Monday, January 24, 2011

Just a Random Night (Guest Blog Entry)

Here's a wacky post that a friend wrote in response to my party crasher tale (The Wangstas). I like a break from writing and therefore welcome guest entries. Don't come complaining if there's any spelling or grammar errors, you vultures. I proofread her work, but I'm tired and may have missed something here or there. I took some liberties in the writing to improve the flow of the story, and added some witty nicknames, but the material is all hers! Take it away, Lynda!

Last fall I went to Regina to visit a friend (who we’ll call K). K wanted to go out. There was a lot going on, as it was a long weekend and there was a CFL game that day, so I said I would be the designated driver. K said she wanted to go to a few different places, but soon after we left she got a phone call from a friend telling her to come to this friend’s place for pre-bar drinks.  K told her that she had a friend visiting (me) and said we would stop by. The friend K was talking to told her she could only bring me if I wasn’t a “big weirdo.” After K got off the phone, she told me what this friend had said. I am instantly annoyed. Who are these people? First of all, I didn’t even want to be going to someone else’s house party (as I believe my free time is extremely valuable and am really particular about who I spend it with).  But we went anyway. We arrived there and it was a few jersey-wearing Riders fans in lawn chairs, who K didn’t even know. The girl we went to see was not my type at all; she told me “she needed to get her smoke on and her drink on.” Who the fuck says that? From this point on, I will refer K’s friend as WT (for white trash).  WT decided we would go to a bar at which there was a special event going on - the Budweiser Big Rig was in town! Wooooooooooooooo…it’s a semi that had a fold-out bar and dance floor (yes, the woo was sarcasm).
So WT decided that she, K, and two random guys were going to cram into my little VW Golf but first I was going to drive WT home so she could change out of her sweats and rider t-shirt into…well I can’t remember, but it wasn’t much better. WT also made a point of yelling at me from the back seat to put some music on for her…I was beyond annoyed as I was born with absolutely zero ability to be fake. Zero! It’s really bad. So I started to get more and more hostile toward WT.
We arrived at the bar and there was a massive line up, but one of the randoms that WT insisted come along was able to get us in. We were a bunch of assholes who marched to the front of the line, taking shoves and insults as we pushed up to the front. Once we were in the bar, WT took off somewhere…likely to get her “drink on.” WT’s disappearance improved my mood as there were hundreds of people there for me to hide within and therefore I didn’t have to see her again! Sadly, I was kind of bored as K and I seemed to be the oldest people there. When I get bored, I start asking random people questions just to see their responses. So imagine my shock when I asked a random guy walking by if he ever tucked his penis between his legs and took pictures. He proceeded to drop his pants and skivvies to the ground, grabbed his penis, and tucked it back between his legs! OMG! I love off the wall reactions, but this shocked me.
I can’t remember what happened next…I think K screamed and we moved away from Tucker (this clever nickname courtesy of Dave, owner of this blog), or maybe Tucker’s friends moved him away from us. However, I ran into Tucker later in the evening. I was still laughing about what happened with Tucker. I asked his name and it turned out we shared the same last name, which I am frequently told is very “Mennonite.” I asked him if he was Mennonite.  He said he was adopted and raised by Mennonite parents. Ugh!
K suggested we go next door to another bar, and I agreed. Anything to get out of a bar where we were at least ten years older than 99% of the people there. We went to the next bar and we ran into some friends of mine that I hung out with years ago but had not seen in a long time. Seeing my old friends made the night so much better. K and I ended up hanging out with my old friends, and I took a strong liking to one of these friends’ girlfriends. At the end of the night, one friend (let’s call him J) said we should all go back to his house (which was technically his girlfriend’s house who he mooched off of). J’s girlfriend was in France with her mom on a holiday at the time. On our way there, J asked me to stop at a bar to get an off-sale. We pulled up and J went in. He was in there for what seemed like forever. I drove up closer to the window and looked in. J was talking to a really nice looking First Nations guy. Not to sound judgmental, but from the guy’s mannerisms, he appeared to be gay.  J, being a hipster, could easily be labeled as homosexual as well, so K and I were giggling that the guy J was talking to thought he was picking up J. J finally returned to the car and asked me to stop at 7-11.  We pulled up and J went in for cigarettes. While waiting, K and I looked in the car beside us and there was a strange looking couple who we thought was a pimp and his ho. J came back out with his highly coveted cigs and we finally headed to his girlfriend’s house.
Upon arrival at J’s girlfriend’s home, we all went in. A short time passed. There were about eight of us are sitting around the living room when the door opened and in walked the nice looking First Nations guy! That would have been okay, but OMFG…behind him were about ten of the roughest looking individuals I had ever seen! In the group of walking demotivational posters were the pimp and ho we saw at 7-11…ick. As they piled into the small house, they could tell by our expressions that they weren’t welcome and that we were terrified. One member of Team Crackhouse (all Team * nicknames courtesy of Dave) even announced “We’re at a fucking white party.” In response, one of my friends quickly corrected her by saying “No you’re not, I’m black.” One of the girls who was at the party already went over to talk to some of Team HighAsFuck so that they wouldn’t get more rowdy than they were…this girl thought she thought also represent as she was one half Filipino.
Team AcidDrop ended up staying a while despite not being welcome. About a half hour later, someone began banging on the door. I looked outside to see THREE police cars parked out front. Since I was the only sober person there, I went outside to speak to the police. I told the cops that I was good friends with J’s girlfriend who was out of town. The police asked me if I was sober and when I said yes they recommend that I get in my car and leave as fast as I could. The cops said that the crashers were not the type of people I wanted to be partying with. I couldn’t leave my friends and my friend’s house to the mercy of Team Cokehead so I made a plan with the officers. The plan was simple…my friends and I would all lie to Team HeroinandVodka and say we were leaving. Once Team MaryJane was gone, we’d turn off the lights and lock all the doors and continue the party uninterrupted. The plan started off well. We got Team TrackMarks out of the house. However, while we were sitting there discussing how it was great that we were rid of Team OD, two of them came down the stairs! They’d either been looting or doing something in the bathroom the whole time. They sat down and began hanging out with us and drinking our beer like nothing was wrong. To make matters worse, for reasons inexplicable, J went to the front door and let the rest of them back in! WTF?
The police came back and I went to talk to them. The police told me that since J has invited Team SnortNBlow into the house, there was nothing the police could do. The police also stated that if they get called again, J would face a fine. We hadn’t called the cops in the first place, by the way. Team Nickelbag had initially gone to the wrong house and those people had called the police.
I went upstairs with K. I was really scared by now. A couple of my other friends joined us and we tried to decide what we were going to do. Everyone but me went back downstairs while I stayed in the laundry room and called a mutual friend to tell him the story of what J had done. I could hear a ruckus downstairs, which a friend told me later was the result of one of the girls accusing a guy she was sitting with of talking about her dad, so she punched the guy in the face. We’ll call this guy “Bleeding Guy” now. After the beating, J finally got the nards to tell Team CocaineNoseBleed to leave.  Team Juicy all left the home without incident and we once again locked the doors. We then all sat around de-briefing and laughing about what had happened and how we miraculously survived without getting shot or stabbed (this was Regina, after all). While we were talking, we heard a knock at the back door. It was Bleeding Guy and he wanted to come back in the house. As if! Obviously, we left him out there to bleed. Unfortunately, I was parked in the back so we had to wait a while for him to leave before we could get to my car. When we finally did get to leave, we drove a few blocks and saw Bleeding Guy staggering down the street.
To this day, none of us have told J’s girlfriend what went on in her house that night...we’re all just glad we escaped that evening unscathed.

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