Where: 10th Ave W in Queen Anne

When: Sat Oct 9

Not all parties can be winners. Normally you figure if you're getting to a party at about midnight, though, it should be kinda raging--or at the very least people should be drunk and having a good time dancing, fucking, puking, whatever.

We walk into a pretty nice Queen Anne house around midnight to find a bunch of dejected-looking kids. Everyone seems really young, which is fine, but they also seem really bored. It's a mix of hardcore kids and hippies--one of those situations where the housemates must've met each other through an ad in the paper and then decided to throw a party. So what you end up with is a bunch of kids with different interests and nothing to talk about.

Surveying the living room, the first thing we notice is a Pearl Jam poster. Nothing against Eddie Cheddar and the boys, but I didn't know kids still liked that stuff.

After standing around the living room for 15 minutes trying to figure out what the fuck to do, we make our way out toward the keg. That's usually a good spot to meet party veterans. But there aren't any out there. A couple cigarettes later we decide that maybe the right music could save this party. We walk past two more Pearl Jam posters while some terrible white-kid-approved hiphop plays on the stereo. When we turn it off, a bunch of boos come from the kitchen. The fuckers weren't dancing anyway.

After sifting through Justin Timberlake, Avril Lavigne, and Fugazi, I find a copy of the Sonics' Boom (yea, it's not just the name of a record store). Just as I'm about to put it on, some kid comes over and tries to top the switch. "Naw man, that shit was weak," I argue. "Everyone is just standing around." "I don't care, that's the party mix," the guy answers. "Yea but nobody cares." "Sorry, ain't gonna happen." "Okay, fuck you." Followed by more Justin Timberlake.

Back outside it's back to drinking Sparks. Now, I thought everyone knows about Sparks, but apparently it's still a mystery to some out there, so I'll explain it through this conversation (bonused out with an extra mention of Camo):

Dude: What is that?

Me: It's Sparks.

Dude: What's Sparks?

Me: It's like cocaine in a can.

Dude: Is there alcohol in it?

Me: Yea, of course there's alcohol in it. It's like Red Bull and malt liquor.

Dude: No shit, let me try it. Weird, it tastes like Flintstones vitamins.

Me: Yea, I guess. You should drink two of them.

Dude: No way, that shit is gross.

Me: Yea, that attitude is why this party sucks. Have you ever had Camo?

Dude: No, what's that?

Me: It's the beer that ends friendships. It's brewed in Las Vegas and it's like being on crystal meth without the fun parts.

Dude: Crazy, I've never seen it. Where do you get it?

Me: They sell it in more rundown neighborhoods. Like have you ever had Hurricane Ice?

Dude: No, what's that?

Me: It's like Budweiser bought with spare change.

Dude: Wow, thanks for the info.

Me: Sure.

Right then someone comes out to check on the keg. "Wow, there's still beer in it," he says. Mind you it's 1:30 a.m. and it's a pony keg. "Thank god I didn't get the full keg."

"How much did it cost ya?" someone asks. "Well it's Fat Tire," he says, "so $80 for the keg and $80 for the deposit." Jesus Christ, for $160 he could have a full keg of Pabst and a hooker to entertain us. Or at least a hooker clown.

Just as some friends arrive a weird guy comes up out of the basement. He's wearing a fishnet shirt that says "love," zebra print sweatpants, and a French maid's apron. Nobody wants to talk to this assclown so we make our way back out front. By this time people are leaving and it's not even 2:00 a.m. yet. Fuckin' kids.

We should've brought the beer bong.

Want The Stranger to hit up your house party? E-mail the info to partycrasher@thestranger.com.

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