For anyone who may have missed it, here’s Part One.
Or, for short, I was at a party, it wasn’t going well.
So… Jennifer was not happy with me, and I didn’t know anyone else there, so I did what every man does when he feels uncomfortable; I made friends with the bar-man. One tip for my first drink caused him to start serving me doubles, which caused me to start seeing doubles.
I basically have two settings when drunk. One is happy, clappy, “Seriously man, I love you!” drunk. Dancing to every song that there is drunk. Overbearingly, suffocatingly unable to stop hugging people drunk. Imagine a teddy bear drunk on vodka and red bull, and you’re half way there. My other type of drunk is this:
Not good. And, unfortunately for me (and anyone within projectile vomiting range), I felt the latter of the two was beginning to take hold. To counteract this, I decided to dance. Dance away the blues. As if God had heard my thoughts and knows an opportunity when he sees one, a Conga-line suddenly formed in front of me.
I ran to it, and grasped on to the hips of the girl in front of me. She looked back at me in horror, but said nothing. She slowly faced forward, but even from the back of her head, I could tell she was super tense. I decided to show her she had nothing to worry about by kicking my legs from side to side, really getting into the Conga spirit. A girl got on the Conga line behind me, so I grabbed her hands and put them on my hips, regrabbed the girl’s hips in front of me, and recommenced with the high kicks.
It was around then that the tiny part of my brain that was still sober began to notice some irregularities; like the fact that girls who didn’t want to touch my hips or vice versa, like the fact that I was the only male in this Conga line, like the fact that the Conga line was barely moving, like the fact that instead of Conga music the DJ was playing Happy Birthday… and then it hit me, and then the girl in front of me was gone, and then I realized I was now at the top of the 21 Kisses line, and I was facing Jordan. Who I didn’t know. Who was a guy.
It never occurred to me to ask Jennifer if Jordan was a guy or a girl, because you hear “Jordan”, you mentally picture two giant boobies. I was beginning to panic because I knew everybody in the room was looking at me. Jordan sat there on the chair, lipstick marks all over his face, looking at me in horrified confusion. So I did what I had to do… I walked up to him, shook his hand, handed him his wet pink slippers, and ran out of the party.
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