The House Party Pt 1

When you have a crazy weekend lined up which includes a through the night house party with strangers and a cable ski trip to Batam at 8am the next morning, you’d expect a degree of discretion to take helm and understand that juxtaposing them is about as good an idea as having R. Kelly babysit your kids. Not us.

The whole decision to throw a house party came on a whim and built on two simple premises, which funded many great parties before, Alcohol and Girls. It was a lazy excuse to get sinfully inebriated with a collage of alcohol from whiskey to vodka and all this within a controlled environment where Beemer could watch me grow from amiable to the vodka-peeing, trash-talking asshole I’ve been well capable of on several occasions.

The Prelude.

When I pitched the idea of a house party to LB, he digested it with about the same amount of interest he had when Hong Kong returned to China. That was on Tuesday. By the time Wednesday rolled in and Cat had given me a rough number sketch of the attendants in skirts, I was painting a different picture to LB.

Me: “6 girls and 3 guys.”
LB: “So who are the 3 guys?”
Me: “We are the 3 guys!”
LE: “ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I thought this was going to be some house party with strangers and we were going to crash it.”
Me: “Nope, it’s just us.”

By mid-day, Cat was already ranting about popping before the party with her other girl friends and I was the middle messenger boy working out the intricate party details between her and my guys.

LB: “THEY ARE POPPING?! ARE YOU TELLING ME THERE ARE GOING TO BE D**GS AND GIRLS AT THE PARTY?!”

Me: “Ya.. so?”

LB: “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! ARE YOU STUPID?! DID YOU NOT THINK THIS WAS IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO SHARE WITH ME?”

Me: “I figured the important thing was the alcohol.”

LB: “THERE ARE 3 GUYS AND 6 GIRLS AND THEY ARE POPPING.. HOW GREAT CAN THIS GET.”

LB was sold. There was nothing that could pry him away on Friday night, not even for the fact that in less than 8 hours, we had to be on the ferry to Batam. Friday night was now painted in the image of tribal decadence. Carnal pleasantries, hard bass music, buffet of alcohol and no room for the moralist dogma.

It didn’t matter that I had never seen Cat’s friends, or the fact that parties with absolute strangers will always be greeted with a punch of awkwardness. There were too many key words being thrown at us to be sensible enough to reject a night like this. Now, it was all about selling this to WhiteBoy, the last piece of our unholy trinity, who was pulling out despite this being his idea.

Me: “I have 6 girls, 3 guys and plenty of alcohol. That’s a lot of girls that need attention. I don’t know how you do it, but just fucking fix it and be there.”
WhiteBoy: “I don’t know la, I’ll try figure something.”
Me: “Fuck you. Do not think, just get it done. Oh.. and the girls are.. *murmurs* popping..”
WhiteBoy: “WHAT?! I’ll be there.”

By Friday, I was no longer mediating this party with Cat directly. Whiteboy and LB were abreast with every intricacy that I was relegated to getting hand-me down instructions from them.

LB: “Beemer says to go buy mixers on our way over.”

I only had one interest the whole of Friday that I even forgave LB for hooking us up with dinner with some chick that he’s NEVER met but was constantly telling me in the car jam over to Far East on how cute this chick was.

It was a dinner date with two girls and one of the girl’s 8 year old sister. I’m sure a 65yr old pedophilic would have jumped the gun on this one, but not when I had absolutely no interest in any of the two and I was entertaining myself with teaching valuable lessons to the 8 year old.

Me: “Do you know why alcohol is great for you? You just need about 6 glasses for everyone to start looking good. You really don’t need cosmetics or surgery.”

LB eventually hooked us up with another date before the party with one of his friend who also happened to be a reader of this blog. This was a meeting I was much looking forward to after Eve gave me brief introduction to her on Thursdays over MSN and her (and LB’s) appraisal of how hot she was.

The other thing I loved about this was that I had the impunity to be rude without incurring her wrath. I could be brutally honest and she’d be smart enough to realize that I don’t mean harm and that I’m an asshole.

The moment we stepped out to the street, I gave her a glance, she returned one and LB started cracking up in the middle of the road.

LB: “HAHAHA this girl must be thinking.. ‘hmm not tall enough for me’ and this guy must be saying ‘wah.. too short for me’.”

We laughed it all off over the height issues and I closed with a dose of honesty.

Me: “Anyway, I wasn’t going to comment on your height. I was looking at your boobs.”
LB: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA”

I don’t think I’ve paid any girl as much compliments as I did with her for the last couple months. I told her standing outside 7-11,

Me: “I’ve got a huge problem with attention, it kills most girls who go out with me. But you, you get 100% of my attention when you are talking to me.”
She: “And where would you be paying attention to?”
Me: “95% with the boobs.”

I now understand why holding a conversation with a girl’s breast is so much easier. I’m generally very forthcoming about my short-comings in conversational skills, which is why I confess them to cleavages.

It was 11pm.

Whiteboy was already getting impatient and LB and I still had our bags and passports for tomorrow to pack. We were all waiting for Cat but suddenly, everything looked like it was going to collapse.

LB: “So where’s the party?”
Me: “Cat’s place.”
LB: “Her parents are away?”
Me: “Nope.”
LB: “WHAT THE FUCK?! THEN THEY ARE POPPING AT HER PLACE WITH HER PARENTS AROUND?!”
Me: “Ya I guess so. Anyway I think it’s just her and another girl that is doing.”
LB: “WHAT?! THE OTHER GIRLS AREN’T?! YOU ARE FUCKING GIVING ME ONE BAD NEWS AFTER ANOTHER!”