Of Swine and Schneider-Weisse 

Saturday was a hard day. We rushed around getting stuff for the party and spent way too much time in the hot sun, waiting for the bus. And still we had another engagement to attend: The Alibi's Pig Roast. Yes, it sounds like a contradiction in terms (food? at the Alibi? Isn't that against the law?), but it was happening, so we had to see it.

Me and S on our way to the pig roast. I am incredibly dirty, and we are all somewhat exhausted from running errands all day.

Several brewed-to-perfection Brooklyn Lagers later, our mood has improved. Plus there's the added promise of swine for all. There is something oddly wholesome about the Alibi during daylight hours, but not everybody was prepared to see people under direct sunlight. R showed up but hastily retreated after seeing what his drinking buddies really look like.

They cleared all the tables out of the back room and had a band set up. The Don't Stop played only a couple of songs, but I imagine they expected to get back into it when the pork started to flow.
The guy on the left apparently built this monstrous grill the night before the party. I have no idea how they got it on the Alibi's back porch. I have never actually seen a pig roasted; it's kind of disgusting. It looked like somebody's dog on a spit.

M to P: "We been here for 3 hours? Where's the meat?" As it turned out, they ran out of propane, had to got to Home Depot to get more, so by 7:30 there was still another hour to go. Drunk and swineless, we had to depart to get our house ready for our own party.

It took me a long time to get back into the swing of things at our party due to the aforementioned exhaustion and beer. A party guest suggested I "drink through it," just keep imbibing until I felt better. This actually seems to work. We stocked the fridge with funny-sounding German beer in honor of M's Teutonic girlfriend's visit: Weinhenstephaner, Schnieder-Weisse, Hacker-Pschorr. Sadly, there was no Schöfferhofer available.

The party was a lot of fun, but I learned 2 things:

  1. I need somebody to remind me to take pictures when people are actually present, and
  2. we have too many chairs.

Yes, it's true. Our chairs had been falling apart of late, so I keep buying new ones (or finding them in people's garbage). My most recent chair purchase pushed us over Seating Critical Mass. Wise party guests refused the chairs in favor of remaining more mobile, allowing them to freely mingle as opposed to being confined to one space until their beer ran out. At our next party there will be no chairs. And no drinking. And no talking.

As for photos, M had to get the camera out at like 4 in the morning, so that may explain both the large numbers of empty bottles and the look on my face:

It was an International Night for me: German beer and Powers Irish Whiskey. Plus I was apparently promoting Lance Armstrong's USPS-sponsored racing team. Ah, he didn't need my help.
Somebody thought it would be funny to give Mr. Bones wine. Well, it's not funny. Wine stains are hard to get out of a cat.

Even with the couch, the living room did not see a lot of party activity, despite the valiant efforts of D and Mr. Bones. Maybe in the winter things will pick up.

Again, please understand that there were people at this party. It's not like we consider the cats party guests. They're just a lot cuter than most of the people we know. Here we see a possible explanation of why Hubcap barfs so much.

S and S relax in front of our decorative plywood fence. We were going for a 'Berlin-before-the-wall-came-down' look.
Decatur, drunk off her ass.
S, possibly drunk off her ass. But she was the only one smiling the next morning.
S&M. Yeah, that's right, you heard me.

Finally, after years of trying, I finally become a "Mean Drunk" and "go postal." Or at least I seriously consider it for a moment.

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