I’m wiped. Wiping myself across the tortilla chip crumb-strewn carpet. The pnav reeks of beer. It reeks of day after beer that smells like dirty socks or cat urine. It could be cat urine, actually. While Rocky loves himself a par-tay and rubbed his obese hairy bod around everyone’s calves, particularly those of the poor guy who is fatally allergic to felines, Houdini desposited a dead mouse at my feet as I was whipping up the first batch of guac, then disappearred for the rest of the night. And did not come back until morning. Not to be outdone by his bro, Rocky showed up a couple hours later with a dead rodent giftee for the party-goers. Not the same mousie, unless I missed when I tossed Houdini’s lovey into the outside trash bin.
Houdini’s back today and esconced in the girl’s beddie after several plaintive meows about the late night noise level. And it was something. Not as loud as the plugged-in band from last summer, but there were, at one point, about 30 people singing and playing instruments in my living room, including bangin’ on hippie drums that one young thang brought. One friend was bangin’ so hard that he bent his wedding ring into a D-shape and it was cutting off his circulation. Luckily, we had a ER doc here, who asked me for some big-ass pliers and an old rag and utilized my basement as an emergency ring-extraction OR.
The sangin’ and bangin’ par-tay was E’s idea. He’s obsessed with his guitar and music. This is one of a running series of obsessions, and, I guess, in the scheme of things, less damaging than some he could have. He’s not obsessed with wine or crystal meth or owning a red Corvette. That said, he spends an inordinate time playing the guitar and downloading and organizing his music notebooks. I looked with longing at the multiple color-coded notebooks he put together for the party. Just think what he could do if he applied those organizational skills to sorting our mail or cleaning out the basement. Just let me imagine an alternate universe, for one second, where his obsessions include such. Ahhhhhhh….
But back to the wild and blurry scene at the pnav. Good beer (torpedo kegs from our local French Broad Brewery), lots of raucous, off-key singing, good convo, and my world-famous guac made for a hopping event. Autumn and Matt drove up from Charlotte, Fliss and Asheville Pubcrawler came as well. Along with several loyal readers of this bloggie. And lots of smartass drunks. Always a key to a successful event. Thank you all for coming and bringing munchies and drink and lovely yourselves.
Did I mention that SOME people didn’t leave until 2:30 a.m.? They didn’t. They were drunk. But cute. Luckily, they only had to walk across the street or upstairs after I did the hostess trick of yawning dramatically and announcing that I was going to sleep in the room right above party central. I stopped imbibing early in the evening, for which I’m thankful today, as just not getting enough sleep gives me party flu. Can you imagine if my liver was working overtime while my brain and muscles were moving in slo-mo? That would be bleak.
I missed some of you. I know Ptaak was out of town, Ash was working late, and Screwy quit smoking this week (he told me he’s struggling to keep the be-yatch at bay. You can do it, S. We’re behind ya!). Listless was trying to get back to Ashvegas from a prolonged vaca in the real Vegas. But there will ALWAYS be another par-tay at the pnav. Once the kitty pee smell has diminished.
