I was bored today so I wrote a story about my experiences at a house party. Hope someone out there enjoys it.
Together we were roaring with the optimism of potential paradise. A house party had been announced and the night was still young enough to feel eager. We raced on our scooters and wandered our way through the city like pirates in search for treasure. My mind had been pushed over the edge with rum and I was yelling at innocent by standers in our path of destruction. A group of drunks on cheap scooters is not something discussed in church. We were raising hell and proud to do it. When we arrived to the party an attractive cougar and a extremely gay man came pouring out of a taxi. The gay man was wearing a Mr. Clean shirt and slapped his ass.He was wearing tight jeans and had a mustache, in case you were curious. It was a sure and potent sign, gat men and cougars always are, tonight was going to be a good night. To make things even in better,, didn't know anyone at the party and was overwhelmed with joy of knowing my reputation was not something I had to worry about. Any mistake I made would not be used against me and if I was feeling rebellious I could have shit in a basket of chips and thrown it at the owner. I could have promptly left and vanished into the abyss of the city.
a conversation between two observers of the poo incident.
Who was that kid that shit in the chips?
I don't know.
I think he was Chris's friend.
Oh well lets get some coffee and talk about our lives.
why I needed to party?
I had been making bacon and cakes all day for people waiting to die, and needed a little devil. I wanted to party and I wanted to make mistakes and discuss them later in a more clear frame of mind. Isn't that the point of a party? To get extremely drunk and do dumb things and then take no responsibility for it because you were drunk. Well, that is how I view a party any how. I wish I could use the drunk card in all walks of life.
Dude why the fuck did you clean your dishes?
I was drunk, man.
Well you are still a pathetic piece of toad shit, but I guess I will cut you some slack.
The gay man led us down a dark alley way. There before me I saw another clear and potent sign that the happenings of the night were going to be swinging in the direction of my favor. Tiki torches were burning radiantly against the cloak of darkness, strange looking hippy girls with dread locks were dancing with fire and a huge table with cake, chips and big bottles of alcohol was placed in the middle of a huge group of people. I didn't know if it was an image of heaven or hell, but either way my mind wrote an essay of stoke. Tonight was going to be a good night. I told my self. I advanced towards the party like chubby fingers lurching for snacks.
My friend and I avoided shallow communication and headed towards the boos and cake. There before me were large chocolate cake with strawberries on them, huge cases of beer, expensive wines and handles of rums, vodkas and everything in between. A grabbed a bottle of white wine with a kangaroo ( im a sucker for animals) and let the contents pour down my throat like a dyonisian water fall. People have called me an alcoholic, but in reality, I suck at talking with people I am addicted to good times. Alcohol gives me an advantage in both departments. For some reason the usual state of awkward wackness that perpetually plagues had been left on the side of the road and replace with a more more social competent shield. I felt like a alpha male jock would had just scored a touch down and knew proud fathers and submissive cheerleaders awaited. My game was going well and the restriction of morality and self consciousness had been sent out to sea.
I met a large group of women that night. I met a drug crazed milf who played the didgeridoo , a kinder garden teacher and an emotionally scarred mild ager who was afraid all men were evil. The girl that stole the show that night however was an old girl friend of my mine I had picked up in a star bucks coffee shop about a year earlier. When I had known her she was a wild minded hippy who was into new age philosophy and ranting about the evils of corporate america. I was attracted by her spirit and intelligence, but after almost loosing my leg, I had more or less avoided her and hoped the space would kill the relationship. I had no idea I would ever see her again, nor did I care. I was going on the whole many fish in the sea kind of thing and treated our arrangement as temporary bliss interrupted by the complexities of existence.
During our little moratorium from the world of relationship, my X had morphed into a sexy fire dancer with an amazing wealth of flexibility. ( she could bend over back wards and do the human table move. For some one who can barely touch their touches that is wildly impressive.) Her dreads had been washed over with a clean sheet of blonde and her conservative " dont look at my body" clothes had been replaced with a two piece gypsy dress and six pack stomach that would make any fat girl rush to the ice scream store in jealously. I'm not sure what drugs she took, our how much yoga she had done, but I do know that she had changed into an extremely sex girl who had apparently read a very thick book about the sexual liberation.She played with my mind like a child plays with a cat on a string. I was the one who had dumped her and she was attempting to attack me regret. She was conscious of her appeal and had used it as weapon to lure me into her trap. And it worked. Sexy and intelligent women are boarder line dangerous to the weakness of a man lost in a web of awkward. Throughout the night I found myself making out with her. But the more I hung out with her, the more I realized she was on a ride even I couldn't handle. Apparently she was into the whole relationships are slaverly kind of trip and believed that people are all naturally homo sexual and the confines of social norms trap us in restrictive norms. She told me she had picked up a lesbian soul mate along the way who has just over come a long journey with addiction of heroine. The girl looked attractive but the drugs she had consumed had made her into a zombie. Even a rock being thrown at her head wouldn't have awakened the slumber of her vegetation. She was burn out and her eyes were just numb orbs soaking up the most basic stimulus.
girl is kissing me.
girl is hot.
I have to go poo
girl is kissing me.
girl is hot
I have to go poo.
At one point in the night my old griend was making out with me and then pushed me aside to violently attack the zombie with her tongue. Upon seeing this my friend smiled with the kind of irony one experiences when seeing something completly rotten and beautiful at the same time.
" Man that sucks."
" I know, " I replied but did not stress to much. Something about being at a party with gay men wearing mr. clean shirts, hippies dancing with fire and drug crazed milfs playing aborigine war trombones had eroded the need to reflect on normalcy. Where ever I was was open to randomness and all facades had been left at the door. I was in a den where human behavior was being brewed up by a cauldron of sheer imagination and intoxicated lust. Seeing my x girl friend french kiss a lesbian zombie was just another lego on the pile. Where ever I was, I was glad my parents did not know what I was doing.
The rest of the night winded down like a lazy river of wine. There were a few short intermissions of wild and chaotic rapids but for the most part is a night of rum casualness. I made out with my x a few times and tried my luck with a few more girls.
the last few hours......
The kinder garden teacher said she would have gone out with me, I hugged a hot latina girl three times, an old burned out skate pro said I was smart, my friend called me bright and was getting drunk for free. Life was good in the world of I. I even got to see an orgy going down in some ones room and almost made out with a cougar in a short skirt ( a life long dream of mine.)
By the end of the show the sun was just creeping its head over the eastern horizon. I had been partying all night and had to go to work the next morning. The old people in the retirement home i worked for needed their chicken and management was going to pay me eight dollars an hour to do it.
The day was hell. I was running on the fumes of hangover. I felt like some sharp object was stabbing the soft flesh above my eyes and to make matters worse the cheesy techno music my co worker was so found of was driving me mad with iritation. I can stand a little techo but at hours of hearing music that belongs in a rave in world of war craft could well be clasified as cruel and unusual punishment. I kept my self entertained with thoughts of the party and morality but it was a long day in the books of I. One of the worst on record. A glimpse of hell for sure
other work happenings?.....
I I farted a lot, complained a lot, and gave a large portion of my hard earned cash to government so they could bailout corporations and support wars I didn't believe in.
ending reflection. ( seriously after living you have to reflect and get wise. well you dont have to do anything but it is cool when you dont believe in god.)
wow its great to be an america. Where else can you get drunk for free, make out with your x, get to see fire dancers and serve food to old people for near sustainable wages? Not in fucking iraq that is for sure.