House Parties

Now, as the country whirlwinds out of financial control, a more common theme among us ordinary folk is to have a house party in order to avoid a visit from Debitress. This usually results in us getting twice as drunk, three times as fast for a fourth of the price. Which is all feckin lovely BUT; there are a couple of things we tend to forget about; So, everyone has arrived and they've all brought some form of Alcolor with them. For some reason people seem to think this is a 'cheaper' option but I guess that depends on the type of house party you intend on putting together. Generally the first objection you encounter is the architecture of your freakin' fridge; lets face it, you're not meant to stack 43 bottles of Corona on top of your now squashed packet of Denny's ham and your pick and mix of coleslaw and egg salad from Superquinn - yet still, using the skill of a charity bag-packer, you've managed to carfully slot all of the bottles around every single dairy product in the fridge. Generally this results in the bottles sliding all over the place and banging off the iron crate which gives you the fright of your life as you think the whole shelf is going to avalanche to the ground. By the way, why the hell are we stupid enough to always pick a bottle that happens to be supporting the entire colony? Another great arrangement you have made is to your sitting room where-by you clearly dont have enough seats. The excess people are always slouching over the arm-rest of the chairs with their can or Vodka and 7up that has been poured into a plastic protein flask because you've overlooked the number of frickin' glasses you needed. Surely sitting there on the arm of the chair is bound to give you spina bifida faster that Quasimodo can ring the Cathedral bell in Notre Dame after having made sweet love to Esmeralda. Then, perhaps the most annoying element of having a group of wild hyenas over for a few bevies is that as they get more and more drunk, their hand-eye co-ordination becomes significantly less instinctive and they begin to spill drink everywhere which then gets people asking; 'So, Deco, why did you build your house on a sticky toffee bun?' (someone actually said that to me once - I didnt even know him so after I explained that we were human beings living on a place called planet Earth, I kicked him right in the groin and politely asked him to leave). But what if you put on a spread of food? Well, thats a rhetorical question Deco - yes it ends up on the windows. Not to mention your house transforms into a brothel so much so that you cant even sleep in your own bed because 'Edels friend', brought her mates twice removed second cousin to the party solely for a joyride in your oak-strong cradle. I'll never forget a house party I heard about when I was in school; This kid, who had trouble making friends thought it would be a great idea to throw a gargantuan house party the day his parents flew to Las Vegas for their annual holiay. Imagine him; he was shy, introverted, wore glasses and had the physique of a racoon; Clark Kent in his demeanor and an unquestionable gentleman. His only downfall was that his parents had clearly not taught him a thing about social interaction. Before Lunchtime the entire school had gotten wind of this party and I kid you not, come the agreed 8pm arrival time, his neighbours were in the middle of a hostile takeover. The estate may aswell have been one of the beaches at Normandy as shroves and crowds of kids trampled the streets wave after wave. Im not joking IT WAS SHEER PANDEMONIUM! The house was everything short of being burnt to the ground. I recall hearing that all of the frozen meat from the freezer had been super-glued to the floor; that the words 'I know what you did last summer' had been written across his parents bedroom ceiling in his mothers lipstick and that troop of prepubescent teenagers were spotted sprinting out of the house with the chaps older sisters knickers on their heads. Now this falls under the category of EXTREME however it leads me into my next point; the cleaning. Now unless you're that plonker from the Golden pages ad who just rings a cleaning agency to sort out the mess, you're unduely up shit creek without a paddle (by the way, why dont we actually use the golden pages anymore? Its free but hold on; let me ring directory enquires instead so I can remain on hold for 450.00Euro a minute while waiting for a non-national to find the number to the name of the customer they have asked me to spell 6 times, just because im too lazy to flick through the book myself - and we wonder why the country is in financial ruin?). No matter how mighty or minute the cleaning task is, it always seems 10 times worse when you've received a good beating from Han. You're pouring out ash-cans (Deco'sim - these are empty beer-cans that people have used as ashtrays) that have the remnant stagnancy of beer and cigarette butts that has now coagulated into a black tar that smells like rotten cheese; you're feet are sticking to the floor and more often then not, you find a bottle tipped over something valuable. Theres no doubt about it, its absolutely disgusting. What really pisses me off though is when I sit down the next day after cleaning the house top to toe; Ive already settled in to eat my dinner but now realise I cant find the BLOODY remote control - I then have to balance my plate of food on the even surface of my sofa, taking into account where my body weight is going to be distributed so I dont tip the food inward all over myself,while I search everywhere for the blasted thing that I only saw a second ago! When I eventually find it and ive turned on the television, I find that some smart arse has completely messed up my channel settings by fiddling with it all night trying to find the 'music stations'... I get so angry that I throw my food at my window, order Dominos and make a few phone calls; deciding to put my house through the same pain again; 'Shag it, its the weekend' - The comforting answer to everything.

Bottomline 13; Alcolor is more powerful then bricks and morter...

Next Post: A month in, the tempations of the Dark side

Slan mo Chara,

Deco