Party Crasher

I’m walking through Capitol Hill with the most creatively dressed
band of revelers in Seattle. Making our way from the cramped Moe Bar to
the busy but not crowded Satellite Lounge, I’m looking like the world’s
sparkliest librarian, after being inducted into Syndi’s birthday
celebration with a molestation of glitter. “Now you can fly,”
says Wendy, smirking, dressed as Tinker Bell from a Walt Disney wet
dream.

Once inside the Satellite, Syndi’s bunch quickly takes over the bar
and humanely forces out everyone who isn’t celebrating with them. All
of her friends are incredibly nice and affectionate, and soon I’m
ordered to physically examine some woman’s ass; “There’s a lot
of Nerf ass in this city,” I’m told. The drinking is marathon-style and
the conversation is as lively as it is informational. Zack, in his
guise of the world’s most chill rodeo clown, gives me the rundown on
the two Burning Man groups represented: Black Rock City Animal Control
and KAOS. “Burning Man,” he explains, “is like the worst best time of
your life.” His look is deadly serious.

Closing down the bar, everyone heads to a friend’s house, where I
rediscover pinecone liqueur and other odd liquors. The rising sun
signals to the party that maybe rest is needed before Saturday begins.
Syndi, still awake and lively, admires the crowd as they leave:
“Aren’t my friends great?” Nothing I experienced tonight
suggests otherwise. One week later, I’m still finding glitter in places
unseen by the world at large.

Want The Stranger to drink Bakon Vodka for the second time
in 12 hours at your house party? E-mail the date, place, and party
details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.