the party down the street: still got teen love

As opposed to most Friday nights spent lurking in the city center, crawling from spot to spot, posing and hosing, this Friday was spent at a suburban house party. The make up of the house party is always something to consider, something to be mulled over. My preferred method is to follow fate and booze and see what happens, not making any judgment ‘till the either me or the party is done. The only appropriate time to rehash the night is the following day, when the only influence your left with is a hang over. Dave calls it the Post Game Analysis, which is perfectly apt. This morning, over coffee and grapefruit, we recapped the highlights, went over the lowlights as well. Both these terms are used interchangeably to describe the same events.

Attired in matching hotClique shirts (limited edition, hand printed, 23$ Can.), Dave and I hit the scene in a big way. A great to make an impression on a semi unconscious girl, dancing and flailing, is to have her ask about your jiffy-marker’d shirt , “wuzz that says?”, to which you smartly reply, “it’s mine and a friends shared survival guide to living in deep cove and the ventures we take upon ourselves.” That is always a deal clincher line.

After a few failed attempts on my part, some spills onto the shirts, and some amazing dancing maneuvers, I found the girl of my dreams, who just happen to be one I had an altercation with a few months back. Not a clash of opinions-type altercation, or car accident, but a lusty drunk make out session on a friends Halloween party dance floor. Now, I didn't recognize her right away, and I doubt I would have, but she noticed and remembered me. Her friend giggled. I inquired as to why they were laughing. They proceeded to remind me of meeting her, and then went on to tell me of the nickname they had given me. Violater. I started giving her lap dances, which by the way were amazingly sexy. I should have taken myself home and fucked me, myself. I didn’t make her pay for the dances; instead, I took her downstairs. We made out! Then I stole her leather boot and hid it. I feel like a 7 year old again, which incidentally is the age I’m trying to get back to.