All the Single Ladies
After a downright apocalyptic month on Capitol Hill—shootings at a hiphop show, terrorist threats to gay bars—it's a wonder anyone feels like leaving home. Instead, our hosts are combining both targets: It's a lesbian hiphop party at a beautiful three-story house its tenants refer to as the "Heartbreak Hotel." Ladies pour through the front door one after the other to be greeted with raucous cheers and bear hugs. Nobody seems scared of ricin or bullets.
In the living room, Lady Jane DJ is blowing them away; there's old-school hiphop mixed with the new stuff, and it's all seamless, even when a couple of drunk women decide to try scratching on LJDJ's turntables. All the single ladies rush the floor for "All the Single Ladies," and from then on out, it's a sea of drunken, bumping bodies.
Out front, standing by a fire, there is a band of army boys. They've made a point of taking weekend trips to the Heartbreak Hotel—or, as they refer to it, the Lesbian House—for the past month and a half. "These chicks really know how to party," one says, awed. Someone else suggests that one of the hostesses is "the dopest Hawaiian in the motherfucking world." Nearby, someone is doing a birthday keg stand. After that, it's balls to the wall: One after another, the ladies are lifting their friends to the sky. One woman does a full minute of upside-down beer consumption. Post-stand, some stagger over to the bushes to vomit. Then they rush back to hit the keg again. They're indomitable, happy, and drunk—and nothing is going to ruin this party.
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