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November 22, 2004
Party Animal
In case you don't already know, I'm a cool guy. I must be, I get invited to parties left and right. Neighbors' birthday parties. Neighbors 6 years old and under. I think I've been invited to every toddler on the street's birthday party.
They love me for some reason. I think it is because I throw them up in the air and do other things that could potentially end with them injured and me forking over large amounts of cash.
This weekend my neighbor is turning two and having a party at the corner bar. I think it's a little early for her to be hanging out in bars and definitely to early for her to start drinking. I don't think I drank at my 2-year birthday party (I don't remember if I even had one).
When I turned 6 my parents threw me a birthday party. It was mostly an excuse for the extended family to get together and surround themselves with obnoxious hyperactive year olds from my neighborhood.
At some point during the party I was overcome with an intense need to urinate. I mean bad. I ran from the living room, where most people were gathered, over to the bathroom. To save time I undid my pants on the way. I dropped them far enough to give myself unhindered access to the equipment before I got to the door. The time saving manuever worked and in the bathroom all went as planned. When I crossed through the door again I was greeted by an upset extended family.
I was reprimanded for dropping my pants in front of the company and told to always keep my pants up until I got into the bathroom. I imagine now that it was intended to be only an admonishment, but I felt extremely put out. So badly put out that I hid behind the sofa for quite some time.
The other kids went outside to play and I stayed in my shelter from shame and the adults forgot about me. Without the kids around the conversation became laden with sexual innuendos. My Aunt told a story about my cousins, her daughters about my age, and their friends digging through some bins in their basement and then emerging clad in gawdy old lingerie.
Why was there a bin of gawdy old lingerie in my Aunt and Uncle's basement? Why for parties of course. The apparently frequented parties where couples showed up cross dressed in underwear only. Men in lingerie, the more hideous the better, and women in men's underwear.
Shocked my Grandmother asked, “What kind of parties is my daughter going to?” There was no reply. All conversation stopped on account of the newly turned six year old intensely giggling behing the couch. The embarrassed adults ushered me outside to play with the other kids.
There we stayed until it was time to clean up when the party was winding down. It was my job to pick up the beverage cans. I was picking up only empty cans until I got to my uncle's. His can wasn't full, so I asked him if he was done. He replied with something to the effect of, “I guess so.” So I took the can. I ditched the empties and ran outside with the half full can of beer.
The other kids and I huddled in the middle of the dead end street and passed it around nervously giggling and exclaiming how wretched it was. Somehow this attracted the attention of the adults inside and they came out in force. One of the kids (I like to think it was me) had the pressence of mind to drop the now empty can and kick it.
“What are you kids doing out here?”
“We're just playing kick the can.” Whatever the hell that game is.
Anyway, the quick thinking saved me from certain grounding. Still I did get another talking to for stealing my Uncle's beer – he claimed not to have told me to take it and it forced him to get up and grab a brand new beer.
Well, I learn from my mistakes and I tell you this. If I see a huddle of 2 year olds kicking a can of beer (or more likely a 40) in the street this weekend I know what they're up to, even if they only claim to only be kicking the can.
Posted by calculatoronfire at November 22, 2004 09:13 PM