|Written by AnDroid|
|Thursday, 03 September 2009 16:20|
I went to Laurel's birthday party last night. She was one of my roommates in the first house I lived in when I moved to Portland in 2006. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years.
“So you're a hipster now,” she said. She was already drunk when I got there. “I knew you were going to say that,” I said, “and YOU'RE STILL A BITCH!”
“Oh,” Laurel's voice got suddenly loud as she moved toward me, drink in hand, “and FUCK YOU for saying you thought my 30th birthday was FIVE YEARS AGO YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”
Then she began smacking me in the face, back and forth, back and forth, while mocking me for my failed attempts to block her hand.
Laurel is one of the greatest people I've met in Portland. She embodies the carnivalesque, that anarchistic beast inside all of us that's waiting to break free. She lets her beast run wild on a regular basis. When she enters the zone you can see the change in her facial expressions. She stares everyone down and lashes out at anyone who says anything to her. I fucking love it. I've been told I go through a similar transformation when I black out, but it's no fun when you're not there to experience it.
Mike, another one of our roommates from back then, was also there, which was a relief to me because I didn't really know many of Laurel's friend's, except for a particular redheaded girl whom I was surprised to see there, but that's another story. I've known of Mike since high school, but we didn't really get a chance to bond until we lived together in that NoPo house. I think he relates to my need to be around wild people, and he himself is ridiculously over-the-top at times. Through the chaos Mike keeps a steady hand on the wheel of his life, and I tend to look to him as an example of independence and success.
Mike and I chatted about web stuff for a while. Then he left, and the party moved on to the Moloko Plus for a round of greyhounds. Laurel's drink somehow came in a pint glass, and she began singing random snippets of songs and yelling, “Let's go sing karaoke at the fucking Alibi!” I was trying to arrange for a ride back to southeast when we left, and then a bus came trundling up, so I hopped on.
I was sitting at home in front of my computer when my roommate, Devo, walked in. “Oh hey Drew,” he said, “you were asleep when I left.”
“Nah, I was at Laurel's birthday party,” I said.
“Oh? How was that?”
“It was good. A pleasant reunion with the old roommates. Mike was there. The three of us hadn't hung out together in years.”
“Was Justin there?” he asked, lounging on the couch and smoking a pipe.
“No,” I said. “He had to work or something. Oh – this is weird – I randomly bought crack on the way home.”
“WHAT? YOU RANDOMLY BOUGHT CRACK?!”
“Well I, uh, I was taking the bus home, and . . . Yes. I randomly bought some crack.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“I mean, I've never smoked crack, and I have no desire to use it now, but, uh . . . Well, I don't really have a good explanation. I told him I didn't want any, and then I guess I got caught up in the moment. He seemed like a nice fellow, and it seemed like the right thing to do, and it probably was not the right thing to do, but I guess now it's too late.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“Well, he pulled the old switch-a-roo on me, so what started as $5 somehow became $30.”
“Oh my god! You mean you got SCRUMPED?!”
“Yes. I got scrumped.”