LADEELEROY

2003-02-10

GUESTBOOK
PROFILE
OLDER ENTRIES
E-MAIL ME
12% BEER
DIARYLAND
 
PARTY and shit, dude.
 
  Holy shit.

It's fucking 7:25AM on Sunday morning and I'm still awake. I shouldn't even be at a keyboard in this state of mind... but what the fuck? I need to update as I've become incredibly neglectful as of late.

I apologize for all words that are not spelled correctly from this point out. You see, I am , at the moment, incredibly fucked up.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ah shit.

So.

Here's what is the haps.

I'm incredibly fucked up. Oh, I said that already.

So.

Here's the deal.

I'm all fucked up and shit, like you know, but I have to tell you what a fucking great party I just had.

Do you want a quick and easy way to make you feel better about yourself?

Throw a party. Invite everyone you know. Send out one of those mass e-mails that you loathe receiving and make the subject line: PARTY! WHOO!

Then wait.

While waiting, start cleaing the shit out of your house. Do this so that people will not know how you really live. (There is no need for them to have the knowledge about your obssesion with old bank statements. Just file those away, as they may be useful later on down the road.) Anyway, mop the shit out of your floors. Clear that pile of clothes and Newsweeks that you've had collecting next to your bed since November. Hide your raggedy ass toothbrush.

When the official time of the party arrives, and you find yourself completely alone, (save for a single Australian that you're not allowed to write about,) make yourself a martini. Drink said martinit in under 20 minutes.

AH HA.

Guests are here. Get your hostess on. Let people nibble at your biscuits of sweetness. Let them explore the world known as Garlic Roasted Hummus dip. Implore them to try the new recipe you came up with involving all beef Lil' Smokies, jalapeno juice, cilantro, and 0.89$ of BBQ saucel. Charm the pants of them. ReAward yourself with two drinks for doing so well.

Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. The party is starting to pick up! There's a line for the bathroom! You are running low on Brie. No worries, just park yourself next to the fire. Exchange stories about how smoke hurts your eyes or about the time you said something stupid once to this one guy with others. It will be fun. You will feel as if you actually have "Social Skillaz." Reward yourself with three drinks for this achievement.

Time goes by and you realize that you can't even walk through the kithchen without accidentally hitting someone in the sternum. Yes, you have reached "Sternum Capacity." Way to go. This is a kick ass party. The chips are gone and people are starting to srink the Bud Light you had as back up for the Shiner. You are the smartest hostess ever for thinking of back up. Reward yourself with a drink made of the left over liquor.

Wow. Now you're by the bon fire. A fucking fire. In you're own backyard. What is this? College? NO! It's your mother fucking pary and there's a mother fucking fire in your backyard. People are sitting around it. People approve of the fire. You are their new God. Reward yourself with a drink made of Sprite, Jack Daniels, and freezer burned ice.

Okay. Now the bitch the sun is coming up. A guy is passed out on your couch. You're standing in the kitchen with one of your best friends, one of the funniest guys you know, and a bunch of empty beer bottles. The pasta strainer is even in the sink and you don't know why because... what? you didn't make pasta. You and best friend guy talk about being Indians and loving the breastmilk of Falcons while the other guy draws pictures of pine trees and foxes. All decide it would be a good idea to watch the sun come up.

Go to the train tracks down from your house. Watch the sun come up.

Realize that it's 6:30AM.

Realize that it's fucking Sunday morning and you started this event when it was Saturday night.

Think to yourself, "ROCK N' ROLL!!!!! I FUCKING PARTIED UNTIL THE CRACK OF DAWN." Air guitar if necessary.

Bid adieu to those who were the final survivors. Pass the guy passed out on the couch. Head for the computer with a reward in your hand.

Update your mother fucking journal.

That, my peeps, is how you throw a mother fucking party.

LadeeLeroy style.

PS. It was a really good party, in case you didn't catch what I was talking about. Real gud.

 
Get All Notified:

I know you were here.
Mellowwwwnade
Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy