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.