Hammerhead (aka "Pimpin' Ain't Easy")

Saturday night was our long-awaited Pimps and Hoes party.

By the way, how do you spell "hoes"? Is it H-O-E-S? H-O-S? H-O-S-E? Since ho is short for whore, should it be W-H-O? Tonight, we'll settle on hoes with an E.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The party. Thank God we only host something that epic once a year.

Which is a lie. This is actually our second epic party of the year. In February, I turned 30, so my wife and I decided it would be fun to host a 30th Birthday Bash. I also called for it to be a toga party. Really, I was hoping a lot of chicks would show up in togas. In the end it was me and three other guys in togas (Hozay, Frodo, and Travis Vo), which was a bit of a disappointment.

For that party, I got two kegs of beer from Rock Bottom Brewery. A friend of a friend manages the local installment of that fine establishment, so we got a good deal. Now, given that 60 or more of my closest friends had intimated that they'd be celebrating my 30th birthday with me, that should have been just enough. But the turn-out didn't reach expected levels, and I ended up having over a keg worth of beer left in the end.

This time around, I planned for disappointment. First, I decided to look for cheap beer. However, since I get kegs rarely (this was my second time shopping for one in my short-ish life), I found that the best deal I could swing was a keg of Miller Lite for $71. A friend of mine told me that was steep, and referred me to a place I couldn't find in the phone book, which didn't help at all. However, he did inspire me to look harder, and because of that I learned that it is McMenamin's discount season.

So, I scored a keg of the Old School House Pale Ale for $75, which worked just fine for me. Only one keg this time, because I was not in the mood to pour that much beer out again. I tried to score my favorite McMenamin's brew, called Hammerhead, but was not able, as (apparently) it is everyone else's favorite as well.

Further, to ensure that all the beer would get guzzled, I attacked the keg voraciously, courtesy of the one-liter stein that JLowe bought me a few Christmasses back.

So, my party began in earnest. About 45 of my greatest acquaintances and their significant others arrived, and (this time) almost all adhered to the party guidelines, which were that you must come dressed as either a pimp or a hoe. Asthetically, this party was much more satisfying than my toga one. It was a virtual cornucopia of scant cladding and I, for one, was quite pleased.

In fact, people came from as far as Salem, where I used to work, to enjoy the warmth of my heart and my hearth. And to watch me drink. They were rewarded in all of these endevours, although they left before I truly got out-of-hand.

It was around my fifth time through the liter stein that I learned that I would not be making it to the end of my party. I don't remember when it was, but I do remember a moment of clarity, when I realized I was hovering at the brink of oblivion. I knew then that there was no way to avoid "assing out", as I've heard it called. And so I did what any sane drunkard would do. Knowing that losing consciousness in the warmth of my bed was infinitely preferable to doing the same on my back patio, I gathered what strength and wits I had about me and lumbered through my home and to my room, where I fell into the arms of Morpheus before my head hit the pillow.

Apparently, my buffoonery did not go unnoticed. Caroline in the city came to my room and attempted to roust me, but was sent away entirely rebuffed -- even entirely unnoticed, given my stupor, despite a lovely costume. I didn't even notice when one of my chums, MarineMan, came to my room with friends and, apparently, took part in some unflattering photography with me as the butt of the joke. I haven't seen the pictures, but all I know is that, at one point last night, someone told me I'd better not ever run for office. I suppose they must be bad.

Now, to get to the essential points for my blog entry title.

First, I was quite proud that I was actually able to assemble a CD called "The Pimps and Hoes Mix" from songs on my computer. All of the songs on the disc had the word "Pimp" or "Hoe" in the title. Songs like "Pimp Juice" and "Can't Control those Hoes". Actually, one song didn't have those words. It was "Good Day" by Ice Cube. But that song does contain the word "Pimp," so I'm vindicated.

Second, and more important, was the feeling I had when I woke up. I could have sworn that the keg did, in fact, contain Hammerhead, because the pounding within my cranium rivalled any I've ever experienced. I woke up at 10:30 in the morning and worked on cleaning for 45 minutes, or so, before realizing that I really shouldn't be up yet. I didn't feel normal, really, until 1:30, when I finally rolled out of bed for good.

The party was, for lack of a better word, epic. I know for a fact that all involved enjoyed themselves, despite some genuinely boorish and embarassing behavior on my part. To anyone The Pieman offended, apologies. Come to the next party and I'll either a) make it up to you, or b) do something more boorish and offensive to make this encounter seem pleasant. But, as proof that the party was great, two testimonials.

First, from Mr. Schnacky: "That was a fantastic party. However, I wanted to take my own life this morning."

And, second, from a lady named Nick: "We had a blast at your party - we were still laughing about all the great costumes the next day and I have to say that I think that is THE FUNNIEST party I have ever been to. Thanks for having it!"

So, I guess it was alright. Now I have to go to work, where alot of the partiers came from, and see if those I offended are still talking to me. I'm sure they are. Especially the MarineMan, who was apparently rather affectionate during picture time.

Catch ya later.