Listen, Missy: Don’t Get All Pissy
"YOU SMACKED THE SHERIFF…"
"…BUT YOU DID NOT SMACK THE DEPUTY"
One bleary morning after an all-out rager, we see this post on the MySpace page (remember those?) of our friend, Blue. My sister left it for Blue to find upon awakening. Doing a mental re-check of the night brings us to our last stop: a food truck. Starving after a night of drinking and dancing, most of us got hot dogs. Blue got fresh with an officer of the law (you read that correctly—it was the sheriff) and smacked him square on the ass.
It’s a Friday night in the balmy spring weather. My roommate and I gather all of our enthusiastic twenty-something peeps over for a party. Blue and her roommate, Green, are invited but they’re already full speed into their 30’s. They decide not to hide from their advancing age and to party within the limitations of their age group.
Blue and Green show up to my apartment with coffee and Bailey’s; this is the extent of their planned alcohol consumption. But, as they watch the rest of us whipper-snappers GO IN on a few rounds of flip cup, some sort of switch flips within them and they decide they need to play, too.
As the competition ramps up, Green celebrates a win with too much zeal. She knocks into Blue. The force of their impact sends Green flying backwards into the wall. Green bounces off the wall and BACK into Blue, who is hurled to the floor on impact. Unable to stop her momentum, Green lands on top of Blue. They’re laughing so hard that neither of them can get up. The rest of the party suffers fits and spasms of laughter as we try to make sense of what we just witnessed. Blue crawls out from under Green and then crawls away into my bedroom, laughing the whole way. Blue tries to tell us something but we can’t make it out over the hysterics. Green remains on the kitchen floor, flopping from one side to the other while she waits for her laughter to subside.
We regain our composure and continue our game. Blue runs back in and announces that she pissed in her pants as a result of Collision Cup. We barely stop our game to listen to her and she gets annoyed with us. Green decides to check on Blue and ambles back toward my bedroom. But Green immediately SCREECHES out of my room and back into the kitchen. She waves around some sort of flag/garment, laughing and crying:
Green is waving Blue’s pissed soaked capri pants around in the air. We’ve all assumed that Blue just eeked out a couple drops during all the mayhem. The loud, saturated stain on her discarded pants begs to differ: Blue dumped the whole bucket and soaked right through her pants.
As party-goers move through varying degrees of hysterics, Blue yells at us. “I JUST TRIED TO TELL YOU A**HOLES HOW BAD IT WAS AND NO ONE LISTENED TO ME! YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!!”
Too deep into Operation: Reclaim Youth to back down, Blue and Green decide that yes, goddammit, they are going out clubbing with the young kids. I walk into my room just in time to see the two of them rooting through my closet. My clothes fly every which way as they pick something out that’s suitable for a night of debauchery and a far cry away from the Murder, She Wrote marathon that they originally dressed for.
Green picks a cute top that matches her own pants. Due to the, um, circumstances, Blue’s re-dress was more of a chore. She picks out a top that shows off her enviable cleavage and a casual, flowing black skirt that should do just fine for the evening.
We shut down the pre-game party and all hit the town with a vengeance. We make our way through several clubs.
Blue is her typical Force-Of-Nature self; she spends much of the night on the dance floor—her natural habitat. She chats up dudes, dancing up on a couple of them. She stumbles and trips over some steps, or perhaps over her own two feet (you just never know with her) Her and Green dance up on each other.
At the aforementioned Hot Dog Stand, we run into one of our old friends from the neighborhood. The rest of us stop to say hi. I am standing back and remembering that said old friend is now a sheriff in our city. Blue takes this tip in good faith and decides to plant a big, open-palmed “Great Skate, Thanks For Comin Out” directly in the center of his authoritative ass.
As we round everyone up to leave, Blue and our friend Grizz reunite in the middle of the street. She dances over to him. He dances over to her. He triumphantly holds his hot dog over his head and bounces along to the beat. Blue grinds her way down to the ground, poppin and lockin down by his ankles. They are both shouting, “HAYYYYYYYYYYYY!” as they get their groove on.
Just as we are about to get in the car, Blue asks me to hang back with her for a second. She needs to tell me something she’s only just discovered. The full night’s activities replay in my mind as she leans into my ear and drops a bomb.
"Totally just realized I’m not wearing any underwear."