Tuesday, December 07, 2004

i always knew nazis sucked...

Turns out, the crazy shit doesn't go down on the weekends. It happens on Monday nights.
Because there are shows Wednesday through Sunday, Beach Blanketers party Monday and Tuesday, and last night was a big holiday house party at Kathleen and Luc's.
Out with Zoe first, she dropped me off and went home. Thus, Andy was my date. As Kathleen and Luc live so close, we decided to leave the car at my house and cab it. The taxi driver was pretty cool, a laid back hippy who reeked of weed and patchouli. We wound our way around the side streets of Bernal Heights, until we find ourselves blocked in the middle of the street by a huge truck filled with debris. After waiting a few minutes, with the meter ticking away mind you, the cab driver finally honks. The truck slowly moves forward, then stops. The truck driver exits and stumbles up to the cab, instructing the cabby to roll down his window. Obviously fucked up on something white trash and readily available, he begins to speak.
"Why you gotta hassle me. Be a gentleman, don't pressure me."
The cab driver was cool, "I'm just trying to get these people to their party, dude."
"Well then, don't ride my ass. Do I have to pull out my swastikas? Do I need to show you all my swastikas?" He rubs his chest, somehow implying he's got Nazi tattoos everywhere.
"No man, we're cool."
Adolf gets back in his truck and drives off. A mere block from our destination, I was so frazzeled by our encounter, I left the wine in the cab. Fuck!
The party was awesome, in a funky little house packed with all of my old BBB friends. After making my rounds, I set up camp in the back room, known as The Tiki Lounge. That's where the pomegranate cosmos were, that's where the available seating was, and that's where the straight boys were. 'Nuf said.
The party continued all night. Glasses broke, toilets flooded, people hooked up. It was very old school Beach Blanket. Thus, it was really fucking fun. And, I must say, Andy and I looked fierce. I'd leave the lounge from time to time, to get more drinks, to flirt with someone else, and to grab some fabulous food. At some point, I walked back to the Tiki Lounge, and when I entered, the room screams, "No!" as I let the door close. Apparently, someone broke the lock earlier and every time the Tiki Lounge door closes, we're locked in and essentially fucked. Luckily, one of our hosts was with us and knew the way out, so Luc climbs over some dry wall and runs out into the rain, down an alley to the front door and eventually frees us. The party continues and quite frankly, I forget about the broken lock.
At some point, it's just me, Tammy, and Josh sitting back there and we realize that we are, yet again, locked in. As music is blaring and 50 people are wildly partying in other rooms, we know we're trapped until someone stumbles upon us. We take inventory of the room, noting the apple and citrus slices floating in some boozy punch, agreeing to conserve all but liquor until we really need it. After an eternity, Jorge stumbles in, double fisting something tropical-looking and as we all scream, "Don't close the door!" we hear the door SLAM as Jorge looks in and says, "What?"
Now the apple and citrus slices must be divided by four, not three.
We debate climbing over the drywall ourselves, but just as I suggest that, the skies open and dump a sea of water upon San Francisco. Trees were ripped from their roots, cars seemed to flip in the wind, and I was wearing pointy toed heels. It wasn’t going to happen. There was no way for us to survive the elements. We were really and truly trapped.
Jorge pulls out his cell, and begins to call people. Obviously, Luc and Kathleen couldn’t hear their phone, and after leaving them a series of messages we found quite hysterical, we realized that, like, 30 minutes had passed.
“You guys. I think it’s time we accepted it. No one’s coming for us.”
Jorge was still working on his phone, desperate to find someone capable of hearing their phone ringing over the holiday dance remix album. Finally, he gets a hold of Ignacio, and in a dramatic and highly attended rescue, Ignacio and about 20 other people all ceremoniously throw the door open. Finally emancipated, I bid farewell to the Tiki Lounge, and head for the safety of the living room.
The rest of the evening was spent sitting around the fire, eating and drinking and listening to my friends play guitar and sing the blues. Around 2am, Kathleen, Tim, and I create a little drink now known as “Lemon Drops for Alcoholics” and after half of one of those, it was time for me to retire to the comfort of my huge, fluffy bed. I mean, really. After a run-in with a Nazi, getting locked in a back room surviving on gin soaked fruit, and belting some serious soul in Luc’s recording studio, I was exhausted.
All in all, it rocked. No one parties like Beach Blanket, and I was so pumped up from my wild night at Kathleen and Luc’s, I came home and spent an hour dancing around my kitchen to gay disco.
Free at last, free at last, thank Ignacio almighty, I’m free at last.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Are you not going to mention how every straight guy at this party was trying to get into your pants? I've never seen it like this, Spots. It was hilarious. And you're so polite to all of them.
Don't lie, hussie. I know you hooked it up last night. I know it!

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