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Empty summer nights filled with nothing but Seinfeld re-runs. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jerry but the shtick about the antidentite gets progressively less funny after watching it for the 6th time.
I dig through my bed in search of my chewed up remote. To an outsider I must have looked insane, but there’s nothing wrong with having a well-structured method to finding the elusive channel changer. I look left and right. Nope. I hang off of the edge of my Tempur-Pedic mattress and look under. Harry hisses and paws at my face. Nope. I step off my bed and grab two corners of my thick blue blanket. With a quick jerk the remote goes soaring. Maybe that’s why it’s in such rough shape. I leap into action, snagging the thing moments before it crashes to the ground.
After five minutes of wading through the bullshit I stumble upon a testosterone-pumping episode of Spartacus. I sit back and relax, depressed, alone. My phone buzzes.
Heyyy I dont no if ur busy tonight but my friends having a small thing if u wanna come as long as u bring boooze youll get in please dont bring anyone. See u soooooooon xoxox
My finger dials those familiar seven numbers.
“You woke me”.
“Get dressed, I know what we’re doing tonight”.
A quick shower, a pathetic attempt at shaving, and way too much AXE body spray later Riley and I are sitting in a cab eagerly making our way to 76 Kilinger Crescent.
“Man I have to s**t so bad”.
Riley’s an idiot.
“I’m not standing guard at the door like a f***ing idiot again”
“Who walked by last time you were watching the door?”
“And what were you and Vanessa doing when I walked out?”
“Just look for an address”.
He smiles triumphantly.
“Did he see the hickey?”
She looks away, watching our cab pull into the driveway.
“Well isn’t he mad?”
She turns her attention back to Lisa. We step out of the taxi, I paid of course, and listen intently.
“Ya but not at me, like he told me he was gonna beat the guy up but were still going out…”
We snicker. They spin around. Stacey locks eyes with me. S**t, why me.
“The f**k are you laughing at?”
Her enormous amounts of cleavage make her a lot less intimidating then she had intended to be. I take a sip of my beer, gathering my confidence and smile.
“You know Stacey, if you’re ever looking to cheat on… what’s his name again?”
She did not look amused.
“Ya, Darren! If you ever get tired of his tiny wiener I’m always just a phone call away”.
She gives me the finger. We laugh. I wink. We venture inside.
The night wore on like a pitch-black midnight train. The standard hugs are exchanged and we all pretend to be interested in conversation, all in hopes of being taken upstairs by a girl.
Tonight I was the “hero”. It’s a lot less glorious than it sounds. All it means is that at midnight, just when everyone thinks that the festivities are over, you whip out an unopened 26 of vodka. “HOORAY” everyone yells, and you are then the centre of attention… for like 30 seconds. At the end of the night you’re just the idiot that had to shell out 45 bucks in order to keep the party alive. But this act of heroism is also done with the intention of going upstairs with some foxy blonde, potentially even Stacey.
But by now the rules have changed, and one must tread lightly. Nobody wants to be branded as an “a**hole”, one who hooks up with a drunk chick. So when Stacey approached me shortly after seeing my new shiny bottle of Absolut, she wasn’t exactly fair game.
“Heeey, where have you been all night?”
Don’t do this to me.
“You know, just mingling. I met your friend over there, I think she’s passed out”.
She laughs. I cautiously laugh. Whatever centimeters had previously been between us are gone.
Eight shots later we can hardly stand. She loses her balance and crumples into my arms.
“Hi” she says as she looks up and smiles.
Don’t do this.
“I’ll be right back”
If I go ahead with this I’d be breaking some serious “a**hole” rules and I need a second opinion. I wade through the army of drunken zombies and arrive at the front porch. Riley’s sitting alone with something lit in his hand. I explain my predicament. He flashes a mellow smile. “Do it man”.
In stereotypical fashion a fight breaks out on the lawn. Like a Christopher Nolan flick, we watch with burning curiosity. Just when the fire starts dying down a guy in a cowboy hat lands a straight right separating his foe clean from his senses.
“Calm down there Broke Back Mountain”.
Riley’s attempt at humour. Bad timing. The cowboy heard.
“Who said that?”
Silence. He approached.
“What did you call me?”
“I think he called you gay!”
I glare at the random guy who had shouted, “Shut up buddy your not helping!”
“What, you wanna fight?”
“No, I just want you to shut the f**k up!”
Riley and the cowboy stare each other down.
The drunken herd of cattle burst out of the house.
“NEIGHBOURS CALLED THE COPS!!!”
One girl comes running out with nothing but her underwear on. Pink with white trim, my favourite. Riley gives me a high-five. My look of shock is only matched by my cowboy companion.
“Stacey?” we both cry.
He turns to me, “You’re the ****er that gave her the hickey!”
“No no no no I’m not the guy that gave her the hickey, I’m the guy that wants to give her a hickey”.
Riley enters the conversation.
“Your dating Brokeback?”
Darren punches him.
“What made you think that you had a chance with me?”
“When we were taking shots…”
“You thought I’d sleep with you because you gave me Vodka!?”
Stacey slaps me. Darren punches me. Riley was pinching his bloody nose, he laughs at me. We hear sirens.
I miss Seinfeld.