The Remains of the Night
If you're an OCD neat freak, this story might give you fits. But you're welcome to read anyway. Just don't say I didn't warn you.
The Remains of the Night pt. 1
It's 4AM, officially Labor day, and the party my roommates, neighbors and I planned for a month now is officially winding down. I can't believe I stayed relatively sober the whole night. I barely ever even buzzed. Maybe that's how it would be if I were a bartender...I'd be too busy slinging drinks to drink many myself. A few of my guests suggested I should be a bartender, a much appreciated compliment.
I'm surveying the wreckage, grinning with the realization that our "boneyard" of expired liquor and wine bottles has incresed significantly. A handle of cheap Castillo rum, a bottle of Sailor Jerry's rum, a handle of coconut rum, a handle of Jose Cuervo, a handle of godawfully cheap McCormick vodka, a handle of good Canadian vodka, a bottle of Bacardi 151, and a bottle of Everclear have joined the ranks of the deceased...muah ha ha...
All that remains of the evening's fajitas is a scattering of unfinished plates, bearing gifts of dry leftover beef strips and mushy sauteed vegetables residing on paradoxes of simutlaneously soggy and stale flour tortillas. The chicken portion of said fajitas is completely devoured, leaving behind what seems like half-assed beef jerky and these cold vegetables with the consistency of baby food on oversized, half-soaked Catholic communion wafers. My wok, in which those bell peppers, onions, tomatos and cilantro were cooked, is now mocking me with the disgustingness of the handful of those vegetables in it, laughing me, as I delay getting around to the dishes. A bowl of my homemade guacamole is getting browner and browner every time I look over at it. And I need WAY more chip clips than are available to me at the time being.
Empty plastic cups are positively EVERYWHERE. Inside are traces of trashcan punch, rum and coke, tequila and coke, vodka tonics, screwdrivers, bloody Marys, margaritas, strawberry daiquiris, cape cods, and refugee chopped fruit and droplets of liquid that began life as my homemade sangria. My sangria garnered mixed reviews. It would seem that it's just not for everyone.
Fortunately, of the remaining partygoers, there are three here lounging in my living room that are goodly enough to assist me in the task at hand. As we start picking up the myriad of red, yellow, and blue cups from about the room, my mind flashes back to the evening's shopping...and one of my roommates thought that getting 150 cups would be too much. Hah. We have about 15 left.
I look at what was once our lovely off-white carpet, which is now several shades of gray from the horde of partygoers that have traversed it tonight. How many? I have no clue. It makes me think of one documentary I saw as a kid in which they showed the old police method for estimating the populations of riots and mobs. That was the SWAG method, which was short for Scientific Wild-Ass Guess.
Being that at any given time there were about 25-30 people in our halls, living room, bathrooms, and patio, and about 40-50 inside or immediately outside my next-door neighbor's apartment, my SWAG for the evening's bash comes up anywhere from 55 to 80. Ish. Fuck if I know, really, but the point is that there were a lot of people there, and I feel sorry for my carpet. Speaking of which, my dinner table has been moved over some to prevent further treading on said carpet's worst injury. Dammit, I should have known that the bloody Marys were a bad idea. As those helping me and I took out the trash, we saw small stains from said libation on the walls, by the front door, and even on the ceiling.(!?!?) Now that took some doing.
One of my roommates, who was absolutely WASTED by midnight, made for some interesting goings on...and right now, before I continue this, I need some sleep. Badly. Good night, er...morning.
EDIT...pt 2
Now that I've had some sleep, allow me to continue.
There's some new numbers in my cell phone, and my roommate's knuckles are bruised and swollen from him punching a wall. He doesn't remember a thing, but he was getting pretty stupid, and at one point, hurled a sandwich off our patio, which wasn't found until hours later when i was taking out the trash.
And who could forget the visit by our friendly neighborhood law enforcement, who were goodly enough to deliver me ticket for noise ordnance violation. Now, it's poll time here...what should I do with the ticket? Frame it, and put it on my wall? Screen it onto a T-shirt? Or both? I'm also open to suggestions...
