me too."
Damn it. Usually I can count on him to act out at parties and let me tag along until his energy becomes contagious and gets me going. Looks like we'll be needing lots of liquor instead.
As I let my social anxiety play in loops through my brain, I see what is obviously some extreme version of Snooki emerge from the house. She carefully makes her way over to Alex and I, careful to stay perched upon the ridiculous high heels on her feet.
"My babies! You're here!" Our friend Yousef.
He wraps us in a big hug one at a time, careful not to smear any of the spray tan that looks like they added a third, and even fourth coat to get the right shade of Jersey-trashy.
"And there are some mighty fine boys here I may need you to use your magic on for momma," he winks to me as he untangles his black bump-it wig from the Pickle Queen's tiara.
I smile slyly back, "Oh I definitely will!"
He leads us through the front door of the house into a small living room filled wall to wall with people doing some intense dancing, not something you see at every house party. Definitely a good sign.
The music is so loud I'm saved from getting stuck in conversations with the few people I know that I see along the way. My first goal is to find the tastiest/strongest alcohol in the place, then I'll talk.
Thankfully they have a punch made in a dispenser, exactly what I like to see at parties. An unknown alcohol mix that is without a doubt going to get you feeling right!
I walk over to the punch, squeezing my way between the crowds of people and start searching for a cup I can use. There's enough empty liquor bottles sitting around that you'd think everyone in the place would have alcohol poisoning at this point, yet no plastic solo cups anywhere to be seen. Probably all got jacked by the beer pong players.
I look around on the counter for a used cup that I hope is the least likely to have any diseases on it when I spontaneously yell out to no one in particular, "WHERE ARE THE CUPS IN THIS PLACE!?" Obviously the Pickle Queen and Snooki have hyped me up a bit at this point.
"Oh there are some right over here," I hear a voice from behind me say as a long, skinny arm reaches over my head and opens the cabinet in front of me, revealing actual unused cups.
I scan the shelves and pick a clear one that has the least amount of smudges and turn around to fill it with ice at the fridge. At the same time the voice from before with the long, skinny arm (which turns out is attached to various other body parts that make up a very sex man) is turning back towards me.
Everything freezes.
Like in a movie, the music fades away and the loud chatter of people trying to talk over each other is gone. The room closes in tight, just small enough to fit the two of us.
"Oh my god. Your eyes," The guy half whispers to me, an awed look on his gorgeous face, "they're beautiful."
I stare back at him too shocked as to what to say for what seems like lifetimes, but really could only have been mere seconds. It's obvious he is somehow hypnotized by me, and so without thinking I reach up, wrap my hand around the back of his head, and pull him down so our mouths firmly meet.
There is no hesitation on either end as our mouths begin to move in a completely synchronized sequence, as if we'd practiced on each other for years, an innate reaction built into our DNA.
I pull back, look into his big goofy grin and see my own big smile reflecting in his eyes. "We should take a picture together!"
"What? Now?" he asks me, sounding surprised and still a little out of breath.
"Yes. Right now." I pass my phone to Alex, "Here take our picture together."
I just know that something magical has just happened. I can't explain it, but I know having a picture to remember this would be a good idea.
As the boy wraps his arm around my shoulder, Alex counts down to three and snaps the picture. I quickly grab my phone back to make sure everything looks good. Besides our ridiculous Jersey Shore garb, we look perfect.
I turn back to the boy to show him the photo, pause, and ask, "Wait. What's your name?"
Moral of the story: It only takes a bit of Snooki snatch, green eyes,
and a wave of the Pickle Queen's wand to change your life forever.
