As the pandemic numbers continue to soar worldwide, its an obvious tell tale sign that the novelty of a Utopian Virtual World is on the decline. Just as I’ve mastered the art of talking in turn and speaking into the microphone during our web-ex/zoom meetings I’v been apprehensively re-engaging with the world like the ground hog who’s about to tell you Summer’s cancelled too.Many may have missed the spring blooms emerging from the earth while mother nature was giving us a good O’ Whoopin over her knee.
Summer is nearing an end for many of us in Middle Canada however our real eyelashes have sprouted among the gaping bald spaces, while nail beds I have not seen in years are firm and hearty. The 50 pieces of brand new hair extensions lay in their silk bag like a posh high end purse waiting for the moment to be brought out again for an occasion worth devaluing its fragile locks. These Pre-Covid frills still have a place in my heart and I am still that girl please believe. Cardi B spoke to me when rapped those words
“Classy, Bougie, Ratchet…Sassy, Moody, Nasty”
But “Whats Happening?” – Well my friends not a goddamn thing that is worth the time, our safety, and money in Pandemic. Our frills budget has been allocated to the Lysol Wipes fund for now.
I rode the emotional wave with the rest of you, even having my own Brittany moment and cutting my hair. I even went as far as playing “Floor is Lava” by myself on my April Covid Birthday.
But as I cut and stripped the superficial crutches off, ironically it was the pruning this broad needed that initiated the internal growth and detachment from the social vices I was had grown to take for granted.
I’m sure a few of you by now are wondering where am I going with this and did I pair my Pinot with a Sharp and aged to perfection Ambien again? Or Maybe you are wondering how am I staying so obnoxiously optimistic?
Having had some time away from a rigid and fast paced work schedule gifted me the ability to have some fantastic REM sleep. My dreams were elaborate and sprinkled with appearances from Drake and other celebrities as supporting actors in my opinion award winning film scripts whereby I was the star of every scene. It was pretty spectacular which is probably why I never wanted to wake up most mornings, and when I did, had an after glow that would make any man suspicious.I admittedly attended a few “virtual house parties” that totally blew. They blew just about as much as watching some of my mom friends cringe worthy Tik Tok dances with their kids.
Many of us are on our last nerve with life being experienced through the virtual world. I’m finding new ways and excuses not to attend, but in a pandemic world being late for a web ex meeting from your own bed lacks credible excuses. Even face time dates are nearly impossible to get out of.
I’ll be like “Bitch let me I go, I need to wash my hair”
My friends are the type and say something like “Okay well let me watch you with your lying ass.”
Could it be folks that I am now an introvert?
If true, this Introvert life is the Shit! Life’s pleasures have been stripped from us extroverts greasy attention grabbing hands, and we have come to take refuge among you who’ve been keeping this little beautiful secret to yourselves.As I have been honing my best Introvert life, I’ve found myself often daydreaming and looking through old photos, whereby nostalgia floods my Parasympathetic Nervous System with an idyllic sense of calm and appreciation.
I have had decades of experiences and human characters that have left significant impressions on me, neither good or bad, just entertaining. I’m willing to share a few that I certainly miss coming across at a house party or two.
I’d say close your eyes but this is a guided tour requiring eyeballs:
*You pull up to the house that’s located super far from where you live and located in the suburbs. The trip itself cost you $76.24 but fuck it, you are getting the D tonight no matter what, because that’s the only way you can get back home. Your Uber driver is not wearing a mask because Covid doesn’t exist; bad breath is the only thing we are shielding our faces from or the fact that you may have slept with him/her at one point.You hop out and yell “thank you!!!”You adjust your Spanx that have awkwardly shifted down and no longer covering the lip of back fat between them and your bra. You collect your boxed wine off the ground and strut your hot little ass up the uneven pavement slabs to the door. You hear laughter from behind the door and the sweet sound of music. Doorbell is rung, no one hears you, so you just let yourself in like the boss babe you are.
Lets begin the introductions shall we.
