From: Murphy
Date: 2 Aug 97
You know how, once in a while, a party that should be a schload of fun and good times tends to focus the bad karma and negative juju of everybody involved into a nasty cloud of black-souled, world-disgusted maelstrom of shit?
There's a moral to this story that any real Drunken Bastard can relate to from hard won experience: If you're going to get fucked up, make sure you're not the only one at the party who's in that condition. It makes for better denyability and fewer consequences.
It was last weekend, the last weekend in July, when the call went out for a party to take place at Jason and Heather's. Glenn was supposed to cook, and there was going to be wine, as well as whatever we all wanted to bring to drink.
Now, after the last time Glenn made food (mashed potatoes with jalapenos as a side dish for the 4th of July party), I thought it might be a good idea to grab a sandwich before heading out. Still, I took along an appetite and a bottle of amaretto to confront the evening. I had in mind just catching a nice even buzz (if that) since I'd kind of over-indulged the night before, and there's nothing like amaretto coffee to keep that edge nicely defined.
I got to the apartment, and Glenn was making magic (in the form of lasagne) happen in the kitchen. I won't bother to go into how he couldn't figure out to make the water boil or get the oven to work without help. Since the end result was outstanding, there was neither harm nor foul.
I knew the evening was going to take some bone shuddering turns after I'd been there about 20 minutes or so. Glenn handed me a bottle of wine and asked for my opinion. It was Riolla (spelling uncertain), a middle range Spanish red. The wine was a decent choice on Oso's part, except for one thing: The bottle was ice-fucking cold. I'm not really a wine snob, but the thought of chilled, much less ice-fucking-cold, red wine makes me want to take a hostage. I pointed out (none too delicately) the error of Oso's ways, to which I think he made some comment like, "Sorry, but that's the way you're supposed to drink Ripple, and I..." I stopped hearing him at that point.
As dinner was being prepared, I was talking with the other folks there, and I noticed that, while Oso was drinking the wine regularly, the 16-ounce juice glass he was using never seemed to go down. I heard the cork pop on the second bottle and went to get a glass a little bit later (There was VERY little left).
Eventually, dinner was served, and the chow was first-rate. Then, though, bad craziness started to happen. While we were all drinking, Glenn had a hell of a head-start on all of us (big surprise after drinking almost 2 bottles of wine solo while cooking dinner). We knew he was WAY out in front when he began making the continual protestation of, "I'm not drunk. I was drinking wine. There's no way I can get fucked up on 13 or 15% alcohol content."
Like we haven't ALL made that pronouncement at one time or another to our later dismay.
Anyhow, Glenn was feeling frisky with his booze, and I was getting in a bad mood from the vibe of the other partyers, Glenn's over-exhuberance and my own baggage that night. At one point, he took out his knife, snapped it open, adopting a (non-threatening) stance and playing like a barrio bod boy. I took out my derringer and said, "Rule Number One: Never bring a knife to a gunfight as your only weapon."
Now, before anybody out there starts shitting blood, let me throw in the disclaimer that, while my friends and I almost always go armed, we shed the hardware (at least the guns) as soon as the buzz starts to kick in. It's an unwritten rule among us, and a kind of nice, usbtle declaration when the pistols come off and get unloaded, stating, " have now reached the point where my better judgment will soon be impaired. "After almost three years partying with this crew (in one incarnation or another), there hasn't been a single incident; so I don't want to hear all the evils of mixing firearms, weapons and booze or other ignorant California-style bullshit filling my mailbox. 'Kay?
Anyhow, as Oso kept getting more and more gregarious, the rest of the crew, particularly myself, were in no way catching up; so I went outside to have a cigar, chill and try to get in a better humor. My friend Charles came out, and, as we were chatting. Glenn came out and kept playing with his blade. We ignored this for the most part, and tried to get Oso to return to the planet, with mixed results until Jon came outside.
Jon had come to the party with Laura, his new girlfriend. The universal consensus is that Laura is a serious hottie. Glenn, apparently, was quite taken, as we all were. However, in his way messed up state, Oso cast aside all semblance of tact and damn near got himself killed, as Jon holds some strong ideas on decorum and honor.
The exchange went something like this.
Oso (with very drunken intonation): Jon, I've just gotta say, that girl is a major trade-up from the last girlfriend.
Jon (tolerantly): Thanks.
Oso: Seriously, man, you went from a Yugo to a Mercedes. Big time.
Jon (Smiling tightly): Thanks, Glenn. Now shut up.
Oso (Laughing): And (covering his face with his hands), man, does she ever have great tits.
Jon (evenly, but with a tone of warning): Shut the fuck up, Glenn.
Oso: (Putting his arm around Jon) Seriously, man, what do you say those are? D? Double D?
Me and Charles: (Interceding as we notice Jon is about to red mist and go off on Oso) Uh, Glenn, it would be a REALLY good idea if you went inside at this point before he kills you.
Glenn went in and Jon just gave us this look of "What fucking planet did they grow him on?"
A little later on, Heather, Charles and I decided to head for the pool. They headed out first while I got changed. I went out to catch up with them, having given up all hopes of even catching a little bit of a buzz. AS I was heading down the walk, they were coming back. Some security idiot had locked the pool closest to Heather and Jason's place early; so Heather and Charles were going to find one of the other ones in the complex.
Heather (who's been my best friend for 12 fucking years) said, "I really like Glenn, you guys know that, but when he's had too much, he's like a one-man bulldozer."
As these words were coming out, we were passing back by her place and heard the beautiful crash of shattering glass. Beautiful, I should say, except when the sound is coming from your home. Heather dragged on her cigarette and muttered, "I don't even want to know."
After we'd been in the pool for about 20-30 minutes, the rest of the crew showed up. Jason said to Heather, "Well, sweetie, we now have a broken window."
Apparently, Glenn had crashed into it and taken out a pane just as we happened to walk by. I recognized the homicidal look in Heather's eyes and swam away quickly so I wouldn't have to testify against her when she came out of the water and decaptiated Glenn. That's one reason why we've been friends so long; we know when not to be around.
Anyway, Glenn and Jason were making this out to be no big deal. Heather, on the other hand, is very involved with the idea of home, castle, etc., and was not responding well.
Nothing really out of the ordinary happened the rest of the evening, that I recall. Glenn passed out on the guest couch, after drinking a lot of water and asking everyone who passed by to get him a beer (didn't happen, on pain of death from Heather). Heather told Jason that Glenn was welcome any time, as he's a great guy and a lot of fun, but that he wasn't allowed to drink there any more (SAY IT AIN'T SO!!!) and we all filtered out over the next couple of hours, except the comatose Oso, of course.
Since I've gotten email from Glenn since then, I am forced to deduce that he survived the next morning, and I'm sure he has Jason to thank for that, because when Heather went to bed, she was actively plotting his death. Anyway, folks, just remember: Know the mood and goals of your fellow partyers before deciding to sail the drunken seas solo.
Murph (Athos)