Within moments of introducing myself in the kitchen, I am handed a Jell-O shot. Moments later, I am handed another. Then another. I look in the fridgeâtrays and trays of Jell-O shots. Terry and James have prepared well for their spring-break party. I meet a stumbling man named Jessie who claims he's from Montana. "I'm here with my brother... who's really my cousin." After a few minutes of bizarre conversation (in which he praises my friend Jason as a genius for coming up with the idea of "video") he loses himself staring at Christmas lights: "These lights are trickin' me out!"
On the front porch, the neighbors are passing around a "cigarette." They make fun of how white our names are: "White people ain't called Grip or Dâthey called Kevin." The neighbors head back across the street, and before I realize what's happening, there are girls on the porch lifting up their shirts. Spring break! "American women are afraid of their tits," Stephanie tells me. She gives a passionate speech about how showing her breasts is empowering, and how it's her decision. "Let me tell you why I pierced my nipples... it's all because of me." Jason comes out to the porch and belligerently explains, "I've been inside telling everyone that I'm you, and that I'm writing about this party for The Stranger. Is that okay?" It's late; the Jell-O shots have long since been devoured. I tell him it's fine. Chances are most of these folks won't remember what I looked like anyway.
Want to creepily promise The Stranger in a Rip Torn affectation, "If you stay the night, I'll make rancho burritos in the morning?" E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.
