Be sure to scroll down to Part 1 first…
After our hot and spicy dinner, it was time for a hot and spicy party! Ben and Kaytlin had invited all their friends and neighbors for a night of delightful debauchery, and for a chance to have worlds collide as Pittsburgh peeps met the Lafayette legends.
Itchy from all my traveling, and sweating from Ben’s chili, I decided to hop in the shower. Like I said, Ben and Kaytlin have a very nice place, but I noticed one thing that was bound to give me trouble at some point during my stay. Their toilet was small. Very small. I first mistook it for a bird bath. But no; it was the toilet. Scoff at this if you will, but I’ve had enough bad luck with other people’s toilets to warrant this level of paranoia. Casting a knowing glance at the sea foam green throne, I went about the business of beautifying myself. We’ll meet again, I thought.
It wasn’t long after I had put on my party clothes that guests began arriving. Introductions were made, but before long the stream of new faces grew so steady that I gave up and got to drinking. Kari whipped out her iPod and Sara and I followed her to Ben’s stereo, prepared to turn the living room into dance party central. Maggie, clearly raised better than the rest of us, tried to get to know the Pittsburghers.
It turned out the living room was where the beer pong tables had been set up. Not to worry. There was enough room for both activities. The three of us started rocking out to Kari’s exquisite playlists, waiting for some new dance partners to come join us.
Sadly, that never happened. Sadder still was that we started getting yelled at by belligerent party-goers for our song selections. We tried to make the best of it, telling our friends-in-law that if they wanted to come pick a song to dance to, they were more than welcome to. They declined the invitation, choosing instead to just bitch loudly in between re-racks.
Now, look, I understand that cutting a rug to an En Vogue/Ace of Base/Beyonce/Blackstreet set list isn’t everyone’s idea of a barn-burner, but I didn’t come over to the beer pong table and whinge in your face about how stupid the game is, did I? I gave you a chance, and you threw that chance back in my face. Truthfully, it was the only good throw you had all night. So, consider us not friends. If I want to get my “Single Ladies” on, you’re just going to have to deal with it.
After our little altercation on the dance floor, things only proceeded to grow in absurdity. I found myself reacting to the normal sights and sounds of what was essentially a college party with disconcertingly adult eyes. By the time the third cup of beer slid off the pong table and no one made any attempt to clean it up, I declared to Maggie that I was simply too fucking old for this. Kari contented herself by taking awkward pictures with/of the other guests (largely without them being aware of it), and writing pairings of deceased and/or fictional individuals on the beer pong sign-up sheet. Sara wound up briefly trapped in Kaytlin’s room with a guy who was trying to convert her to veganism. And Maggie, the splendid social butterfly, was flitting from conversation to conversation, generally being, you know, a nice person.
By the time the clock struck two, however, my patience was utterly worn. At this point, I’d been awake for nineteen hours, and I was ready to hang up my dancing shoes and catch some z’s. My fellow travelers were starting to feel the same way. The locals, however, were still going strong.
Family legend has it that at 11:30 PM on the night my parents threw their first party in the house I would later grow up in, my father walked into the living room and announced, “Okay! There’s no more food! You can all go home now.” So, I have a genetic predisposition for being able to clear a room. Yet I found my skills put to the test in Pittsburgh.
First, I simply tried dropping hints. I got pillows and blankets out of the linen closet. Maggie and I collapsed the futon. I waited for people to drain their beers and look for their coats. No such luck. We then positioned ourselves strategically across the room from each other, and had unnecessarily loud conversations about who was sleeping where and what time we were getting up in the morning. The hope was that the locals caught in the crossfire would be unable to ignore our discussion and would take their party elsewhere. Nope. Failure.
Drastic measures needed to be taken. As Kari began to individually inform people that the party was over, I started to get undressed. Right then and there. As I took my jeans off, I asked the Vegan Missionary and his Skoal-sucking gal pal (aside: ewww!) if they wouldn’t mind getting off the couch I was about to go to sleep on. They groggily got to their feet and disappeared. As Kari bedded down on the futon, I walked past the few remaining hangers-on in my square-cuts and undershirt and decisively turned the lights off.
I know what you’re thinking. What an asshole. Well, yeah, I can be an asshole. Don’t fuck with me when I’m tired. Or when I’m eating. I’m like something they keep at the zoo. I had a lot of fun at this party, but I was exhausted and this collection of crotch-goblins just weren’t taking any hints. Of course it was selfishly forthright and rudely arrogant. Those are things I do best. But come on…I you had seen me do this, wouldn’t you let me call the shots for the rest of the night?
More tales from Steel City coming later this week…