Three beer minimum

Man. What has happened to my drinking tolerance?? I never used to get bad hangovers, but it's 2pm and I still feel like a tiny carpenter is working away inside my head. I went out last night to meet Miz Azalea at a street party about 8 blocks from my apartment, at a friend-of-a-friend etc's house, and got drink drank drunk. I had some wine and sandwiches (classay!) before I left, and then I had, seriously, 3 beers at the party...oh, and a hit of someone's, er, "natural tobacco," if you will.

Well, okay. Written out like that, I did actually have a lot. I walked home alone, which was profoundly stupid, and thank God I made it okay, because I was bobbing and weaving down the sidewalk in a very "please mug me" way.

It was a really fun time; I knew almost nobody so I got to meet a lot of people, which I enjoy. We were all hanging out in the alley next to the house, and there was music from a laptop being played insanely loudly from huge speakers, and somebody hauled out a video projector or something, to show films on this white sheet rigged up at an angle way above our heads. Miz A had about 4 heart attacks when they put on something called "Depeche Mode 101," delightedly explaining which band member was which, and what was happening. ("Okay, now they're in Nashville, and they're asking this cashier guy why nobody's bought tickets to their show that night...")

My favorite new acquaintance from the evening was a lovely guy with whom I told embarrassing stories about Miz A and slow-danced to that awesome Lightning Seeds song, "Pure and Simple." He had me from the moment he told me that my job field (event production) sounded inane. (He said this in the most delicate way possible.) He was also really cute, and it is my loss that he is, of course, gay.

We (well, the hosts) set off an impressive fireworks show in the street. It was sort of sporadic through the night, and then culminated in a grand show of pyrotechnic might...the Grand Finale! Some neighborhood kids, bored, shirtless, and sweaty, and too young to drive to Pennsylvania for their own illegal-in-DC fireworks, watched from across the street. Seeing them explode with delight, jumping around and hooting and hollering during the finale, made my night.

Also, an almost cinematic detail: the cops rolled up with lights and sirens on(!), at the moment the fireworks ended! How perfect is that? Everyone with any sense (that includes me) ran into the house and hid in the basement until the hosts could mollify them into going to fight actual crime (it's not like we don't have any). Well, who am I kidding? We weren't being sensible; just...well, just pussies, really. Hey, I can own up to my faults.