I’m not a party person. Nor am I a planning person. So when I told my friends I planned on having a party a week after my twenty-first birthday, I’m fairly sure they sort of regarded it as one of the upsettingly confusing, elaborate running jokes for which I’m better known. They would have been absolutely correct, and the joke was simply that there would be a party.
Those who know me well (but not well enough to bar me from their lives entirely) will attest that if I want something, I will follow through with a sort of ferocity that makes one expect my 1990 Oldsmobile Toronado to unfold into a smoking kamikaze as I drive it towards whatever destination I’ve deemed is of the current utmost importance. I feel this is a useful quality as well as an admirable one, since my enormous wedge of a car doesn’t actually travel very fast, and it’s far easier to get away from those who might try to stop me if they’re simply too shocked to believe I’ve left my computer to give chase.
Two things were on my agenda at this time. One, of course, was that I was going to plan a party, or at least a highly alcoholic get-together, for the first time in 8 years. The second was that I was going to get a job delivering papers, since such an occupation combined three of my favourite activities: insomnia, driving, and hurling things. I acquired a 6-day route, leaving me Saturday nights for wanton, unabashed worldliness. Namely, birthday parties. It all fell into place quite perfectly, until I was informed that the girl had decided to hold on to her route until August – but I could take a Sunday route instead. This coincided perfectly with my already-planned party, but by then my employment was in full motion, hurtling towards the point of no sleeping-whenever-you-want return. I could use the money, as well as the excuse to hallucinate large roasts running down the street, to be stopped only by my well-timed aim of The Boston Globe.
But there would be a party.
The guests began arriving Saturday night (with the exception of Dan, who had driven down Friday to watch fearfully as I cursed cat hair on the carpet), and piled their offerings of alcohol onto the kitchen table. It was around 8pm that I sullenly poured myself a drink (coconut Parrot Bay with orange juice and vanilla Whole Soy ice cream), knowing it would be my last for an unacceptable period of time. The others went about getting smashed as we watched Mystery Science Theater and placed bets on how lost my brother and his friend had gotten on their way over. They showed up after 11, with a DVD player, and we set about playing some old WWII-era Superman cartoons. I have to hand it to the Greatest Generation: they sure knew how to appreciate what they had, and not expect bells and whistles from their cartoons such as “plot”. Each cartoon was sort of over in about 45 seconds and left a lot of drunken college students very perplexed as to whether they had actually seen a bunch of gangly African caricatures dancing around a giant statue filled with Nazis or the hostess had sprinkled something besides oregano on top of the pizza. It’s worth noting that one episode was titled “Japateurs”.
It’s also worth noting that I wrote the above paragraphs two months ago, and I am a lazy fuck. I have no idea where the rest of the story was going, but I probably didn’t when I wrote it, since I stopped. I guess I’ll do an abrupt subject change to describe the rest of my summer: I drank and screwed around on okcupid, which completely satiates both my need to analyze everyone and my sickening love of statistics and test scores. I abandoned my shared housing situation for a swanky one-bedroom place, so to those of you who were hoping for moreNoodle tales, well, you’re shit out of luck. I bought an air rifle today and shot at a beer can in the outdoor terrace. I don’t think my neighbors like me.
Do I have more to report? Sure, as soon as I become sober enough to remember it. If I wrote any more than this I’d be spoiling you all, anyways. Not that any of it is interesting, but maybe I can fake it. You know, if I lie. Just be glad enough that I found this text file to stop harrassing me for a day or two.