Be My Guest / Spreading The Love / Week 6 / Day 5
Kent - Vapen och ammunition - Elite
so by halfway through the party (meaning 1:30AM) your entire face was splatter-painted from your own blood from the gashes on your palms from trying to pick up broken glass from a smashed virgin mary de guadalupe candle that fell from the mantelpiece from how bad the floor was shaking from everybody dancing just alittle too hard.
you had predicted this would happen before you ever entered the joint. your friends were reluctant to check it out at first because the crowd looked so smart. art-hip. too sharp. sexy, seasoned party pros. the line-up looked like a vintage clothing boutique had fucked a gallery opening while some seapunks watched and some crustkids beat-off and fell asleep on the couch. to be upfront about it, even you were a little taken aback by all the rampant cuteness. this was, like, the shar-pei of house parties. but you were on a mega-crush mission and knew you had to go in there one way or another, so you rallied the troops with a do-or-die diatribe.
“listen: we’re gonna go in there, they’re gonna hate us til they talk to us, and then they’re gonna love us, and then it’s gonna be a fucking full-on shit-show dance-party with us right in the center of all the action! come on, you guys, we’ve been down this road before so many times… this’s what we do best! right? now hands in the middle, everyone say Babysitters Club on 3… 1, 2, 3…”
a few hours later and your prediction was proven right, you and your people caught smack dab in the eye of a acid-house booty storm. and you were killing the place, alienating the vanilla-folk and impressing all the weirdos. at one point you realized that you were surrounded on the dance floor by every single cutie-pie that you had shot eyes at on the way in. even the babes who looked blatantly uninterested and (frankly) out-of-your-league were bumping butts with you and singing into your mouth. and before long you were officially the least dressed person in the place in just your slacks and socks and undershirt, flanked by walls of cocktail dresses and pastel pairings, a landscape of upside-down cross jewelry and pentagram polka-dots and 666 stick-and-pokes and all manner of trivialized occult imagery.
while your best girlfriend leaned over to whisper to you, “favorite party of the year,” you caught something out of the corner of your eye. it was an entrance for the history books: the babe of all babes, the babe that you’d been all bent-up about since summer, the babe of honor at that night’s going-away party, none other than the ever-babely tina nagel.
now, you can take some artistic license here and skip the part where you got nervous and fled outside for a few consecutive cigarettes. forget how you spilled your flask of tequila-and-lemonade as she approached you to say hey. overlook the feeling of pure unadulterated puppy-love that overtook your whole body when the babe-dog herself hugged you hello. zoom ahead past all that to the point in the night where the crowd started to head-out or get kicked-out and your friends wanted to follow-up at a 5AM bar up north, but you just wanted to spend the rest of the night with tina in west pilsen in her bed doing whatever the fuck she wanted to do. flash forward through that drunkenly perfect game of bumped heads and swapped spits and warm cum and the occasional readjustment of tangled up arms and legs. skip past that by a couple of scenes to about 11:30AM and your favorite shit of all — morning after dialogue.
you both rolled awake, played a little kissy face, compared hangover statistics, and sparked up the biggest of tina’s hash-infused going-away joints.
she peaked over at her bedroom door and asked you, “what do you think it looks like out there?”
you told her, “probably like the first scene in Animal House. or the last scene in The Conversation. or every scene in The Rules Of Attraction.”
she hit you with her lavender pillow a couple of times until you stole it away, covered her face with it, pretended to suffocate her.
you said, “shhhhhh… quiet now… it’ll all be over soon.” and when you pulled that lavender pillow off of her face she was smiling a mile wide and laughing too hard to make any sound, so you kissed her immediately and landed nothing but her perfect pearly top row. and you told her, “i had a lot of fun.”
and she said, “yeah! me too.”
and you said, “maybe you should move away more often.” but you sure as hell didn’t mean it.