When you turn 90, you’ll have the chance to reflect on your life.
When you and two of your friends turn 30 and throw a 90th-birthday
bash, you’ll have the chance to get drunk and remind/convince yourself
that age isn’t important. Outside, the Pride festival has taken
over the streets of Capitol Hill, adding to the party’s energy. An
international DJ lends a bit of prestige to our heavily mixed house
music. There’s a spread of food, sadly picked over by the time I
arrive; even the figs wrapped in prosciutto have mostly been looted of
their salty meat.
While we start out the night with discussions of our favorite period
of philosophy (I prefer contemporary philosophers of the iek and
Baudrillard persuasion, but I find myself heavily outnumbered by
fans of John Stuart Mill, John Locke, and other old-school
philosophers) and an introduction to the methods of implementing
genetic algorithms, the conversation gradually shifts into reminiscing
over the times we or our significant others have tried to drunkenly pee
in closets, which, to be fair, often look a lot like bathrooms in the
dark. A previously planned “face-fucking” interrupts the conversation,
which begs the question: How does one preplan such a thing?
Once filling two floors, the guests dwindle down until everyone fits
on a set of couches. It turns out that no one actually turned 30 today. Instead, the party provided a chance for three friends to
remember what the last 30 years, plus or minus a few days, have really
been about: face-fucking. 
Want The Stranger to make clever and always-entertaining
“you’re 30” jokes at your next house party? E-mail the date,
place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.