It Was a House Party, Y'all!

I am, lest ye forget (or lest ye never knew), new to drinking. I have only been consuming alcohol for two years, and it's been fewer than four years that I've been going out and, as we kids say, "Kicking it." My previous life was not without its benefits, but partying was definitely not on the agenda.

This goes back to high school and even college. I did a lot of weird things (some of it recorded for posterity on video) but I didn't go to a lot of parties. In my new life, even as I've spent an inordinate amount of time in bars (karaoke and otherwise) I still have precious little experience in one of the staples of kicking it: house parties.

Music. Alcohol. Party. House. You get the picture.

Not that my lack of house partying experience is necessarily a negative. I don't feel like I could be either Kid nor Play if I only had more House Party experience. I wonder, though, if I've missed something. I also wouldn't mind getting a few under my belt so I can be just a little less uncomfortable the next time I go to one. Lest ye forget, I get uncomfortable with things that I don't do often (e.g., spelling mistakes, laughing at funerals, double dutch).

I got a chance to take the edge off that discomfort on Saturday night. A2 invited me to a housewarming party for her and her three roommates. I'd met one of her roomies (The Roomie) and I learned that Dos Claves might be in attendance, so I decided to attend in spite of a lingering sore throat and the inevitable HPD (House Party Discomfort; look it up on WebMD). These are a few of my misadventures from that night.

Fuck You Douchebag

The misadventures actually started before the party did. I had chatted with A2 late Thursday night after spending some quality time around my neighborhood. No big deal. I was waiting out my semi-drunkeness and practicing my typing skillz. She clearly had a fully charged iPhone and time to kill.

We were chatting about something or other when this (slightly edited transcript) occurred:

2:12am Ed I look forward to hanging out again.

2:12am A2 fuck you douchebag

2:12am Ed not to be all weird

2:12am A2 ok not me

2:12am Ed haha

wait

I dunno if the "fuck you douchebag" was like 95% joke

or 95% serious

can you let me know?

it will dramatically influence how I

as my currently drunk self

and future sober self

will interact with you

[A2 is offline]

Uhh... yeah.

As it turns out, A2's story is that she was hanging with buddies and one of the buddies got all protective (protective of ME? Does he know who I am?). Also, I learned that he was gonna be at the house party.

Beautiful.

As it turned out, things were fine. He seemed like a nice enough guy. And I am kind of a douchebag.

Hidden Tequila

Part of the reason, perhaps, that he seemed like a nice guy was because of the amount of the amount of alcohol that I consumed (this also had a downside; see the section below). The party's event description mentioned that there would be tequila tasting, so house partiers were encouraged to bring some to share.

I, of course, obliged. I enjoy demonstrating my weak sense of taste in front of other people, and tequila's a great opportunity to do so. I actually brought two bottles of the stuff... partly because I was feeling generous, but also because I didn't want to drink more than I brought. It was less to feel uncomfortable about.

When I arrived, there were about three bottles of half-consumed tequila, and my bottles were placed on the table along with the chips I brought. The half-open bottles went pretty quickly, and at some point A2 and I put our heads together and decided to stash one of the two bottles I'd brought for later in the night; The Roomie was working late and we'd consumed the bottle of champagne she'd had in the fridge (that's right! Champagne and tequila... what are you gonna do about it?) so we wanted to make sure she had something to drink when she got back.

A2 was in charge of hiding the bottle of booze and decided to place it on the couch by the dart board (that's right! Champagne and tequila and darts... what are you gonna do about it?) underneath the center cushion. I protested at first, thinking it might be sat upon and broken.

Fast forward an hour or so. I decided to take a bit of a walkabout, so I went from the kitchen where most people were hanging out to the couch with the stashed tequila hidden in it. The Roomie is still not back, but all of the tequila had been consumed. Somehow, some of the (thirstier) party-goers had noticed that "my" second bottle of tequila had gone missing, and somehow they had been informed that it was under a cushion on the couch.

The timing of the thing was beautiful. I had just sat down about a minute before they came out from the kitchen. I could feel the bottle on my lower back. They literally turned over each of the other two cushions, and I initiated this conversation:

Me: What are you guys doing?

Dude 1: Looking for tequila.

Me: What?

Dude 2: Yeah, we heard there was some stashed out here.

Me: What? In the couch?

Dude 2 (hesitatingly): Could you, uh...

Me: What?

Dude 2: Uh.... maybe under you ... ?

Me: Huh? What?

Dude 2: ...

Me: ...

He didn't know me and I played on that lack of familiarity to protect the precious, precious hard A. He eventually gave up looking. A2 joined me on the couch and we smuggled it about eight feet away, hidden in a place they had already looked. The tequila was safe and sound and, after The Roomie arrived a VIP crew sequestered ourselves in a bedroom and took pulls.

House party, indeed!

Definition of Insanity

Benjamin Franklin once said "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." As often as I clash with his alleged wisdom (don't even get me started on the American Philisophical Society!) I tend to agree with him here. At least intellectually.

Of course, after a combination of tequila and champagne, intellectualism sometimes takes a back seat.

(And, yes, before I go on: I understand that Rita Mae Brown might have actually come up with that quote; I wanted to make some Franklin comments, instead. Don't even get me started on the turkey as our national bird!)

As you may recall, when I was back in college I liked to kick ceilings and top of door jams and whatnot. As you may also recall, I tried to relive that back in August to impress Dos Claves, but only succeeded in turning my left ankle and bruising my left buttock.

This was the first time I'd seen Dos Claves since that fateful (or at least bruise-ful) night, and I suppose after some champagne and some tequila, I became insane. I tried, again, to kick the top of the door frame.

Normally--even in the midst of heavy drinking--when someone asks me, "What were you thinking?" I have an answer. It might not be one I share out loud or on a blog or with anyone, but I know the answer. When it comes to door frame-kicking, though? I honestly don't know. I think about it now and I remember I put my champagne glass on the counter, kicked up and... fell right on my butt.

That's right. Fail. Again.

I learned something, though: not to jump. I failed and avoided turning either ankle and was able to distribute the bruising equally between both butt cheeks.

The party was fun. The people were fun. I had a relatively painless failed door frame kicking attempt. I'm not quite a house party pro, but I'm getting there.