Summer, so far

- A party of fifty closest friends at the Alibi for my birthday. It's late April. Feel incredibly blessed to feel surrounded by love, to share my peeps with each other. Feel an electric hand on my back unexpectedly, and the world kind of tilts.

- The next night, a barbecue at a crazy house. All the beautiful girls on one blanket in the back yard. The sun sets. I meet a mad Chef whom I want to trust and know forever (he does the lamb just right). It's a full moon eclipse and it's my actual birthday; the universe spins. The boy with the hand comes closer and closer. The light of the moon shines down on Violet and I, tucked under a blanket on a couch on the house's front porch, the boys of our choice behind us. Mine's The Ninja: subtle, quiet, pervasive. Violet proves the ultimate wing girl. The Chef throws empty beer cans at our heads as we duck and laugh.

I invite myself to stay, and break The Ninja's resolve, apparently. No regrets when the next day proves fully Ghetto Bitch, rolling out of there in the sunshine, pale pink cherry blossoms blanketing the road, in party clothes from the night before. I cab away in a hoodie, courtesy The Ninja's collection.

- A few days later, a big film party. Violet and I hang mostly with our own, although I get shanghaied into dancing the tango with a tiny Argentine in front of the fireplace, on the club's blood-red carpet. Must have been the Betsey Johnson. It's my night to be wing girl. The Director arrives, and I keep pulling him over to Violet and I, although the pull between them is palpable. They both just need to stay in each other's orbit. I cab away with a sly smile as I see Violet running arm in arm with him to his car, a look of delight on her lovely face.

- Then, the backyard party at the Mansion. More beautiful girls in bikini tops. The boys make us food, sate us with tequila and kisses in the kitchen. I roll around like a little girl, like a kitten, with the Russian girl and a Swiss ball in the back yard, to the delight, I think, of the boys. We laugh until our stomachs hurt. The tunes bang out the upstairs windows. Eventually night falls, and we move into the big, empty living room. The boys make a fire and take turns on the decks. We jump up and down on a mattress, finally dance until we can't dance any more, and The Ninja sweeps he and I through the night on his motorcycle, somehow safely home.

- There's more, of course. An impromptu invitation to Seattle by The Ninja, which leads to me emailing sick to work for the next day, and an incredible experience. More electricity. Fannypack urges everything on. With the Chef, we sweat it out at a dancehall club until 2 am, then drive home so I can make a huge company meeting back home for 8 am. Oh so Ghetto.

Finally, last weekend in Seattle with all of us, as chronicled by Violet. Her birthday is next weekend.

It's not yet June.