10/24/2004 - 9:34 p.m. | oh. that sprite has urine in it (true story)

The house is a shambles, and everything - everywhere - smells like a volatile combination of smoke and cheap vodka, I can't sleep or see a damn thing, and I really need to tell you all about it. Very, very few parties are worth mentioning. I mean, of the few I've attended thus far at university, only about one or two really stand out in my mind. And now, I am fairly sure that we just finished throwing one of those parties for everybody else. It was fucking nuts. I got back from work after 10, severely stressed out that I had just had to count 2000 something dollars again and again (I let the new girl leave at 8:30 because she had some shit to get to - and because I am fucking awesome and flout authority *flout flout*), and things seemed pretty dead. This mysterious flock of Asians was hovering around, and yes, we did have a DJ (DJ Su, incidentally, who I think I have as a friend on my Facebook - she is more or less the perfect female specimen, but I am again not supposed to speak on that), but there sure as hell weren't many people. And then, I dunno, all of a sudden, things just blew up, and the place was packed. Hundreds and hundreds of people all around, spilling out into the lawn and driveway, more coming all the while, complete strangers most of the time who had heard about us. They heard about us! I mean, I don't pretend to have been an integral part of the process - I was at work all day and mostly I just ran around doing a few little errands (Another dozen cans of frozen orange juice concentrate "Uh, I just need a whole lot of Vitamin C") - but God! How impressive are we? This party was nuts. People milling all over, dancing (like for real dancing), making out, getting sloshed, sitting on our shit, whatever. Breakdancers going at it at two places in the party, multiple groups of battle rappers, completely insane shit. My mind was boggled. I could barely keep my focus as our supplies grew slimmer and slimmer. We thought we had prepared - overprepared even, no way will anyone drink all this shit - and then all of sudden there's this period of nonstop outings to get more ice or more cups or more vodka (Go Sean D!) or more ice again or more juice or kegs. We just kept rotating back and forth (I don't think Kyle stopped hardly at all). All the people I normally see at these Urbana parties - Sarah, Allison Helm, Nick - they're actually here! Owen didn't show up, which makes me sort of suspicious that the party could have been better. I mean, if the physical manifestation of my id wouldn't bother attending, who would? Well, maybe he was out of town. Complete strangers touching and talking and grinding in the place where I normally watch "Kim Possible." People calling one another trying to get them to come here. Smacko out selling cups on the street, Andy and Shanks are visiting other parties, handing out fliers to get them to ours, Brytne keeps trying to dance with me (occasional interruption by Taylor - yikes!). Tebbin and I, who have seemingly become allies in all things, are serving up jungle juice until our hands our mysteriously reddish (our fucking jungle juice gets compliments - what in the world is going on?) Andrea shows up, well that's a little weird. The kitchen is just oozing and dripping and gross and there is no time to stop at all. We discussed after and we almost think it might have been a better party to attend. But oh, to host it! With our weird little lightbulbs and Becky's awesome handmade signs and that God damn huge picture of my face up on the wall.

And then the cops come. And those of us in charge are yelling and trying to get everyone off the preimises and people are leaping out the side window (fairly common theme for the night) and someone spit the grossest ball of pusphlegm that I touched accidentally and God who isn't on the roof right now and it's pure adrenaline madness and we're loving it. And then the cops leave and do we stop? Fuck no! More people come, more dancing somehow. Someone destroys the lock on my door - nothing taken? Matt Maly and Shu are in Spritz's room somehow, maybe fucking, maybe not, and all of a sudden she's my best friend. Well, I suppose the alcohol had something to do with it. And more dancing more smoking more yelling. Grinding milling yelling so hot and smelly and this is us?! Three former IMSA nerds, three current engineers? We've done this?! I'm behind the bar, scraping up what's left of the drinks to hand out to people. And fuck, here are the cops again. And they end up giving us a ticket for noise, but we're not really mad at them because they are so, so nice and don't really want to be out here doing this because there is all this absolutely crazy shit going on in the rest of the city (robberies taking place as we speak, murders, shots fired, cops threatened - no, seriously), but because some brand new trolls have called them up twice, look we get fuxed. But still! Still! Once we clear everyone out ("Out the window, man!" "Naw, think I'll keep drinking") and scraped the bottom of every bottle and put all the shit away and everything else! Still! Despite the $200 ticket and the gallons and gallons and gallons of booze and juice and shit that we bought! Still! We come out with a profit! A very, very tiny profit, but God! A profit nonetheless! And we didn't come into this to make money - we just wanted to have a good party. And by fucking George, I think we did good. Course, we're pretty much banned from it for the next 2 months, but wow. What an awesome night. All this running around and all these crazy people and the music and the lights and Jason Kahn on ecstacy constantly trying to touch my hair or clothes wow. I tried my best to put tonight into words, and I'm still not even close. Just come next time, all right? Breakdancers, for Christ's sake!

I can honestly say that it was the best Mole Day I've ever had. I suppose the new shirt didn't hurt, this one very well designed, I must say. I hope your bread isn't Mole Day; ours is.