Fritschie: Party monster

This morning, I observed Easter Sunday in the most traditional way possible: By waking up feeling like I'd been dead for three days and asking God to take me home.

After spending nearly all day doing a thoroughly half-assed job cleaning my apartment, I planned to go to Arnie's to see Cairde na Gael play and have a few beers. Afterwards, I was gonna stop by a friend's apartment for he and his girlfriend's party.

Well, the band cancelled, and the bar was nearly empty, so I went to the party much earlier than I had planned. The party was supposed to start at 9:00, and I showed up at 10:30 to find that I was one of only three people there. To make things even more interesting, the host's girlfriend had dumped him that afternoon, so you can understand the beer started flowing much earlier in the evening for him.

And that's saying a lot for this guy. He works for a liquor distributer, so he gets a shitload of booze at wholesale prices, if not for free. In his apartment, there were three sets of seven-foot bookshelves, all full of various types of beer, all nicely organized and to my surprise, not alphabetized. On another table, there was a huge selection of hard liquor and wines. I guess the best way to describe it would be the Leaving Las Vegas Home Hobby Kit.

His apartment building was pretty much party central. No one in the building is over 24 years old, loud music blares from every apartment, and the landlord seem to be okay with all of that. Most of the other tenants came by the party over the course of the night, and each group seemed to have had their own party drugs before coming over.

The host and the other guy who was there when I arrived broke out a few cans of spray paint and did a little re-decoration...security deposit be damned. Someone broke out a game of Twister, but that only lasted a few minutes. A guy came to the party wearing a dog costume and he passed out cold within thirty minutes. In true party fashion, they painted on him while he was asleep, then laid him down in the guest room (thankfully on his stomach), and the host took his dog costume and wore it for the rest of the night. At the height of my inebriation, somehow I got suckered into helping to carry this guys to the apartment downstairs. He was just a little guy, but the kid was essentially dead weight, me and the other guy carrying him were drunk, so it was like trying to move a sofa down four flights of stairs.

How much did I drink? God only knows, but I do remember the kinds of alcohol I had over the course of the night: Beer, hard cider, brandy, whisky, sake, and I think there was some raspberry liquour at some point. How I didn't end up spewing like the fountains at the Bellagio, I haven't the faintest clue.

Other things I'm a bit hazy about:

• I'm pretty sure I followed the host outside and he spray-painted the words "Doggie Style" on the sidewalk...and misspelled it.
• Someone threw a full, unopened can of Corona at me, hitting me in the shoulder.
• I think I tried to get a game of hacky sack started...in the dining room.
• I commented to the host about him having a Girls Gone Wild DVD out in the open, and his defense was, "Yeah, but that's the one with Snoop Dogg, man!" as if that elevates it in stature. Kinda like saying, "Sure, it's a meth lab, but all of the ingredients I use are name brand products...no knockoffs."

I barely remember getting home, but apparently I had the wherewithall to get to my bed and not sleep in my clothes. This morning, I found that my truck was parked properly in the parking lot with no damage, everything was as it should be in my apartment, and everything else in my life was intact. A Gatorade and Tylenol breakfast, and I was right as rain.