Sunday, September 21, 2008

It's Not Over 'Til The Crackhead Streaks!




I was at my first party as a senior and the first person who came and talked to me was a shirtless stranger telling me to 'shhh.' I decided to just go along with it.

"Yeah, I KNOW. People don't realize this is a PARTY? We all need to shut up and stand here in silence. It's what party people DO."

He shakes his head.


So this could mean many things. 'Shhh' Boy is calling me a crackhead, telling me he's a crackhead, or has some form of turrets.


Sometimes it's best to just repeat weird things slowly and steadily while squinting your eyes.

"There's a crackhead here."

"There's a crackhead here?"

He nods his head.

"Running around."

"There's a crackhead running around here?"

He nods his head.


"There's a naked crackhead running around here?"

He nods his head.


And he slinks off into the shadows. I am NOT leaving this party until I see that. As my momma always told me, "It's not over 'til the crackhead streaks!"

"I'm sssssooooooo tiredddddd..."

At first I felt bad for the stranger who was oddly drenched from head to toe with hair down to her knees. I know what it's like to be tired. We all do. Until she decided to lie down. On my lap.


NO, I wasn't sitting in this chair. NO, I wasn't in the middle of a conversation with a cute boy who has now left because he probably thinks we're lovers. NO, your knee-length hair is NOT immune to water. It, too, is SOPPING WET. NO, my dress is not of a thinnish material and now that it is soaked as well it might possibly stick to every curve of my body making me feel self-conscious the rest of the night. NO, it is not awkward for me to ask you to get the hell off of me.

"Get the hell off of me."

I wish I said that.

"Ummm euhhhh blahhhh."

I think what I said was more like that.

"Euhhhh blahhhh..."

That was actually her that time, not me. I sit, soaking up every last dew from her mop of a head. I see someone I know. No, they aren't a good friend, or a friend, or even an acquaintance, I just know of them.


I jump up, waving. (It was less of a 'jump' and more of a 'slow rising', like an old woman with back problems and a great deal of patience.) The girl awkwardly shrivels into a ball into the corner of the giant armchair, keeping her eyes closed the entire time. I decide she is really out of it and do not hold a grudge. I should not judge her. I should hand her a towel, but not judge. So she likes to swim? So she gets ridiculously tired? So she likes to take acid? To each his own.


Now this is what separates the men from the boys. Okay, not really. This is just what separates the sober from the intoxicated.


A few people jump the fence, one group off to the side hurriedly finish what they were passing, THEN jump the fence, some people who I noticed were ALSO drenched from head to toe stay right where they are staring into space, and I and the couple people I went with walk to car. (Just because we were in ship-shape to drive doesn't mean we weren't aware of the idiots parked all around us who were NOT in ship-shape to drive, therefore we waited until THEY left, which took forever, and by that time someone had told us the cops had NOT actually been called and that it had just been a scheme to minimize the size of the party. Good things come to those who wait. And apparently, good things come to those who trip. Because they too got to stay at the party. How interesting.)

Some people then began to jam out. I wanted to join in but all I play is the tambourine, which some people don't find "cool." The PARTRIDGE FAMILY found it cool! ESMERELDA found it cool! Bass guitar my ass, tambourines are where it's at.

At midnight everyone pulled a Cinderella, (though Cinderella doesn't roll doobies), and booked it out of there. Everything must come to an end, even parties. (Though it had come to a false end earlier, leaving us wondering if the party really WAS ending...but it was.) We took one last glance around for the naked crackhead, and left with our heads hanging low. (From disappointment. It's not everyday you get the chance to see a naked crackhead. Or even a naked person, for that matter.) (OR a crackhead. I wasn't going to keep on going with that, but I didn't want you to infer that I see observe crackheads on a regular basis.)


Naked crackhead.

1 comment:

Mark Kelly Hall said...

You forgot Betty, tambourinist for the Archies.

You're hilarious. Thanks for making my Friday nights with "The Rockford Files" & Oreos seem that much more enjoyable than all the "fun" I might have missed at "those kind of parties" in high school! Not that I'd recommend that plan for everyone; I lived in the boondocks and didn't have a car...and I had a high metabolism.

As a tribute to your individuality, I was reminded of the first part of these lines from Kipling:

"If you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
But make allowance for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated, don't give way to hating... 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it...."

Not sure how many naked crackheads he saw; but then he did see quite a lot of interesting stuff, so who knows.