I'm having a housewarming/birthday party next weekend. Didn't I invite you yet? Shucks. I've invited everybody. Looks like you're nobody. It's going to be MAJOR. I'm making a mix CD for it right now(Oh I know, right? Mix CD? I'm so with it and down with the kids!), featuring all my favourite jammin' party tunes. So far there's four songs on there and only one of them does not feature the musical stylings of Bruce Springsteen. Like, the Nebraska years. That was not a party-time for Brucie. I need to broaden my musical tastes.
Seriously though, it's shaping up to be the most horribly mismatched evening of all our young lives. When your social circle features anyone whose name you know or whose face looks familiar as you scream 'PARTY, MY GAFF!' from your car window, you've gotta be ready for some fireworks. On Sunday I listed off all the people I had spent Saturday evening inviting and Clo and Laura just frowned at me.
'Aw, hells no' Laura said, barely looking up from the evening of card-cutting and laminating that seems to be the yoke of the school teacher's evening. 'Not him. He's a fucking mess.'
'Yeah, he went to Blathnaid's housewarming and vommed in the bathtub and blocked it and Ciara had to scoop out the sick with her hands.' Clo added vigorously.
'Nuh-huh, it was Blathnaid herself did the scooping, as I recall.' Laura pointed out.
'Dude, it was totally fucking Ciara. She made me smell her hands after. I think I would remember that.'
'Well then it must have been Blathnaid's hands and you were obviously going around smelling so many hands that you can't remember whose hands scooped what.'
'As if! I think I can remember my best friend's hands, excuse you.'
'I highly doubt it. Hand-whore'.
I left them to it and sat down on the floor of my shiny new hallway. This socialising thing has me beat.
