We're at a birthday party packed with McGinn administration officials. Let this be a lesson for you, kids: You might grow up, keep your ideals, work for a liberal mayor, and finally be able to afford booze again, but when it comes to your picture being in Party Crasher, you will morph from a cool young liberal into a stuffy curmudgeon. Birthday girl April sends me over to a certain former Stranger intern and Party Crasher, now working in communications for Mayor McGinn's office. I'm not sure we ever come to a mutual understanding, though eventually we swap Party Crashing stories while everyone stands around the backyard doing nothing that the DA would care about. The former Party Crasher even picks up a guitar, and we sit by the fire singing "Elderly Woman," "Faith," and "What I Got."

However, neither of us are the real Party Crashers. While we were otherwise occupied, Bill—the shaggy black lab who lives at the house—snuck through the bamboo forest in the back, or someone let him out. A very angry guy comes to the door, yelling furiously that he had to drop his groceries (who grocery shops on a Saturday night?), jump a fence, and run down I-5 to get away from the dog (meanwhile, Bill returns, wagging his tail, and lies down on the porch at this guy's feet). His tirade against Bill continues, "I don't want to say hi [to Bill]. I'll break his fucking neck." Even for jobless skool kids, life doesn't get easier when you grow up and become part of the system.

Want The Stranger to be unable to talk to your friend because he's passed out on your bed at your house party? E-mail the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.