It's not that often that I get invited to parties. It's not exactly unheard of, either, but I think I can understand the relative rarity of those invites after last night. Let me explain:
(And as it was a party, and I was a tad liquored up, I might get the order wrong, or I might have blocked something out intentionally, so correct me if you were there)
0) The first sign that something could have been wrong was when I saw a couple of people who I'd seen earlier at Lauren's surprise party. I walked over and said "Hey, don't I remember from Lauren's surprise party?" which was met with this strange, knowing laughter. I thought nothing of it, but in hindsight this kind of set the tone.
1) (spoken across a keg, on the roof)
Me: Hey darlin', could I have a pour?
Girl (no hair): Sure thing!
- So, is the top of your head cold, up here?
- I guess so, but I've got this nifty hood.
- You know, I've thought about shaving my head, but I worry that my skull is misshapen.
- Well, actually I've got alopecia.
- Oh my god, I'm sorry, I had no idea.
INNER VOICE: Which is quicker, asshole? Leaving down the stairs or leaving off the side of the roof. Choose wisely, fuckhead.
Girl: Well at least you know what alopecia is, without me having to explain it.
It didn't go SO horribly. I mean we talked about public service and that kind of thing, and it wasn't until I started going on about giant ants that she made her excuses and disappeared.
2) (I'm sitting on the arm of a couch, talking to a guy in a chair, and then this guy seated on the couch with a girl gives me a tap on the arm)
Guy on couch: Could you get your ass out of my girlfriend's face?
Girl on couch: Yeah, really, jesus.
(So at this point I wonder if that's really the issue, or if this is just a sign that my luck has deteriorated even further, and I'm the lucky winner of the ire of some burly, vindictive douchebag who likes to cope with stress by punching faces)
Me: I'm, uh, sorry? (squats on floor next to arm, continuing conversation with guy in chair)
3) (again, spoken across THE KEG OF MISERY)
Me: Hey, you're Andrew, right?
Andrew: Yeah. Do I know you?
- You smoked me up at Bar Noir and I lost my mind pretty soon after.
- Oh yeah, you were RETAAAAARRRRRRRRDED!
- It was really fun trying to get home.
- Oh, you really skeeved out my friends, by the way.
- I'm, uh, sorry? (second time spoken that night)
Some guy: (walks over) All I heard was "You were RETAAAAAAARRRRRRRRDED!"
Me: I get that a lot.
Oh, and I almost forgot what really got the ball rolling that night:
-1) I was at a bar, and I had to poop, as is kind of common for me. I LOVE FIBER. Anyway, I'm on the can, trying to figure out the lock on the door. I soon realize that it doesn't work, so I try to hold on. Nonetheless, some guy pulls on the door, and before I can get out an "OCUPADO!" he wrenches the door out of my grip, and there's this frozen moment, where he starts to push into the bathroom, not realizing that THERE I AM, COVERING MY JUNK WITH ONE HAND AND REACHING FOR THE DOORKNOB WITH THE OTHER, LOOKING LIKE A FRIGHTENED WOODLAND MAMMAL WITH EYES THE SIZE OF DINNER PLATES. One foot in the air above the threshold, he finally realizes that the cries of "HEY! WHOA!" are coming from INSIDE the bathroom, and so he slams the door. Right on my fingers.
Just beautiful. I wonder if I've seen the last of it all. Like, the girl in whose face I apparently put my ass will turn out to be a hiring manager or arresting officer.
You'll all be the first to know if I have any more episodes of comically bad luck. Good night, and I hope this wasn't THAT entertaining.