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I've been to a wild party.
Or, at least, what by contrast to experiences which my sheltered sensibilities have endured, appears to be the wildest party I've ever attended.
In order to protect people, I'll refer to them by euphemisms frequent readers'll be familiar with. I'll remind you that all the slash is derived from dream imagery, nothing in life. Kay.
First we went to Jaliscience. That was fun and normal (as normal as any outing with Salad, his lover, two giggling college girls and my mother can get). Then they quit serving alcohol, so we went to Salad's lover's house (he took me on his motorcycle, which is harder to stay on than the moped he takes me on after concerts. We drove right next to Salad for awhile and talked through his car window; made him go get coke for rum-and-cokes), and sat around upstairs talking for some time. Salad made the obligatory attempts to get me to drink, offering me Scotch, a rum-and-coke, and gin. College Girls engaged him and Lover Boy in conversation, though they thought the aran I took out and worked on was pretty cool.
Okay. Then, around midnight, we went downstairs. The tenant had been asleep in her "office", but came out and hugged Salad when he called a hi-bye into that room. Then she came out, was introduced, and offered general hospitality. Including a joint to pass around. Hmm. She lit it up and dragged a few in front of us, then set it on the table, and went somewhere. We all exchanged taken-aback looks, and Lover Boy (the landlord) went after her. Conversation carried on, amidst the loud banging music (that's the reason we'd come downstairs; she has a very good stereo system and the girls wanted to dance), until she came back and didn't exactly apologize, but was sorry she made Lover mad, and her lease was legal, and went outside to do it. Didn't see her again the rest of the night, but Salad and the girls were already pretty drunk by this point, so the amount of nearly-falling-down and amusing conversation was satisfactory.
The stabbing shafts of jealousy were not quite as fun. I ground my teeth a lot. But I guess they're entitled to have an introductory drunken party and exchange cell numbers to have their people call his people someday. I fumed, but silently and inwardly. They're allowed. But gra.
Or, at least, what by contrast to experiences which my sheltered sensibilities have endured, appears to be the wildest party I've ever attended.
In order to protect people, I'll refer to them by euphemisms frequent readers'll be familiar with. I'll remind you that all the slash is derived from dream imagery, nothing in life. Kay.
First we went to Jaliscience. That was fun and normal (as normal as any outing with Salad, his lover, two giggling college girls and my mother can get). Then they quit serving alcohol, so we went to Salad's lover's house (he took me on his motorcycle, which is harder to stay on than the moped he takes me on after concerts. We drove right next to Salad for awhile and talked through his car window; made him go get coke for rum-and-cokes), and sat around upstairs talking for some time. Salad made the obligatory attempts to get me to drink, offering me Scotch, a rum-and-coke, and gin. College Girls engaged him and Lover Boy in conversation, though they thought the aran I took out and worked on was pretty cool.
Okay. Then, around midnight, we went downstairs. The tenant had been asleep in her "office", but came out and hugged Salad when he called a hi-bye into that room. Then she came out, was introduced, and offered general hospitality. Including a joint to pass around. Hmm. She lit it up and dragged a few in front of us, then set it on the table, and went somewhere. We all exchanged taken-aback looks, and Lover Boy (the landlord) went after her. Conversation carried on, amidst the loud banging music (that's the reason we'd come downstairs; she has a very good stereo system and the girls wanted to dance), until she came back and didn't exactly apologize, but was sorry she made Lover mad, and her lease was legal, and went outside to do it. Didn't see her again the rest of the night, but Salad and the girls were already pretty drunk by this point, so the amount of nearly-falling-down and amusing conversation was satisfactory.
The stabbing shafts of jealousy were not quite as fun. I ground my teeth a lot. But I guess they're entitled to have an introductory drunken party and exchange cell numbers to have their people call his people someday. I fumed, but silently and inwardly. They're allowed. But gra.
