Back in My Pan

"out of your pan": (verb) state of mind or manner of being, to go crazy in a non-psychotic way, typically due to alcohol, sugar, lack of sleep, or combination thereof. (History: see "The Gingerbread Man" nursery rhyme, Meagan and Natasha's Facebook wall-to-wall circa February 2009)

So. I had a little too much fun Friday night on the ol' quarter century birthday...

I've needed some fun. I'd been on what I would call a fun drought. So, since early December, I've been making up for some lost time. I've made friends with amazing people I was too busy to get to know, pretty much sure that there was no point in adding new friends in the mix because I would likely never see them anyway since I was basically attached to my long-time boyfriend. I've found my other fish (my roommate/life coach, Meagan, is a fellow Pisces), embarrassed myself more times than I'd like to remember, over-shared to roomfuls of people, drank too much, stayed up too late (that's just how I roll now), attended costume parties, crashed parties (okay, just one), and managed to actually write some good stuff as well--in short, it's been fun. Lots of fun.

But. Now that I am twenty-five, and both very wise and old, I've got to tone it down a little. I've had my three months. Naturally, I'm still going to stay up way too late, embarrass myself, and go out with my new crew of cool kids, but I was so far out of my pan this weekend that it's more than appropriate for me to crawl back in (and duct-tape the lid shut, as Julie suggested).

I mean, I just can't harmlessly flirt with/hang on every one of my guy friends at seedy dive bars (thanks again for dancing with me, helping me stand up, and simply making me look cool by showing up), sing karaoke blacked-out, and fall head-first into my own bathtub more than once a quarter-century. I'm done with the Gaslite. That's for sure.

I'm ready to officially start my 25th year. Back in the pan, but still having fun. I think I just forgot what fun was. Seriously. And once I got a taste of it, I was kinda addicted. But like too much tequilla, say, too much fun can be, well, too much. (Saturday morning? Nope, not fun. Though, Norms' bacon cheeseburgers are pretty much the best post-out-of-the-pan food ever.)

Besides, I'm more of an intimate dinner kinda gal than a crazy party one--still that goody-two-shoes at heart, I guess. And, really, what's the point of having fun if you can't remember it?

Anyway, just trying to find balance. It's a process. And I'm learning to loving it.