Monday, December 13, 2010

Taken to School.

Taken to School.

I thought I would never forget what a party is and how to do it. On Saturday I was taken to school and made to realize I haven’t really partied since my late twenties.

I had a sense going into this thing that I would need to be prepared. That little voice in my head that usually tells me to light things on fire, had changed. It was telling me to put some aspirin and Tums in my pockets. Psshaw- I don’t need those things I told myself out loud. The voice in my head eventually won. I am thankful that I listened to it.

We arrived at the party and immediately were offered any type of beverage we could have wanted. I played it cool and decided to damage myself with beer. I wanted to be a friendly drunk and not the ranting lunatic that takes over my mind and body when I drink liquor. Brooks 1 – Raving Lunatic 0.

There was no small talk at this party. Not once was ‘How about this weather?’ or ‘Did you get all Christmas shopping done?’ uttered. Straight for the jugular, hell bent for leather conversation was the mission. ‘Did your wife let you wear you balls tonite, cause you’re going to need them!?’ was one of the first questions asked of me by our gracious host and Birthday girl. I rifled through my wife’s purse and as usual , came up short. Dammit! No balls- at least not mine, in her purse. I informed the host of my lack of balls. With all the compassion of a rabid wolverine she laughed at me and dragged me to the bar to do a shot. I felt much more relaxed when we finished our shot and the Birthday girl patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘You’ll get better at drinking Princess!’

It was about this time that a busload of people showed up and things started to get really going. Like a tsunami the crowd rushed by and engulfed the bar like locusts. I was impressed.

It was great to see some familiar faces from long ago. It was nice to see that everyone looked happy and had nice lives.

To the Bar! Shot after shot was poured. Toasts were made and faces winced as shots were swallowed, slammed and refilled again. My little voice told me to take an aspirin and a Tums. I obliged.

Holy Hell! How can a little woman drink that much? One after the other this little girl kept the drinks a flowin’.

Time to dance- not me but the chickies. I have no idea what the dance was called- possibly the ‘stagger step drink spill’, or the ‘someone’s getting lucky tonite’ shuffle. Likely it’s me and my failing vision but all of these girls looked awesome. I can say unabashedly that if I ever had to make a choice, I would take a good looking 40 something woman with confidence and poise over some self–esteem lacking psycho 20 something any day of the week. These woman were good looking and confident. I was very afraid of each and every one of them.

Shortly after eleventy two beers and 96 shots things got very very strange. A gorilla dressed up like Elvis appeared and serenaded the birthday girl. As far as I could tell the gorilla did a good job staying in tune and not marking his territory by thrashing anyone. He did get distracted by an impromptu Sipandbale dancer thrusting his way across the floor in what can only be described as a black piece of something glued to his nether regions. Much like a train wreck- no-one could look away.

I never found out what happened to that gorilla and the mysterious thong guy. I hope that they are happy. I hope they are doing what they like to do. Hip thrusting and singing their way to a place where they can be free and happy.

Things started to slow down and for me at least, age and lack of training kicked in. My aspirin and Tums had kept me in the game, well at least on the bench, near the game-but alas – I had been taken to school by a crazy little blonde chick on a mission.

Maybe I would have faired better if I had brought my stunt liver. Maybe I just can’t mix metaphors or alcohol. Maybe I am just getting old. Can’t be, I love alcohol!

I woke up foggy but not in pain. Thankfully the weather was not cooperating so I gave myself a pass on cutting firewood. Sleep it off or sweat it out. I chose the sleep. Oh sweet sleep. For me, nothing is better than sleep. Or waking up spooning a seventy pound mutt- that’s the best!

It’s been a long time since I have been to a party with that much, dare I say it?, energy. I don’t think there was one rational conversation in that house the entire evening- and I loved it. People were just being themselves and having a great time. They took Lori and myself in like we were old friends and it was a great feeling. I haven’t laughed that hard since I saw the fat kid a few doors over trip on the stairs and smash his ice cream cone into his face. Fat kids are funny!

I am torn whether I should get myself ready for my next show down with the little crazy blond chick. She is now 40 so therefore she is officially old. I have to check with Lori first so I unofficially drop the alcoholic glove and issue the challenge to any takers- my turf – your booze – January – woodlot- prepare to freeze and be beaten by the local Zero the Hero. IF you aren’t brave enough for that there is always the Goose in the spring. So long suck-holes!


Christine Berry-Boulos said...

This crazy blond chick is extremely grateful for the opportunity to have out shot you ALL night I might add. My friends are cool & down to earth, but so are you and Lori and that is why it all went well. Perhaps next time you are preparing to attend another Master Party thrown by the Master herself, while getting ready, place your balls somewhere between the shifter and where no man has ever gone before....and show me how to party "BD" style..
Thank you for being with me to share my 40th Birthday... :) CB2

Brooks said...

I was talking about the other crazy blond chick! Someone sure is full of herself!