The Remains of the Night pt. 1
It's 4AM, officially Labor day, and the party my roommates, neighbors and I planned for a month now is officially winding down. I can't believe I stayed relatively sober the whole night. I barely ever even buzzed. Maybe that's how it would be if I were a bartender...I'd be too busy slinging drinks to drink many myself. A few of my guests suggested I should be a bartender, a much appreciated compliment.
I'm surveying the wreckage, grinning with the realization that our "boneyard" of expired liquor and wine bottles has incresed significantly. A handle of cheap Castillo rum, a bottle of Sailor Jerry's rum, a handle of coconut rum, a handle of Jose Cuervo, a handle of godawfully cheap McCormick vodka, a handle of good Canadian vodka, a bottle of Bacardi 151, and a bottle of Everclear have joined the ranks of the deceased...muah ha ha...
All that remains of the evening's fajitas is a scattering of unfinished plates, bearing gifts of dry leftover beef strips and mushy sauteed vegetables residing on paradoxes of simutlaneously soggy and stale flour tortillas. The chicken portion of said fajitas is completely devoured, leaving behind what seems like half-assed beef jerky and these cold vegetables with the consistency of baby food on oversized, half-soaked Catholic communion wafers. My wok, in which those bell peppers, onions, tomatos and cilantro were cooked, is now mocking me with the disgustingness of the handful of those vegetables in it, laughing me, as I delay getting around to the dishes. A bowl of my homemade guacamole is getting browner and browner every time I look over at it. And I need WAY more chip clips than are available to me at the time being.
Empty plastic cups are positively EVERYWHERE. Inside are traces of trashcan punch, rum and coke, tequila and coke, vodka tonics, screwdrivers, bloody Marys, margaritas, strawberry daiquiris, cape cods, and refugee chopped fruit and droplets of liquid that began life as my homemade sangria. My sangria garnered mixed reviews. It would seem that it's just not for everyone.
Fortunately, of the remaining partygoers, there are three here lounging in my living room that are goodly enough to assist me in the task at hand. As we start picking up the myriad of red, yellow, and blue cups from about the room, my mind flashes back to the evening's shopping...and one of my roommates thought that getting 150 cups would be too much. Hah. We have about 15 left.
I look at what was once our lovely off-white carpet, which is now several shades of gray from the horde of partygoers that have traversed it tonight. How many? I have no clue. It makes me think of one documentary I saw as a kid in which they showed the old police method for estimating the populations of riots and mobs. That was the SWAG method, which was short for Scientific Wild-Ass Guess.
Being that at any given time there were about 25-30 people in our halls, living room, bathrooms, and patio, and about 40-50 inside or immediately outside my next-door neighbor's apartment, my SWAG for the evening's bash comes up anywhere from 55 to 80. Ish. Fuck if I know, really, but the point is that there were a lot of people there, and I feel sorry for my carpet. Speaking of which, my dinner table has been moved over some to prevent further treading on said carpet's worst injury. Dammit, I should have known that the bloody Marys were a bad idea. As those helping me and I took out the trash, we saw small stains from said libation on the walls, by the front door, and even on the ceiling.(!?!?) Now that took some doing.
One of my roommates, who was absolutely WASTED by midnight, made for some interesting goings on...and right now, before I continue this, I need some sleep. Badly. Good night, er...morning.
EDIT...pt 2
Now that I've had some sleep, allow me to continue.
There's some new numbers in my cell phone, and my roommate's knuckles are bruised and swollen from him punching a wall. He doesn't remember a thing, but he was getting pretty stupid, and at one point, hurled a sandwich off our patio, which wasn't found until hours later when i was taking out the trash.
And who could forget the visit by our friendly neighborhood law enforcement, who were goodly enough to deliver me ticket for noise ordnance violation. Now, it's poll time here...what should I do with the ticket? Frame it, and put it on my wall? Screen it onto a T-shirt? Or both? I'm also open to suggestions...