Birthday girl Carlie is the first person I meet in the old-school
elevator going up to her loft overlooking Qwest field. She welcomes me
to her “Age of Aquarius” party and asks, “Are you an Aquarian?” “Nope.” “Do you love any Aquarians?” I shoot her a glance. “Maybe by
the end of the night.”
When an invitation promises “lots of booze,” I’m usually
skeptical—that phrase just means such different things to
different people. But per capita, Carlie’s birthday party does indeed
have a lot of booze: a keg, a gallon of random hooch, several
bottles of wine, two magnums of champagne, and two punch buckets
spiked with six gallons of vodka. There’s a great food spread, too,
but trays of deviled eggs next to a table of liquor seems like
trouble.
Though people have no qualms about dressing up in their best
retro whore outfits, they seem afraid to shake their shit on the
dance floor. Carlie and a friend hit the stripper pole to try and
loosen people up. Following their lead: an acrobatic man on roller
skates who could put most strippers to shame. The life of the party
is a diminutive man named Donny who is constantly putting his cup of
liquor on the floor, doing a hilarious hat dance around it, and then
downing it. He calls his dance “The Mega Centipede” and explains
to me, “I’m just looking for a girl who will get on my cock and love
me.” I wish him the best. Lord knows there’s enough of that party punch
here for anything to happen.
Want to crack The Stranger up by giving a guy who asks to
bum a menthol a regular cigarette and a handful of Altoids? If so,
e-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.