Attack of the No-Talent Ass Monkies

With people at the DFS reminding Craig Moe every 5 minutes that it was his tradition-bound duty to write the social report, I found my spirit tugged in opposite directions. On the one hand, it meant I didn't have to write it, and for that my spirit soared. But it also meant nobody remembered my long service as DFS scribe, and for that my spirit sank. "Maybe people would remember you better if you created a website with your recollections about DFSes," Bill McCarthy suggested helpfully. "You could start with just one or two."

As compared to some previous socials where I've been able to remember and recount events in great detail, my memory on this one is spotty. That's a shame, because so much was done and said that was so damn funny. As best as I can remember through my Pina Colada colored booze googles (which, as I said at the time, made everyone look like fuzzy rum-tinged sheep) it went like this:

Friday night we drank and chatted and engaged in group groping on my couch.

Saturday afternoon we drank and chatted and engaged in group groping on my couch.

Saturday night we drank and chatted and engaged in group groping on my couch.

Sunday morning we drank and chatted and engaged in mass slaughter of the ants availing themselves of all the foods and liquids spilled on my couch during the previous two days.

Somewhere in between all that, we had a proper social that involved leaving my couch for more than just getting up to use the bathroom or get another drink.

Okjay, so I can do a little better than that.

The social was a multiday affair for Hawk and me, as we had darkfriend houseguests staying at our place for the weekend. Bill McCarthy, Pam Korda, Leigh Butler, Craig Moe, and Heather Ortiz arrived Friday evening, unpacking themselves and their bags from Bill's rented car like circus clowns popping out of an old VW beetle. We carefully strewed their possessions around our house and headed out for dinner.

Dinner Friday night was basically a pre-social, as many of us were meeting each other for the first time. Hawk and I knew Pam from seeing her many times and had met Leigh at the Vegas DFS but had never met Bill, Craig, or Heather. Bill and Craig knew each other from meeting in North Carolina but didn't know the others very well. Pam knew Leigh from passing the FAQ to her, and Leigh knew-- oh, forget it. You can figure out the combinatorics yourself if you really care. Or just make them up. That's what I do half the time in these social writeups, anyway.

The way we got acquainted was sort of like the way wolves get acquainted -- lots growling and snarling, followed by biting at each other's throats, followed by ass sniffing -- except there wasn't much ass sniffing and the going-for-the-throat was more proverbial than literal.

The party continued back at our place after we decided the restaurant had had enough of us. But there was a small dilemma... our living room only has proper seating for 4, and we were 7. Would we fetch chairs from the dining room, or just pile on top of each other on the sofa like a bunch of horny young adults who'd already had a few drinks to loosen them up? Like you have to ask.

Once we'd all sorted out our seating positions, Hawk introduced our guests to three of our plushy stuffed toys: the Three Foot Long Purple Schlong (see pictures), the similarly proportioned Hooters Of Doom, and Cthulhu. Folks were generally unimpressed by the G-O-U-S'es (Genitalia Of Unusual Size) but stuffed Cthulhu was quite a hit. He elicited Heather's maternal instincts. She had him playing peekaboo and dancing around on her lap. Someone suggested he perform a version of The Sound of Music. "The hills are alive, with the sound of BLEEAARGHHH!"

Saturday morning we awoke at the crack of about 10 am, except for Craig, who slept through to about 11 -- an amazing feat, considering that he was sleeping on the couch and by 10:30 everyone else was awake and hanging out in the living room.

We shuffled off to lunch at a nearby restaurant. Everyone ate lightly, apparently mindful of the fact that we had a full day of drinking ahead of us. On the way back we spotted a vagrant on crutches loitering around outside the walls of our gated community. (We have gates because Sunnyvale is so dangerous. It's only ninth on the list of the safest U.S. cities now.) The unshaven, tangle-haired cripple turned out to be Nathan Lundblad, so we let him in with us.

Although Hawk and I thought we had stocked the pantry fairly well for entertaining weekend houseguests, Bill McCarthy made a side trip to the store to stock us up on more cookies, chips, ice cream, beer, soda, and liquor. (Four weeks later I still have two tubs of his favorite Raspberry Chocolate Chunk ice cream in my freezer.) Suitably equipped with all four food groups -- sugar, caffeine, salt, and alcohol -- we settled in on the Love Couch for an afternoon of trading stories, insults, and gropes.

Somewhere in the midst of all the revelry a new cocktail drink was born; a shot of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum in a glass of ginger ale. Call it Ginger & The Captain or Gilligan's Island. Nathan started a betting pool for how soon it will be mentioned on Sex in The City.

Time flies when you're having fun, and sure enough it was soon 6pm. Time for the eight of us to pile into cars for the trip to San Francisco and the Social Proper.

After navigating the tangle of one-way streets and paucity of parking otherwise known as San Francisco, we arrived at Max's Cafe near Union Square. We were greeted by (in alphabetical order) Eric Fulton, Don Harlow, Keith Huntzinger, Jeff Huo, Chris Mullins, David Scotton, Rajesh Vaidya, Paul Ward, and Beth Wengrow. [See pictures]

What can I say about this portion of the social other than the usual rubric of "we ate, drank, and mingled?" Well, let me see:

The social was at a restaurant, a really popular restaurant full of popular people, the kind who don't like us and made us wait for an hour in the lobby of the adjacent hotel, where the bellman didn't like us either and spent an hour giving us contemptuous looks. While I practiced returning mischievous leers to the bellman, Rajesh bought me a beer and Chris bought me a large wooden dildo (see pictures).

Rajesh thanked me for helping get him and his wife together. Before consenting to the marriage, the bride's father ran a quick vanity search on Rajesh on the web. The top search engine hits were my writeups of two Silicon Valley socials Rajesh had been to -- the one where he, Devin Ganger, and I traipsed around Mountain View from one bar to another; and the one where Hawk, Kenn, Darkelf, and I took turns beating each other about the head and shoulders with the Three Foot Long Purple Schlong and the Hooters of Doom. Somehow, despite all that, the man let him marry his daughter. Unbelievable.

Eventually we were allowed to sit down for dinner. I tested the waiter's waiterly skills by changing my order several times and by moving around the table and ordering again to see if he remembered me. When the food came I tested everyone's dining etiquette by mooching off their plates shamelessly.

Again, the social was an cavalcade of insults and jokes, some directed at people present and others directed at people not there. For example: Hawk: Novak's a teddy bear. Me: Yeah, one with Tourette's Syndrome. Craig: "Hi, I'm Teddy Fucking Ruxpin!"

A TV showing a college football game provided occasional distraction. Nathan and Bill called my attention to it to show me that one of the players was named Major Asswipe or something like that.

As the dinner plates were cleared away, Hawk tried to winnow down the attendees to only those who were cool enough to return to our house for round 3 (or was it 4?) of group groping on the Love Couch. She threatened that there'd be heavy alcohol consumption, which was enough to scare off Jeff Huo and Don Harlow. I forget what she said to scare off the other few people who didn't end up following us home. The thing was, the alcohol consumption was actually pretty light. The only thing that was heavy was the petting. That and the combined weight of the 5 or 6 people piled on the Love Couch at any one time, anyway.

Sunday morning came too soon, arriving at the ungodly early hour of about 9:30am when an army of ants invaded the living room to feast on the remnants of all the foods and drinks spilled there the two previous days. We managed to stop them before they carted off Craig. After applying massive death on the bugs we headed out for brunch, and soon it was time to say buh-bye to the Southern California folk. Thanks for coming, I had a great time!

You may want to visit the incriminating pictures page if you haven't done so already.