There are parties.  There are really cool parties.  There are legendary bashes.  And every once in a while, there is what happened at my house on August 18, 2000.  If you weren't at my house, you must have been somewhere else.  But if you were at my house, you must have been at the best party of the year... at least, so far.

Of course, you can't just have a big party for no reason, so several months ago we put our heads together (that is: my head, my girlfriend Tiffany's head, and our friend Heather's head) and thought of a reason: we wanted to have a big party.

In order to make it a party worth remembering, we made all the preparations: we invited everybody in the world (although some of them didn't show up, generally because it was their anniversary), battened down the house-hatches, dusted off the party hats, locked up the cats, and set up... well, we'll get to that later.  To make it extra festive, I even bought two brand new lawn chairs!  I'm telling you, we went all out for this one.

The action began at 8pm, in the usual listless way: with a few people wandering in, wondering where everybody was, snacking a little, and generally chatting and priming the pumps.  We also had 4-D shark videos (recorded from the Discovery Channel), which a few people were enjoying, while everybody else didn't see it.

The first couple hours are always like this.  Good for kids, everything under control, nice snacks, clean floors, happy music, fun things to look at.  Thing gradually decay, as those less inclined to press on peel off.

The party started hopping around 9:30 - lots and lots of people showed up, those that were here got settled in, and everybody found a place.  In the bedroom was the Big Surprise, which everybody was curious about, but the door remained closed until I would give the final word.
 
As the fates would have it, just when I was about to open the door, all three of my cats got loose from the bedroom they were stationed in.  It has never happened before, at any of my parties, or any other time either, and it was totally my fault.  But in my defense, I can clearly and scientifically say that I have never seen them behave as they did, and therefore I cannot be expected to have anticipated it.  Usually at parties they are scared, and they hide when you open the door.  Especially Muezza, my Siamese, who will hide for days if there is so much as a threatening new smell around, such as an apple in the fridge (not that I ever actually have real food in my fridge).

All three of them streamed straight out in a line, gliding past me before I even realized the door was open enough for them to slither through.  They went straight down the hall, and, deflected by the crowd in the living room, took a sharp left and went straight out the open door into the wild black yonder.  It was beautiful, and so perfectly executed (excuse the pun - I live right on a busy street).  I wonder which one of them set it up?  It had to be Milou, she's the only one smart enough.  But how did she get Muezza to sign on?  And Vita?  Wow.  Milou should be a contestant on Survivor.

Anyway, Lisa grabbed Milou before she even got out of the house, and with the help of Tiffany and Tamera and Dave and Mike and I think also Steve and some others, we flushed Muezza out from under someone's car, and she ran around the side of the house into a muddle of blackberry bushes that would make Brer Rabbit proud.  Of course, I was summoned, being the only one stupid and determined enough to go in and get her, which of course I did.  I grabbed her by the end of some limb or another and pulled her out, clutching her to me while she finished the shredding job the blackberry bushes had started.  I wouldn't let go, though, until I got her back in the bedroom.  Ryan's friend Marco guarded the hallway, under barked instructions from me, as I slipped her into the bedroom.

We searched for about half an hour, but didn't find Vita.  I gave up, figuring that knowing her, she would hide wherever she was until the storm blew over, and then seek the comforts of home.  When I woke up in the morning, she was sleeping peacefully on the bed.  Must have either been hiding in the house the whole time, or sneaked back in after things wound down.  There I go using those injury puns again.

So, that crisis momentarily aside, I unveiled the light show, the super-ultra-maxi-mega-extravaganza of a light show that I had been planning for days.  Set up in the bedroom I had it all - party lights, a strobe, a black light, an oscilloscope, a smoke machine, even a handheld laser.  It went over slowly.  Some of us had a whole heck of a lot of fun painting our faces (and Dave his teeth) with fluorescent lipstick, and I with green glowing hair gel.  Under the black light, we were the chanting idols, while out in the light we looked like... freaks, pretty much.

So that's why I asked for volunteers to go talk to the fire department when they arrived. Nicole's friend Sandy graciously accepted the task.  Anyway, the smoke machine set off the fire alarm, and I punched in the code, but it didn't matter.  Punching in the code stops the immediate siren sound (presumably so that it's not so distracting while you're putting out the fire) but they are still required by law to call the fire department, even if you admit openly and publicly that you're not on fire.  But they do pay you a courtesy call, just to let you know.  So if you're looking kind of burned up, you can put on some makeup or something, because you're about to have company.

So Sandy, a very good sport, took my place and went out to tell the fire engines that it was just a smoke machine.  Dave went with her, just in case they needed to be roughed up or something.  Note to self: tape a plastic bag over the smoke alarm next time I have a party.  Another note: remember to take the bag off when I have children.

We were having so much fun that we hardly noticed that the living room was turning into a dance club.  I don't know who started it, but certainly Tiffany was near the center, being also the DJ.  Never one to impede the natural motion of a party, I pushed the couch and coffee table out of the way (maybe more for their own safety) and brought all the light show stuff into where the party was.  Even the smoke!  Then it got really crazy.

Amid the lights flashing, the music pumping, and the writhing bodies, my bookshelf completely lost its homeostasis, spilling books and shelves all over the floor.  Michele claimed to see it, and she said an unseen hand pushed it intentionally.  I don't know, I was dancing at the time.  I noticed the problem, and tried to get the books to organize themselves back in the bookshelf by kicking them and abusing them verbally, but they did not cooperate.  They sat there in a heap for several days, until I finally backed down and picked them up myself.  I need to get some books with a bit better attitude.

So we partied on well into the night, and I'm not sure what time we finally knocked off.  I was pretty well knocked off by then, at least according to the reports.  It took about three days to scrape the thick layer of beer off the floor, pick up all the empties, and sober up.

I think a good time was had by all, and nobody got seriously injured.  More or less like my last two parties, except more so.

People are already asking me when will be the next one, and I don't know what to say.  I had a lot of fun, and it seems everybody did, but then it does seem kind of scary.  I'm pretty sure that there were underage drinkers lurking around somewhere, and I've the cops had just decided on a random urge to ask around at the house with the big party, I could have been in deep doo-doo.  And I never know that everyone is driving home safe, which makes me nervous.  But then there's the fun, the chaos, the unpredictability... it was fun.

That might've been the last one.  Maybe the biggest.  Maybe the rest will be bridge parties.  Maybe there will never be another party like the one that night.  I know I will always remember it, that is, what I remember of it.

Or, maybe I will have another one soon.  Stay tuned!