Notes From A Walkman Junkie: 24 Hour (Awkward) Party People
I shall get to the party bit momentarily, but I would first like to mention that I am a very awkward high-fiver. This was brought to my attention recently when a friend sitting across the table from me extended his hand, palm-out near my face. I stared at it for a moment and then said, “What is going on?” He said, “High-five, I want to see your high-five technique.” At this point, I panicked and started to slowly lift up my left hand–then changed my mind and began to timidly raise my right hand–then I gave up altogether and flatly stated, “I am sorry. I don’t know which hand to use.” There were also a few follow-up attempts that resulted in me flinching and covering my face before he eventually gave up and graciously invited us all back to his place for a small gathering (that would feature two main, obviously paired activities– drinking and soccer).
After arriving at his place and promptly knocking back a few (good decision/ idea-making beverages), I decided that it would be a good idea to play a little indoor soccer. It only took about two good soccer ball hits to my ovaries for me to reconsider–also, I ripped my favorite tights and swallowed my gum. I believe it was shortly after my monumental ball sport failure that my companion and fellow party-goer realized that he was out of toilet paper back at his place and should probably run out to snag some before it got too late. I fully supported this plan as I new I would be returning with him to his house later and I have grown very fond of toilet paper.
My companion returned from the store with some snacks and an enormous pack of toilet paper, urging me to remind him to bring it with us when we head out later (the toilet paper–not the snacks because you don’t bring snacks to some one’s party and then take them away when you go–that is just rude….not sure about giant toilet paper pack party etiquette–maybe leave one roll. I will consult my Emily Post and get back to you.) The evening progressed and the drinks continued to flow which of course, heightened every one’s charm and naturally brought forth some spectacularly good ideas. I, for instance, thought that filming a dormant soccer ball on the floor for twenty-eight minutes was a brilliant way to capture my specific artistic vision and I was quite miffed when I was told otherwise and the camera was abruptly confiscated–so I gave up my brief and misunderstood film career to dance around for a few minutes, look for my shoes–and have a little sit-down.
It was around the time that my companion was finishing up his drunken, kind of sweaty (though he later claimed that it was not sweat, but water that he had splashed on his face because “it felt refreshing” and ran through his hair to make it “more spiky”) and heavily accented monologue about the vast availability of toilet paper in America, that I thought it was maybe time for us to go. The host of the party thought that our departure was undoubtedly worth documenting and managed to film me struggling (turning the knob in the wrong direction–I still say it was the right direction and that the knob was faulty–and I am not drunk right now) to open the door for ten minutes insisting that, “I can’t leave–the door is broken–let me the fuck out of here.” My companion then joined me at the door and loudly encouraged (still using an accent of mysterious origin), “Show me how you opens the doors in the Americas.” He then offered me some useful advice– “We operates the doors by twisting the knobs”– I replied to his helpful suggestion with a blunt, “I will fuck you up.”
I eventually was able to open the door (with a very gentle turn of the handle in the opposite direction followed by a wide grin and a barely audible, “Oh, you turn it the other way…”) and we started our long walk to my companion’s house. Within about the first few steps onto his driveway, we each realized our two grave errors. We had left his house keys behind and more importantly–we forgot the toilet paper. We had no other alternative, but to return to our host’s home and sheepishly request to have our big toilet paper back, please. I think the evening went well. We will be invited back.
I am attaching “Dark Tower” by Miniature Tigers because it is a lovely song and has very little to do with a giant awkward toilet paper retrieval party.