On the way to the party my buddy mentioned we were supposed to bring food, but that it was okay that we weren't since we were single guys. We stopped off at post to buy liquor and while there I sprung for a box o' chicken anyway. It's very classy to show up to a party with pretty people and fancy hors d'oeuvres carrying plastic bags with cheap vodka, cheaper bourbon, and greasy fried chicken. We got moderately snooty looks and many laughs for our contribution, but, as most of the other food had not been cooked and it was already 8pm when we arrived, the chicken vanished within minutes.
While talking with a fellow South Carolinian by the front door of the apartment (it opens into the living room) the buzzer rang and nine people came in. I did the standard shaking hands, smiling, saying my name and pretending to remember theirs. Then I went to where I put my coat, got my notepad out and affixed the following note to my chest:
"My name is ANDRE. I've probably forgotten yours. (It's the booze.)"
All the people whose names I already knew thought it was a hoot. The rest? Not so much.
I spent the majority of the party drinking out of my stein (three kegs of wonderful German beer kept the party running smoothly) and telling the same three stories to fifteen people (2 amusing anecdotes and then future plans). The only exception was a gargantuan (6 feet tall) pregnant woman whom my buddy invited me over to insult, being that she was from Oklahoma and I have a well tested tirade on the evils and misfortunes of that windy hellhole.
At about two in the morning, shortly before we were to leave (and quite a few steins of wonderful German beer down the gullet), I apparently thought it was a terrific idea to carry around a weightlifting dentist's wife caveman style. Then I spanked her in the kitchen, laughed my greatly inebriated head off, bolted to get my coat before her husband (or she) could kill me, and waltzed out the door with our ride.
Yes, I'm adapting to being a civilian quite nicely I think.
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