The Host(ess)The hostess is one of many things, but not always the best dressed despite her efforts to get “dolled up” for the occasion. The hostess can be observed to be flaunting her old geometric print top she bought from Ricki’s in 2007. (Remind me to show you an epic one I wore in 2007). The fabric may be a bit pilled on the boobs, as a lingering reminder of the better years. This used to be the top that made her feel like fiyah!!! In her mind crowds would part as she entered the crowded dancefloor, but I imagine they were probably avoiding the blinding nausea inducing print paired with her Vanilla Calgon Body Spray. The hostess has ensured that there is the standard deli-tray of pepperoni, cheddar and mozzarella cubes. Her Charcuterie game has not evolved much like her personal wardrobe. The hostess makes you feel good because showers you with compliments and makes you feel better about yourself by default. She makes introductions and you retain no ones names, even the guy that you get re-introduce to that you allegedly slept with but have no recollection. Its not embarrassing because she reminds you in addition you know have demonstrated that clearly you have moved on- so much so that the event was not even worth recording in your memory. The hostess is fun to talk to because she gets you caught up on all the drama that is about to unfold throughout the night. She essentially lays out the itinerary for the evening-applying a calculated and manifested chain of events that will sure to deliver in terms of entertainment for us all. The hostess’s husband is nowhere to be found, and leaves you to you fiend for yourself as she huffs and puffs down the hall wondering “where the fuck is this man.”
The instigator is the guy who always appears as the funniest and most charming attendee at the beginning of the party. He draws the party goers into a collective group, typically the kitchen, where he can access the spin dip. You watch him scooping, chewing, and dropping the precious chip content on the hardwood below. He respectfully tries to clean up his drippings using his fingers and taking a second to consider “is anyone looking because its easier to just lick it off.” He catches me watching and I already take the que to pass a napkin because I saw his wheels spinning and didn’t want a reason to not like this guy. He so far is the life of this party, we cannot afford to lose him. Until we need to. The instigator loves the attention of the crowd and gets drunk off the adoration he receives through the interactions. The instigator does not want to share the spotlight therefore he starts zeroing in on his competition. This is when he now uses his wit to call out and demean the other alpha’s in the room whether they be women or men. He loses the ability to read the room and social ques coming his way as he attempts to climb out of the drain he is quickly circling. All it takes is one last sly comment and he is now facing 3-4 party goers who have aligned themselves in offense and the hostess is now shuffling him out the door to have a timeout…or to meet the Uber that’s now taking him home.
Craft Beer Barry
Barry is good shit and is loyal to the house party network. You’ve often ran into him at other parties not associated with the one friend network you know him from leaving you with more questions than answers. Barry no matter what time of the night it is always has a beer to offer you when you’ve ran out of liquor, and will continue to appear from the fridges inner depths. Barry likes his ladies like he likes his craft beer, complex, earthy and usually named Amber. Amber is there too but doesn’t say much rather she just laughs politely at your jokes while clasping both hands around a giant beer can. You can’t help but wonder what Amber’s little hands look like wrapped around Barry’s Dick. Its no secret Barry is packing a monster in there as you can’t help but notice the print in his narrow legged Mountain Equipment Athleisure pants. Barry is employed but you forget what he does because it literally something you have never heard of, but you ask him hows work going because he’s a nice guy and deserves to feel that people give a shit. You let Barry know you’ll be be back in a bit because Barry has the beer.
