The Party

So, we had a party at my apartment on Saturday night to celebrate the fact that I'm done with university as well as the fact that one of my roommates and I both came out ten years ago. She was 19. I was 12. Go figure. The theme--because there should always be a theme--was to dress as your favourite stereotype. I dressed as an Italian guy from the 70's. Polyester, gold chains and chest hair. The only thing I had to borrow was the gold. Hehe.

I haven't seen the pictures from the party yet, but from what I remember, it was quite a good time.

From what I don't remember, well.... it's probably better to assume that it was an all around good time.

We cut the coming out cake (a Devil's food cake with vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles) at around half past midnight, I think. I wasn't paying too close attention to the time. There were a lot of vodka shots after the cake cutting and that's when things get a bit fuzzy.

What I do remember after the cake:

Talking to various people coming and going.
Lots of dancing. Apparently, there was a lot of singing on my part, too, though I don't remember that per se. My roommate commented on Sunday that she was amazed at all the songs that I knew ALL the words to.
Trying to get a friend of mine to dance, despite his insistence that he does not dance.
Making plans to go to Mado on Tuesday (yesterday), to which I did NOT go because I thought I was getting sick--seems more likely now to be allergies, but I didn't want to chance it last night.
One of my friends passing out cold on the couch, where he slept until 3 the next afternoon.
Getting pantsed by my roommates.
Pantsing one of my roommates.
Realising that it was getting light out and discussing the idea of walking up the Mountain to see the sunrise.
Singing along to 'Fernando' by Abba while holding birthday candles.
Singing along to lots of other Abba and Village People songs.
After everyone else had left, singing along to 'American Pie' with my roommate, he holding a bottle of rum and me holding the last of the vodka, taking swigs at each chorus. This was at about quarter past seven in the morning.

I then stumbled to bed. (This is one of the nice things about having a party at home, you can pretty much collapse into your own bed at any point.)

I live just up the street from a Portuguese Church that hold processions at various points during the year. The first big one for Pentecost was this past Sunday. So a marching band right outside my window woke me up at about one, when I was still drunk.

I went back to sleep until about three. Then, I phoned up one of my friends for some breakfast and stumbled out into the oh-too-bright sunlight and we headed up to Dusty's. One Big D breakfast later (four eggs, potatoes, sausage, bacon, ham, toast and beans) we stumbled back home and I went back to sleep.

I was still hurting on Monday.

But it was worth it.

Except that I still haven't gotten rid of the dance itch. This coming Tuesday is my last chance ever to go to Mado. By hook or by crook, I will go.

PS For those of you not in Montreal: Le Monde de Mado. I always go on Tuesdays, not so much for the show--because I only ever understand about half of what they say--but for the music after the show, which is always a good mix of 80s/90s/Today pop. Stupid fun stuff to dance to.