Saturday, September 10, 2011

Hello Students. Welcome to My Bedroom.

I like a party as much as the next person. More, probably. Especially when the piss-up involves young things effervescent with the thrill of freedom and summer still clinging by its toenails to the coming fall.

Hundreds of froshy students, spilling out into the back alleyways and up the (my) street, enjoying the night, enough liquor to block out the imminent pain of failing every single class of first semester. Sounds great/familiar, right? Yeah, I enjoy a good party.

Especially when it's pretty warm and I can open my bedroom window as I'm trying to get to sleep at 2:15 am. At my age, I don't even have to get out of my own bed to enjoy the party. It's here. In my bedroom. The alarming inebriated kid sitting on the curb about 20 feet from me (lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling), talking/begging/pleading on his cell phone, beer sitting beside him might as well have been sitting at the end of my mattress.

I had come in earlier, having taken the dog for its pre-bed stroll, and heard buddypukeshisguts on the phone, reeling on my doorstep. Doggie stuck his wet nose in his ear and he didn't even notice. Yes, that drunk. I woke up this morning and he was gone. His beer bottle was gone. But he'd thoughtfully left me a thoughtful crumpled Kleenex used to thoughtfully wipe his chin after he'd thoughtfully barfed up his (thankfully) negligible dinner.

Hi Old Ottawa South Porch Sale people! Welcome to my house and my puddle of puke!

Now comes the scary part. Last night, the kids weren't playing any music. What kind of party doesn't have music? Just drunk first year college students. Conversing. Can you imagine the quality of those conversations? But no music.

What is with kids today?

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