Chicka Boo Hoo
You can hear her, in fact it was her high squealed laugh you heard from outside. Your not drunk yet so you try to avoid her because the part of your brain that has good judgement is still firing on all pistons and warns you to stay away. Somehow you’ve gotten drunker between the time you drank your drink on the way to the bathroom, to where you poured yourself another for inside the bathroom, to topping it up on your way back from the bathroom. And as inhibition would have it, boom, you make eye contact. She see’s you and immediately asks nothing about you. But throws her hands in the air embracing you dramatically saying ” I’m single again and Tonight we’re getting fucked up!!!” Jokes on her though, I’m already fucked up which makes it less awkward when I excuse myself from the celebratory embrace. Shortly thereafter its all too quiet and I become suspicious so I go on the obligatory drunk adventure or some may also call “a walk.” As I open the front door Chicka Boo Hoo has lured 3 women with her super powers now for the last hour onto the front steps blocking my path to adventure land. They all have matching faces of concern, and taking turns crouched at her feet stroking her hair out of her tear smothered face. Chicka Boo Hoo has them enamored with her traumatic childhood obesity stories that she shares that only up until recently helped her understand why she keeps picking shitty boyfriends. Becky, Jasmine and Krista reminds her repeatedly how brave she is. She’s turned around as the beacon of warm light exits the front door and see’s my silhouette standing to appear I care since the light is blinding her ability to see my face. She says, “Awwwweee there you are, I’m single, lets get fucked up!!!!” The ice has clearly begun to melt around my cold heart because I now join in with a “Fuck that Guy!” and What a great opportunity to introduce her to Peter the Perv.
Peter the Perv
Peter is also very chatty and charming. He’s wearing a Gucci belt he bought at Holts in which he kept the bag as a souvenir of his first luxury item ever purchased. Rest assured no social media platform went without knowing that Peter the Perv is #bouthatbag.
So you know Peter has zero’d in on you as his prey from the moment you let yourself into the party. In fact he’s been stalking the Facebook event invite page for the last 6 weeks monitoring potential conquests. You keep wondering why you recognize his face and its because Facebook has picked up on his creeping and the algorithm has now placed him in your feed under suggested friends. Peter thinks he’s pretty classy and maybe has learned a thing or two on his last all inclusive trip to Cancun. His most recent travel is a great conversation opener and has worked with the last 3 chicks given literally almost everyone has traveled to Cancun. Peter has mastered the Segway of travel into his knowledge of Tequila in which he suggests that we all do shots. And while the belt could be forgivable…the Jose Cuervo pulled from the brown bag is most certainly forgivable. Chicka Boo Hoo, the Hostess, the Hostess’s husband have all now appeared like Tequila homing pigeons. Lambs to the left of me, and lambs to the right all ripe to the slaughter as they pound back the shots. Chicka Boo Hoo is now doing Tequila shots out the lap of Hostess’s husband and the hostess is licking salt off your neck and biting the lemon out of Peter the Perv’s mouth. Peter has begun to prime his prey with shitty tequila and begun to orchestrate a full on orgy if he can find the Molly that he must have dropped out his pant pocket.
Polly the Prissy Pissy Pants
Polly is the friend of your friends, who you were friends with first, in addition have yet to understand why they are friends? You are pretty sure that you’ve shared your opinion about Polly Prissy enough so that your friend could make better future choices based on her #1 friends needs. And having Polly Prissy around is making you question if you have slid down the priority pole a notch or two. Or was the last time you all went out her breaking point after she had to piggy back you from the bar when you got roofied on your tinder date? Or is it because Polly is skinny and has “like the best Botox girl ever?” Or is it because she was the only one who would do No Booze January with you? Polly will often sit there and stay completely 100 % in tact all night and not exceed her alcohol limit as it may kick her out of Ketosis and that “like would be totally devastating.” Polly has extremely healthy looking hair and clearly she uses the Aveda Rosemary Mint Shampoo because she smells like an angel in a devils’ disguise. Polly wears actually very versatile cute classy diamond ear studs that I bet are real, and is a reminder I still need to pick up the ones grandma gave me from that one guys house who’s number you saved under “Blue Kia Guy.” You secretly wanna be Polly and I bet Polly secretly wants to be you but neither of you are getting off your soapbox of pride. Polly leaves early, (thank god) because she has Goat Yoga in the morning and “will fucking die” if she misses it.
