Ten blocks away from the party, and I can already hear the music in this usually quiet part of Ballard. En route, I catch two neighbors discussing crashing the party. Aside from the music, it's obvious where the party's at: A giant inflated fly wall and moon room have consumed the front yard, eclipsing the small house. Laughing kids struggle to free themselves from Velcro suits, while the voices of a few dozen people in the backyard mingle with a fabulous rendition of "Purple Rain."

This birthday party is known as Pablo 3.0, though the main man is turning 40. The theme is South Beach, but despite the high heat of the weekend, a thunderstorm rolls overhead, the wind shaking the tiki torches and strung lighting. Nonetheless, everyone drinks up from a bar stocked with tropical drinks such as mai tais and daiquiris (and mocktails for the kids) while gulping down a spread of catered tacos. A few folks warn their friend to slow down on his taco consumption—you do not want a taco hangover the next day.

House rules dictate that boys use the portable toilet in the alley. The only other rule is "no assholes," and the host observes that this party has in fact even made bickering neighbors into friends, showing that parties, with their good cheer and pleasant conversations, can improve even the most asshole-ish dispositions. Or maybe it's just the alcohol.

Want The Stranger to eat your tacos and make obvious sexual innuendos at your next house party? E-mail the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com