"Parties"

Partying.  Do you remember back in the good ol' days when it was just a whole bunch of silly games, cake, and then passing out wherever you were standing from the end of the sugar high?  Yeah, that was the good life.  Parties were the sacred cow of our childhood.  In fact, I distinctly remember the most horrid insult you could use against another individual was "YOU'RE NOT INVITED TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!"

If this was used against you, you were shunned.  Cast off into the dark reaches of society where only the sodomites and circus clowns were waiting.

You were nothing.

At any rate, partying has changed rather rapidly through the years.  If I'm not mistaken, partying now is defined as "a drunken whore fest of fun!"  But maybe a dictionary other than Websters defines it differently; I don't know.  Now, admittedly, I abhorred the idea of partying back in high school, and at the start of college.  It wasn't my idea of a good time to go get sloshed and wake up the next morning with my face in a potted plant on somebody's porch surrounded by a pool of my own vomit.  To each their own though, right?

But.  BUT.  I would be lying to you all if I said I haven't partied.  I have; and if I must say, they haven't been all that bad.  In fact, some can be pretty fun if you're with the right group of friends.  This I suppose is what partying is framed around; who'd have thunk it!

By this point, you're probably wondering why on earth I'm rambling about this.  "Where is the wit?  Where is the hilarious story concerning Calan and the mishaps that go on in his every day life?"  Well, it's coming.  All of this has been build up; foreplay if you will, to the wonderful sexual event that's about to take place.  (Ha; that was dirty.)

This weekend, I had the privilege of going to Troutdale with one of my friends simply for the reason of getting off campus and having someone feed  me.  It was WONDERFUL.  Homemade food and pampering from a motherly figure after living in the dorms for a whole scholastic year is quite possibly the best thing since sliced bread; but that's besides the point.  The first night we were there, my friend told me we were going to a party in Cascade Locks with all of her friends.  "Alright," I thought.  "This won't be too bad...  I've gotten rather used to the party scene now, so it's not like this is going to be anything I can't handle."

I got more than I bargained for.

Upon arrival at this party, at about 10:00 that evening, my friend and I realized that this party was already in full swing.  And by full swing I mean that there were already drunk people on the ground in fits of giggles.  Yay.  Putting my brave face on, I made casual conversation with the people who were still somewhat sober, and had a fairly enjoyable time.

And then the lights went off and the "dancing" started (by dancing I mean dry humping standing up).  At this point, my friend abandoned me to go talk with some friends, and I was left sitting at the bar alone.  A girl came and sat to my right, and started staring rather creepily at me.  I had heard about this girl from my friend.  She was practically the uhh...  Well....  "Call girl" for the town, shall we say.  To protect her dignity, I'll not say her real name, and instead call her something practical.  I'll call her Village Bicycle, or VB for short.  Something resembling the following conversation took place immediately after her sitting down.


Me:  Erm...  Hi!  You're from Cascade Locks, right?

VB:  Yup!  *continues staring at me*

Calan:  Oh.  Neat.  So are you like, a senior?  Just graduated?  Or what.

VB:  ...  *looks at me suspiciously*  It depends.  How old are you?

Me:  *severely creeped out at this point*  Uhhhhhhh....  I'm 19.

VB:  Oh.  I'm 17 then.

Me:  0_o


Luckily (or not, I guess), another girl came and sat down next to me saving me from having to make any more conversation with VB.  However, what followed was unequivocally worse.  We'll call this girl "Shit-faced Sally," or SS for short.


SS:  Hi there!  *hiccup*  You're the ONLY guy at this party I haven't danced with!  What's your name?

Me:  Calan.

SS:  Caleb?

Me:  *sigh*  No, Calan.

SS:  Calam?

Me:  (close enough...)  Yup!

SS:  Cool.  So have you been drinking tonight?  *hiccup*

Me:  Uhhh...  No.  I'm driving back this evening.

SS:  Awwwwww....  LAAAAAAME!!!!  Come on!!!  Drink!!!  Here; lick my finger!

Me:  Erm...  I'll pass; tha-


It was at that moment, that SS took her finger and started rubbing it all over my face; DESPERATELY trying to find my lips, in her drunken haze.  Her finger; her WET, DRIPPING FINGER went all over my face before she finally got bored and withdrew her hand, laughing.

I was in shock.  Complete, and utter shock.  Oh, and I'm pretty confident sheer mortification was mixed in there too.  I mean, I had no idea what that liquid was or where the HELL her finger had been.  At that point, all I knew was that I was pretty confident I had immediately contracted some sort of disease; the clap, AIDS (she would have found a way to directly give me AIDS; skipping HIV entirely), or even terminal death cancer that makes your head fall off.


SS:  Tasty, huh?

Me:  *look of pure horror on my face*

VB:  Hey!  You should drink some of this!  *puts down a drink of a mystery fluid that looked a lot like what would be passed through the system of a sick person who ate too much mexican food*

Me:  I'm good.  In fact, I think I'm going to run and find my friend.


I don't think I had gotten up out of a chair faster in my life.  I spent the rest of the evening cowering on a couch, watching everybody from a safe distance and wondering when I was going to drop dead from my newly contracted disease.

Luckily however, now that a few days have gone by and I haven't fallen over with a green tint in my skin, I think I'm in the clear.  But, I'm not too entirely sure...  Yikes.  At any rate, ladies and gentleman, it's situations like what I described above that make me just want to go out and get drunk ALL THE TIME (end of sarcasm).

The moral of this story then, is party safe.  Don't accept drinks from strangers.  Don't let strange girls shove their fingers in your mouth; especially if they're wet.  And with that sage advice, I bid you adieu.