Sat Sept 3
The early part of this party is abuzz in anticipation of Bucket (never "the" Bucket, mind you), which is the signature drink of one of two birthday girls. The recipe requires Peach Schnapps, champagne, Sprite, a bottle of rum, Peach Snapple... and dry ice. The liquored-up vat begins smoking like a cauldron in some high-school production of Macbeth, whereupon the whole thing seizes into the consistency and flavor of the most delicious Slurpee ever.
As we wait for Bucket to freeze, tray after tray of Jell-O shots are unloaded, and people discuss previous parties held by our hostesses: the Homemade Napalm Party, which ended with a foot-cast set aflame, and the high-school reunion, where everybody had sex. Over by the keg of Stella, someone molests Party Crasher's Plus One, and hedonism becomes the order of the day. One woman, after an introduction, enthuses, "Oh! I saw your wiener that one time!" Birthday cake is smashed into one man's face and women gather 'round to lick it off. People spank and flirt and clamber naked into the hot tub, but the preponderance of men in the tub inspires one woman to opine that "the sausage-to-taco ratio" in that "dick soup" is too high for her to get in.
The hostesses seem uninterested in opening their gifts, but that's okay, too: One of them informed guests beforehand that she'd rather they donated cash to the victims of Hurricane Katrina, which definitively answers the question of whether it's possible to be a shameless hedonist and a classy do-gooder at the same time.
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