Party Crasher

I arrive at Ryan’s dinosaur birthday party to find guests spilling
out of the front of the house. Outside, a collection of bicyclists
smoke cigarettes; one rider is wearing a helmet transformed into a
dinosaur head, complete with decorative teeth and LEDs for eyes. “This
is the real reason dinosaurs went extinct!” he proclaims as he takes a
drag (nice try, Gary Larson). In the back, more pedal pushers lounge on
lawn chairs and porch steps, stopping occasionally to fill their cups
from the pony keg. Another guest has chosen to represent the
extinction-causing asteroid, wearing bits of glitter and foil to
represent ice, metal, and space dust—the ultimate party
crasher.

The front entrance of the house has been decorated like the mouth of
a tyrannosaur; I step over the bottom teeth and make my way inside. In
the living room, people dance to Hot Chip. A female stegosaurus chats
with a man dressed as Fred Flintstone. Her costume is
fashionably uncomfortable—a child’s costume that has been altered
for a full-grown woman’s body, accenting the adult “features” but
retaining the row of plates down her back and tail.

One guest is dressed as a human except for a donkey’s head—an
anachronism among the dinosaur-themed guests—but this asshat
can really get down to disco music. Ryan exclaims to everyone: “A
bunch of people I don’t know just showed up. Cool!” Uninvited guests or
no, the dancing continues late into the night.

Want The Stranger to Walk the Dinosaur at your
house party? E-mail the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.