This post isn't going to have any photos, because I didn't get invited to this shindig and didn't bring my camera: it was a classic party crashing of the highest order. I saw a mass of cars in my neighborhood and decided I knew what I was doing that night. I'm dog sitting Eloise at the moment, so I decided that dog walking was going to be my cover for the home invasion.
Alex was going to be my co patriot in crashing and we had a nice plan. If there was any static, we had a pit bull with us and we could depart with dignity. But if we were welcomed or if we knew people (which I was banking on), we were home free.
Everything went as planned; a matter of a fact, everything was Tony the Tiger. We knew people somewhat tangentially and the ladies loved the pooch. It was a trad indie party, the type of party that rare now in this age of the hipster. The lady situation was good in all aspect of quality, quantity, and IQ. The music was varied and impeccably good: someone used the power of the IPOD for good, not evil.
We decided we needed to be contributors to the shindig, not takers, so me and Alex made a beer run. But the effort tuckered him out, along with the grease of McDonald's, so I was roaming solo for now. When I arrived I was immediately drafted into playing volleyball: I guess that the other advantage of being black.
I was a superstar on the court and the ladies noticed my, ahem, athleticism, especially these two sisters. One of the sibling, Amanda, played right besides me and I noticed she knew how to move. But our team got so focused on domination (my team didn't lose all night, from 1am to 4am) I couldn't really flirt. It was all to the good. I'll see her around I'm sure.
But after punishing my body with exercise more than alcohol, I decided to call it a night. I was sure I was going to wake up sore, but this throwback evening was worth it.
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