Ah, so yesterday, I briefly mentioned the party on Saturday night.

After leaving the bad Boston Market, I stopped off at the bad Acme supermarket (don’t get me started) to buy some plastic 16 oz. Solo cups. You know, the red ones that are perfect for beer. Matt in his infinite wisdom bought 100 Styrofoam cups. Who the hell drinks beer out of a Styrofoam cup? Honestly.

So after saving the day with the cups, I went back to my apartment to change into jeans and a polo shirt and to meet my friend Lee, who decided to come down for the party. Unfortunately, my brother had to work, and he couldn’t make it. Oh well.

Lee and I drove back over to Matt’s and Chris’ where a few more people have started arriving. Matt had arrived fresh from his work party, and I was shocked to find him still sober. Matt was born without the ability to control himself while consuming alcohol (I kid of course) so, naturally, I figured on his being completely wasted throughout the party. As it turns out, he played the role of the responsibly sober host throughout the night. I was proud of him.

Anyway, we’re all out on the back porch, the beer pong is just getting started and Lori is walking around with a Sharpie (she’s drunk by now) writing things on people’s beer cups. Chris has “Chris Hoe” written on his, a pun on his last name. Lori writes “Don Juan” on Lee’s cup, which, throughout the night, wore off to leave “Don Ju.” For some reason known only to Lori, she wrote “Zorro” on mine. I told her I’d break out the black cape and bullwhip later.

Luckily, Lori’s co-worker’s brother (sister’s uncle’s roommate’s nephew’s cousin) is a distributor of Jaegermeister, so Lori was able to bring along some cool swag. She was passing out these strobing clip on buttons with Jaegermeister written on the face to random people. I didn’t realize there was a pattern until I overheard someone mention that all the girls have the buttons. And then I spoke up, causing Lori to say, “All the girls and Jeff.”

Naturally, everyone’s first thought was in the gutter, however, they quickly realized that I and my button was with all of the women, and so they also demanded buttons. But unfortunately for them, Lori had ran out. Go me!

Unfortunately, later while I was pissing, John kept opening the door to yell at me to finish, as he is prone to do when he is drunk, startling me, causing my button to fall into the toilet. Of course, I flushed anyway, and the button just sat at the bottom of the bowl blinking sadly up at me.

Lee and I were defeated twice, both in close games, at beer pong, before I realized I was getting way too uncoordinated this early in the evening. And so I ate food. Matt had the brilliant idea to serve tacos, keeping the meat warm over sterno, which worked brilliantly. The warm tortilla idea, however, did not fair as well. They burned over the sterno. Also, one of Matt’s co-workers donated ten pounds of pork to the food effort and so I made a pork taco, which sounds pretty foul, but tasted absolutely amazing. Unfortunately, by that time, they had run out of lettuce, which I had chopped earlier that day with all the skill and precision of an Iron Chef. I received compliments.

Laurie, John’s wife, passed around Jello shots, and I complimented her on her recipe.

Unfortunately, the woman who was interested in me the week before failed to show because her dog sitter never showed. Whatever.

I got stuck at the bar talking to Barry, a high school math teacher, who is a very nice guy, but has a terminal case of diarrhea of the mouth. You can’t get a word in. Then, the woman who was behind the bar (no one knows who she is) volunteered that she hated Math in high school, but could not possibly do her job, today, if it weren’t for Math. She’s a hairdresser. Say it with me now: Huh? It’s not like she’s solving differential equations while giving a perm.

So this woman, who no one knows, is competing with Barry in the motor mouth-a-thon ’03, and I’m just sitting there with a perplexed look on my face, as she’s fighting to describe how she’s God or something by completing high school in three years, only to have a career in hair, and a three year old kid, which she home schools.

Since I was the only person at the bar, not intent on getting in her pants (sorry single moms everywhere) she wanted my advice on whether I thought it was a problem that her kid was an introvert. Let’s see…home schooled, plays video games all day, no other kids in his neighborhood to play with. Let’s just be glad he’s not at a public school to get beat up. Anyway, once again donning my armchair psychiatrist hat, I told her not to worry, that he’s probably shy from lack of social interaction with children his own age, and to get him into a social setting, like say, a preschool, and he’ll grow out of it. Then I prescribed a round of shots.

It’s a good thing she’s a hairdresser and not a bartender, because Jack Daniels and Hawaiian Punch? Not a good combo.

Anyway, around 3am, and sick of drinking copious amounts of alcohol, I settled on the couch as the party past its winding down phase, watching Richard Pryor pretend to be blind, and Gene Wilder pretend to be deaf. It’s not that funny drunk. The best part, other than Kevin Spacey playing the bad guy, was the hot woman in the shower.

Ah well. I got back to my apartment around 4am and passed out on the bed. I woke up around 8am, said, “Hell no.” and went back to sleep until 2:00.

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