Disclaimer, disclaimer. Yesterday I had one reader - ONE! - and I suspect it was me. Onanist. So I'm going to post whatever disordered ramblings I come up with and then I'll read them myself. Yes.

Everybody Join My Party - 1 -

It was at a party at Tyler's where I originally met him. Remember - when Tyler's parents were out of town for the weekend and as soon as they had left for the airport he and the la Push guys painted his whole basement black on the Saturday, and then they painted it back to white the next day?

The fumes nearly killed us all, but he had big industrial fans blowing, and everyone got so messed up on mushrooms that they didn't care. That party was legendary. His parents wanted to ground him - but the pictures on facebook definitely showed a bunch of people getting down and grooving in a black room. Even though the basement reeked, they couldn't pin it on him.

And me, I was working the space, because the student council election was coming up. I needed to know what the people on campus thought about the relevant issues, and here was a concentration of voters, temporarily captive. It seemed a good idea, at first.

In retrospect, it wasn't practical attempting actual political discussions and vote-canvassing with people who thought they were in the presence of winged apples and talking cushions and that the walls were alive.

"I've compiled a list of matters that are considered concerns, and I'd really like to know your views about them. Could you number them from one to ten in order of importance to you? There's space at the end for comments. And you can sign up to my mailing list, and get regular updates as to what I'm doing for you. Thanks so much."

"Can you hear that, dude? Not the music - underneath the music. That breathing sound? Fuck - I never knew bricks could breath, fuck."

I didn't have any of the mushroom muffins because I don't like them. Alternate realities and muddled faculties aren't my thing. An hour or so after the muffins appeared, clarity was beginning to diminish at an alarming rate. Responses started off intelligible, and over the course of the next hour or two became increasingly bizarre, and people were taking my questionnaires to write furious stream-of-consciousness eulogies and diatribes, or to draw pictures.

"It's a self-portrait. You must be able to see that. But it's an extreme close-up. A single eyelash. There's never been anything like this before."

And once not many people were making any sense I arrived at the side of a stranger.

"Are you just as out of it as everyone else here?" I asked, sitting in the space next to him.

"That depends."

"Well, I'll give you my spiel, you respond however you like, and I'll move on."

"That depends, too."

"I'm sorry?"

"Whether you move on or not surely depends on my response."

"Oh. I guess so. Well, I'm standing for student council and I'm trying to gauge the general feeling about various things that I think are points of interest. I've got a list."

"You've got some points of interest yourself. I could start my own list."

He was either hitting on me and predictable, or hitting on me and intriguing. Probably the former, but I decided to plough on regardless.

"What do you think about the travel concessions?"

"I'm all for concessions. Do you concede?"

I put my clipboard down and scowled at him. I was by no means out of it, but I'd had three vodka jellies - enough that I continued to scowl, even with him looking steadily back at me. Most of the people at the party were people I knew either by sight, or fairly well - I'd attended dance class when I was five years old at the same ballet studio as all the girls there - but this guy was a total stranger. The face-off continued until his eyes were practically swimming in my vision.

"Are you taking me seriously or not?"

"Let me ask you the same thing."

"Stop being so - I don't know - what are you being? You're dismissing my questions and undermining me."

For a second he looked surprised. "Ask me something else, then."

"Do you think membership of the students' union should be compulsory?"

"You really want to know what I think? I think you've picked absolutely the wrong venue to conduct your quiz, your Miss Perky and Earnest act is pointless right now, and you should abandon it and either have a real conversation with me, or leave with me. My preference would be both, but I'm happy with either."

Three vodka jellies. "Oh, I do know what you're being. The word just came to me. Objectionable."

I got up and made my way to the kitchenette, filling a glass of the water from the tap, and leaning against the countertop with a sigh. Of course it was a stupid idea trying to talk student politics at a party - but a lot of the student body was here. Before they'd all gotten too wasted, things had been going fine.

"Hey," a voice said, so close to me I jumped. I opened my eyes. Him.

"I'm not objectionable," he said. "Oh, wait a minute. If you wanted to objectify me, that would be fine."

"Did I say objectionable? I meant obnoxious," I answered, and went to push past him.

"Maybe I'm an unreconstructed prick," he smirked down at me.






Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Anyone seen Anna and the King? Oh, I'm talking to myself. No, I haven't - was it good? I don't know.