Party 1999

The other night I walked into a party in a small, two bedroom apartment and was instantly greeted by an overwhelming stink, a punch in the face, of liquor followed by four sluts staring me down. They were crammed on a couch together and dressed like they were hoping to get raped at a club later (fingers crossed). Sitting across from them was with a tall, skinny kid who tried to be a lot cooler than he’ll ever be. Walking through the apartment we passed a DJ sitting in the corner and, of course, more assholes and sluts. We made our way to the back of the apartment, propping ourselves against the kitchen counter, standing next to the table that was being used for beer pong and barely big enough for a family of four to crowd around. There was a short, muscular built kid playing beer pong next to us. He wore a tight, black tank top, had a buzzed faux hawk and lots of Asian character tattoos on his pock marked covered body. I’d like to think he was 25 or so, but he looked more like 38 and had a slight lisp. Oh, did I mention that he kept fist pumping? All night.

I ended up following this kid and watching his every move, listening to every word he had to say. At first I’m pretty confident he thought I was interested in him because my eyes barely left him and I was constantly smiling. If I wasn’t looking at him he would get my attention by waving his arms at me or make a clicking noise. Not only did I respond to the clicking the noises, I gave him my attention and once he got it he would do something stupid to show off, like make fun of the guy next to him, fist pump and he even threw a couple dance moves in my direction. He approached me at one point when I was standing alone. Looking back on it, I wish I did accept his offer to play beer pong and I would have told him a fake name like Beverly and follow it with a story about how one day I’ll move to Jersey, one day. But once he realized I was with someone he stopped trying to get my attention. Don’t start thinking he has values, I overheard later on that he took advantage of a girl the night before. He spotted a cute high school blonde girl on her way to the kitchen like a hawk eyeing his prey. It was go time.

“A lot of people say I look like Ronnie,” the douche bag said.

“Who?” the little girl asked while squinting her eyes.

“Yo, you watch Jersey Shore?” he turned to asked me. Wait it really that obvious I was listening? Maybe the giant grin on my face gave it away.

“No, never seen it,” I replied honestly (and proudly…but now I’m considering becoming a fan).

“Some people watch shows with more substance,” the feisty blonde added while giving “Ronnie” a dirty look.

“What? What?!” he was upset. I was in heaven. He gave her a couple “why I outta” looks (WHO DOES THAT ANYMORE?!) and then a smile. Oh this guy was smooth, real smooth…unlike his skin. “I like your necklace,” he muttered out while throwing his ping pong ball in the red cups and his creepy side glance to her.

“Thanks,” the uninterested blonde said.

“You like my hair?” he asked her about his tiny and sad wannabe mohawk.

“No, I don’t like that kind of hair style.” This girl was turning out to be my hero.

He was in her face and just staring in her eyes, he was angry. After whispering something to her for a good minute or two she stormed away back to her friends. Class act gentlemanly things were said I’m assuming. He tapped my leg with his foot and sat down in a chair in a corner while putting his arms behind his head. He flexed his muscles as his opponent made his shot. Was this guy real? I was confused. Should I burst out laughing or punch him in the face?

While pondering this brutal dilemma I was distracted by the host of the party chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels. Coming into the party the bottle was half full (or empty, take it as you’d like…PESIMIST!), two hours later there was nothing left in that bottle. I feel a movie voice coming on…”One bottle. One man. Two hours.” He began humping imaginary women between steps (most likely the only thing he’s ever humped besides a pillow), sweating profusely and slapping girl’s asses as they went to get more vodka from the freezer. America’s sweetheart, ladies and gentlemen! As the girls were doing their ice cold shots of Mr. Boston vodka, we figured it was a good time to go outside and have a cigarette.

A reality check was desperately needed. When we walked back into the party there was an unconscious man being propped up on a chair like something out of Weekend at Bernie’s. The sluts hurried and gathered around him for pictures. Screaming and laughing as they tried to hold him up. Turns out it was their boss that they all decided to intentionally black mail. What kind of fuckery is this?! “Ronnie” began to pout in the corner since all the attention was taken away from him by a half dead man. The DJ started spinning some old 90’s club songs, the high school girls became upset because they wanted their Solja Boy or whatever else shit music they enjoy. Oh, don’t mind the guy in the living room that may or may not be breathing. I was becoming a little worried about the situation. There was weed, high school girls, lots of booze and I’m pretty sure there was some coke going on in the bathroom, oh, and someone with a blood alcohol content that would make Mel Gibson weak in the knees. Once we realized he was breathing I just hoped he would puke on one of the sluts posing for pictures with him. Luckily for them, they moved just in time. They all laughed hysterically as vomit poured out of his mouth as if someone just simply turned a knob to a faucet.

“This mutha fucka puked all over himself!” they screamed and jumped, rolling around like turtles on their backs.

They took a couple more pictures, added some to facebook (yes, of their boss passed out and covered in puke) and started passing around a blunt. As I waited for my turn with the wacky tobacky, I noticed that there was a lap dance about to happen…right next to me! He started bouncing and swaying in front of her while she wiggled in her chair with her arms up. They were both so ugly it was hard to watch, but I stared for as long as possible without my retinas burning. He started lifting up his shirt and she pushed him away. Puff, puff, pass.

A guy with Jesus bling about the size of his fist came in with his girl eating a burrito. He saw our unconscious friend, still propped up in a chair and laughed so hard till he was on the ground. His unimpressed girlfriend continued to chow down on her burrito. She was…remarkable. Her jeans were a couple sizes too tight, her robot t-shirt was just big enough to cover whatever skin fell through the cracks and she had uneven fire engine red bangs. She was expressionless all night. I loved her. They started sharing their pictures with him and he wanted in on the action, he asked his girlfriend to take a picture but she was too busy with her burrito.

“Woman, get your ass over here and take a picture!” he yelled at her while holding a pose on one knee and the empty bottle of Jack resting on the unconscious.

“What you want? A picture?” she juggled her phone and burrito until she figured out how to take a picture without letting go of that fucking burrito. Her boyfriend and his Jesus bling laughed till he dropped again. She still ate her burrito. After calming down he started eating some kind of Slim Jim sausage about the size of a sharpie marker without the cap. He wiggled it in all the slut’s faces before taking a bite. I did the best I could trying to control my laughter but apparently not good enough since I got a couple more dirty looks to add to my collection for the night.

The DJ saw “Ronnie” pouting and started messing with him. Spinning songs perfect for fist pumping and yelled, “Come on, man! Where’s The Situation at?” He did this several times as “Ronnie” just glared at him from across the room. I thought for sure there was going to be a fight. Some of the sluts joined in with the DJ as they fist pumped in front of him while laughing. “Ronnie” never laughed. His eyes were squinty, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed tightly down while he gave everyone dirty looks. Obviously I loved every minute of this display of public humiliation and “Ronnie” took note, he was flashing the scowled look at me throughout the night. Clearly he knew I was laughing at him all night instead of with him. Poor “Ronnie.” We ended up leaving shortly after some peer pressure by the classy partygoers to go to the clubs. Eh, no thanks. I’m sure the clubs would promise even more entertainment but I do have some self-respect. The whole way home we laughed about the party. We’re still laughing.