Nobody Lives in my House--
Not Even For Fun
As I glanced around, I said to myself, "Ripper... Move the furniture, loud music, BYO. Tomorrow would be good." I planned everything into an unoccupied bedroom and started working on a guest list. Ya, maybe this one's gonna need a keg.
The view out the front window spellbound me as I pictured wall-to-wall people and beer spilling everywhere. The image of Bear Creek and San Jaquin overlapped with visions of half-naked pagans bouncing around my living room. Well, thinking led to thinking and thinking and thinking. In other words, I didn't get much done.
Saturday came and I started moving furniture. The coffee table still held an unfinished crossword puzzle from a month old paper.
The house was messy and the plants had been suffering because no one really lived here. Since the landlord decided to kick us out, the fun kind of went out with the trash. My roommates were either moved out, or on their way out. Every time I came home, I was alone.
This party would be a tribute to the house I fell in love with all spring. I lined up a keg and kept making calls - all the while thinking of sweet Ali napping on the couch, or Tom cooking tortillas on the open gas range. With any luck, something would break. Maybe a drunk Telluridian would fall into the wall and leave a dent. I just wanted to landlord to know I was disturbed by the whole thing.
Evening came, and no one showed. Eight, nine, ten... by 10:30, five "buddies" had come. We skipped the keg and bought a twelve.
Well I guess it's not the size of the party, but the caliber of the people. It was still a good time. And the jokes about having a monster bash with people packing in kept getting funnier for the entire hour they were here.
So once again, another brilliant idea induced by praying to the almighty Cannibus. So what if it didn't happen.
When it does happen, you're invited.