Saying hello to Simon is often last on the list because lets face it, its just weird that the guy doesn’t drink. And while you are fascinated by this, you and everyone else has had the same conversation with him over and over seeking the answers we will never get. Because Simon doesn’t drink, its pretty much the only thing people ever ask about therefore not knowing much more about him, or feel that he was way cooler before he was sober. Often you can’t help but get insecure when speaking to him because your own slurred speech tends to become magnified against his perfectly enunciated “S’s.” In fact Simon has already caught a few of your projected spit bombs as you become distracted by your own efforts to say somet
ou can tell he’s on the tipping point of blowing his recovery, so you want to be encouraging and supportive but struggle to find the words to do so. Its awkward, So you just walk away with the promise “we need to continue this conversation.”
Hula Hoop Heather and her Furry Friends
And as the night continues more characters emerge onto the scene, Hula Hoop Heather and her gaggle of Feisty Festival Friends. Heather has mastered the art of dancing while hula hooping and making it look sexy. In fact Heather was the reason why you bought your Hula Hoop that you basically carried around to festivals and never used. Heather’s back pack is most certainly holding a Nitrous oxide canister, a box Nitrous cartridges, organic deodorant, and a Burt’s Bees lip balm. You know that because you have used ll of these at some point from this said bag. You’ve probably also slept with Heather that one time during the lesbian period of your life. Heather often grabs your hand and rubs your arm making you uncomfortable because you are no longer high or a lesbian anymore. Heather’s friends are an eclectic group that are savvy on all things related to holistic healing, Japanese Hentai, and cooking with Cannabis butter. Just as Heather is telling you about her love for micro-dosing acid now, one furry friend has found the bag of dropped Molly from Peter the Perv and they all collectively disappeared into the bathroom for the next hour.
When you return with a full bladder they are all on the floor having a full fledged heart to heart….you fucking love heart to hearts. In fact more so than usual because the drink that Peter the Perv made you was Mollied. So instead of getting water to drink, you tell the girls to make room in the soaker bath so you can get on this heart to heart action. You quickly start to love everyone, even Chicka BooHoo and Prissy Polly who you also feel really badly about judging her for being the mature adult you aspire to be. You may also feel the connection again with Heather who has seemed to unleash the Lesbian in you again.
Hot Mess Molly
Perhaps its time to introduce Hot Mess Molly. Hot Mess Molly is the Spanx clad woman who rolled up to the house in the Uber, driven by the guy she most definitely boned and was too proud to say so in the beginning. She also wore a sexy pair of panties under those Spanx because she knows herself, and like clockwork when the drinks and unsolicited roofie hit her, she’s ready to take the party to another level. Now that Molly is in peak performance mode, she usually draws the crowd in as her wit gets sharper and the clothes start to leave her body. Molly has been cruising around the house all night, jumping from group to group and laying the ground work of seduction. The crowd gets drawn into the bathroom where there are Lathered up women in a soaker tub, tits deep in a literal verbal love fest. Molly’s emotional bucket is feeling full and she wants to show it…in front of the entire party. This is the moment Peter Perv has been waiting for all night. Sober Simon is still sober and so glad he did not blackout like the last time which coincidentally got him into the 12 step program. The Hostess is adding bath salts to the Soaker tub of Sin because she’s really quite a team player and accommodating to her guests. Molly feels sexy, confident and like she has finally made her fantasy of being in porn a reality, because Peter is most definitely snap chatting this. The water begins to get colder, and the filth ring around the tub is a sobering effect for Molly to get out. She wraps up her momentous contribution to the party, takes a shower, and finds her way out the door undetected, no good byes, just a few jaws on the floor and lingering judgments. Molly has a usual 15 minute window where she can make a good decision to take herself home, climb into the safety of her bed, so her friends know her disappearance is nothing of concern and she’ll live to tell another story again.
With that last character I hope I leave you feeling hopeful again that we may all meet them once again post pandemic and that our lives will be able to return back to normal. And perhaps the life we led before no longer has the same priorities as it will in the future. We will all come out as different people, and I look forward to meeting those new characters so that I can smile upon their contributions during the next apocalyptic event.
If you have some epic house party memories with me or your own stories I encourage you to share in the comments.