Uhm. My Friday was also one of coffee and alcohol.
The coffee bit was with a friend I met at work, if you call proctoring a final exam work. We talked about German literature and got excited, and when the mugs (ok, espresso cups) were empty, we both decided to go to my friend the Norwegian’s party. The lit buff knew no one there, so I felt I was protecting him from the unwashed masses. My darling was at home, feeling un-party-like.
We were the oldest in the place, at least it felt like that. (We were seriously *not* the oldest dudes in the house, we just looked like geeks.) “Hitting on a girl here could turn into a legal case”, murmured the German literature buff, feeling old. He swiftly recounted stories of the parties at the university level he studies at – ugly affairs of stiff, silent drinking and no dancing.
The party had wild dancing, men crying in the hall, men licking tongue, tables falling over with youthful abandon, silent couch-drinkers, and *much* hip clothing. I tried hard to engage in conversation with strangers, which was strangely tough. Folks my age were unknowledgable in key fields, or just on the prowl, thus ignoring my attempts at casual conversation. There was a singular dork at the party. Pony-tail, tall guy, lacking in *all* social graces. Homophobic comments at a *very* mixed party are just to be ignored, very, very effectively. He didn’t catch on that the consensus was anything else than his own take on sexuality, but he refrained from “value-speeches”.
Two boys (under eighteen) were making out like chimpanzees (literally climbing all over) in the next room. One of them was the Euro-trash-clad youngster who had sprayed everyone at the bar with gold-dust, making us down drinks with artificial gold in it.