Party Hard!

During your reading of this post, I humbly request that you play Andrew W.K.'s masterpiece "Party Hard" in order to enhance the experience and put you into my mindset. If you don't already have it, you should go purchase (PURCHASE) it because it's pretty kickass.



The past week has been essentially one big party. I'm not one for parties because I prefer a quiet night of lonely drinking, crying, and more drinking followed by long trips to god-knows-where on busy freeways, but one of my younger pals graduated this year and decided to have an "epic summer" before he went to school so I obliged his begging and showed up for one night. I figured i could tolerate a single night of normal social behavior, and so at 9 PM last Tuesday I arrived at his home with two 40's of piss beer and some "girly shit," so named because it has a flavor other than urine and alcohol.



The night started off well. I sat out back with a few of my compadrés and discussed a variety of philosophical subjects, including organized religion, the lovely young women in the hot tub nearby, and the scourge of the Earth known as Marijuana. Soon after the Devil's Lettuce came up someone remembered the stash of said evil greens they had with them, and we called upon the ZigZag Master to roll a Marijuana Cigarette. I did not partake in the festivities because of my previous encounter with Satan's Smokes, but i did get a chance to show a few people the Light - that is, the magic of clove cigarettes. The rest of Night 1, as well as Nights 2 through 4, went similarly; booze, occasionally some other drugs, and plenty of cigs, but nothing special other than that everyone was working off of minimal sleep because many of us had jobs to interfere with our precious sleeping time between each Night and the parties tended to go from 8 PM until sunrise.



Night 5 introduced me to another house, because we were forced to relocate due to noise complaints and the arrival back home of the owners of House 1. Here there was no hot tub and thus no bikinis; there were, however, several guitars, a large amp, a huge TV, two hookahs, lots and lots of good beer, and bros to initiate Beer Pong.



Having missed this particular form of entertainment as a student, I did not know what the hell was going on when I arrived the first night and there were red cups set up bowling pin style on either end of the large table. I inquired as to the reason for this and was introduced to a variety of insults I had never heard before in response. Eventually I gathered enough information to discern the purpose of the layout and wandered out back to see who else had survived until now.



Here I found several of my favorite people: Chauvinistic Pig, the small man with a misleading nickname; Drunken Moocher, the tall man with a perfectly accurate pseudonym; Cam, the guy who was throwing the shindig; and Andross, the only guy I have ever successfully talked automotive specs with. We enjoyed the hookahs for about half an hour before Doppelganger poked his head outside and informed us that a) beer pong would be getting started soon, b) he was already drunk and would be teaming up with Cam regardless of Cam's opinion on the matter and c) But I'm a Cheerleader had arrived and was looking very hot.



We all filed back in, and I beheld But I'm a Cheerleader (hereafter known as BIC) for the first time. My first thought was that perhaps Jay Leno had had an illegitimate daughter, but I withheld my opinion and instead watched in wonder as drunken youths tossed ping-pong balls at cups of beer in between bouts of arguing about house rules, global rules, and who would be cleaning the carpet.



Suddenly I found myself dragged into playing the game. Nervous, I took a ball and steeled myself; I focused on the cup, ignoring the taunts and hand-waving, and let loose. I missed. I missed the next time as well, but the third time I sank the shot. By the end of the game I was buzzed, and I played a few more rounds before the end of the night.



Night 6 was much like the previous night, except that I had grown used to BIC's chin and found myself treating her almost like a human being. At one point Drunken Moocher dragged me outside under the guise of a cigarette break and informed me that he had dibs on BIC, so I needed to back off; I laughed and informed him that I was not interested ("she's only 17! I do have some semblance of humanity!" "What about Eileen? She's 16!" "I never touched her and you know it!" and so on) and went back inside. Shortly thereafter I found myself awoken in the wee hours of the morning in an uncomfortable chair with no memory of sitting down there, much less falling asleep, and a parrot nibbling on my ear.



Night 7 was supposedly quite enjoyable; I did not go, because I am not that hardcore, but I found myself restless and looking for adventure at around 11 so I called a few friends in an attempt to get some sort of gathering going. All seemed hopeless when no one was free until I called my good friend Oatmeal, who revealed that she was hanging with HAL and they were both down to do something. I suggested coffee and poker, and so we soon found ourselves at Denny's with a deck of cards and some snacks. Upon pulling the cards from my pocket HAL broke the news that she didn't know how to play poker, and Oatmeal admitted to not knowing either. I suggested a series of alternatives, including Go Fish, Egyptian Ratscrew, and War; in the end we decided on Bullshit.



There are two main types of Bullshit. In one, you must play cards in a certain order; the first player puts down aces, the second twos, and so on. This version is terrible in my opinion because you should never be forced to bullshit. In the other, you can play any type of card regardless of what the previous player put down; This makes the game much more fun to play for everyone and after trying both HAL and I agreed on te second type being superior. Oatmeal insisted we play the first type occasionally, but it wasn't too bad because a good poker face and the other players forgetting to count cards makes it easy to lie your way to victory.



At one point a group of teen pseudopunks came in and sat behind us and began mocking Oatmeal's genuine-punk attire. We ignored them until they all left and one came back in, introduced herself as "Chaos," and asked of she could join our game. Oatmeal and HAL agreed, and I had no issue with it, so we added a player to our party. After two games Oatmeal decided to go have a cigarette and Chaos went with her; Oatmeal came back without her and immediately said, "I don't like her, thank god her friend had to throw up. They're finally gone."



Oatmeal and I took a cigarette break about 45 minutes later. She grabbed my clove and took a hit of it along with her Camel, blowing it out her nose and claiming it was "badass." It reminded me of a story from Viva Pinata, which I recounted: When I was outside, shortly before my encounter with the stoner's magical mystery pipe, a gentleman and his girlfriend were sitting perhaps ten feet away talking to Rex Racer. The gentleman turned to me and asked if he could hit my cigarette; I let him and watched a very strange thing occur. He inhaled, leaned down and kissed his girlfriend, and she blew the smoke out of her nose. Oatmeal informed me that this was called shotgunning and after some weird looks insisted that we try it. The second most awkward pseudokiss ever followed and I decided never to do it again - I felt awkward breathing into someone else's mouth for reasons not medical. (side note: if certain people requested this, I would oblige, but all of those people either don't smoke or have recently quit.)




Eventually 3 AM came around and we decided to leave. I shared awkward hugs with HAL and Oatmeal, and we parted ways.