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So much nudity, so little time

Kelly’s party on Saturday night went down in the usual manner – that is to say, with lots of cheap, evil-smelling beer, loud music and sing-alongs, and more unwholesomely naked people than my poor eyes could stand. My sister Jen and her boyfriend Kirby were in town for the weekend, so I hauled them along for the ride, and they weren’t disappointed. I think Jen thought I was being hyperbolic when describing the debauchery which is the rule of the day at Kelly’s gatherings, but her eyes were opened in a hurry upon arrival. But more on that later.

The theme of the party was “white-trash wedding,” and it was originally my intention to be elected groom. Within moments of seeing Kelly, however, I realized that this goal was a pipe dream in the ultimate sense of the word: she was dressed in skin-tight red long johns and nothing else, save for a bit of stuffing shoved underneath the garment below her navel – it was meant to simulate a “fat upper-pussy area” or “FUPA,” a phrase coined by one of Kelly’s friends to indicate the pouch some older women acquire on their stomachs below the beltline. I don’t think Kelly intended the device to look so genuine – I spent the first fifteen minutes or so of the party wondering if it was a prop or if Kelly had just gotten kind of fat, and was afraid to ask – but in any case the costume, combined with her singular talent for loud remonstrations and attention-getting, pretty much secured her victory before the first ballot was cast. Marta was the obvious candidate for bride – with her white slip, knee-high rubber galoshes, and leather jacket she was a white-trash bride if there ever was one. Since the obvious aim of the mock wedding to proceed upstairs was for two people to make out, I decided to hedge my bets, forget about the title of groom, and just make sure Kelly won. Really she didn’t need my help. As she distributed ballots and pens in a drunken whirlwind of excitement, she screamed for each person to vote for her, and most of them did. I counted the ballots myself shortly thereafter, and I didn’t even need to fix them: Kelly and Marta won in a landslide. They were gracious enough to deign me their minister, and we had a lovely ceremony upstairs.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered today in the sight of God to join this joyous couple for the remainder of this party.” Here I introduced them each to the drunken cheers of the packed living room. I was a little drunk and under a time budget to create custom vows as Kelly instructed, but as I recall they went something like this: “Do you, Kelly, promise to love, honor, and try to tongue-kiss Marta until you both shall part when this party gets broken up by the cops in an hour?” Kelly responded “I DO!” and then pounded the remainder of her can of Natural Ice Light. Classy. “Do you, Marta, promise to at least make a show of pushing Kelly away when she shoves her tongue down your throat?” Marta agreed in like fashion to Kelly, so I pronounced them white-trash lesbian brides and gave the green flag for kissing. Marta told me after the fact that no tongue was involved, but they gave a very convincing performance nevertheless.

Jen hadn’t been to a college party in a while, so all of this caught her off guard. She was further mystified an hour or so later when Kelly, completely naked by this point, paraded into Marta’s room where we were all sitting and snuggled up to our elbows. However, no one, with the possible exception of Kelly, was prepared for the two naked boys that joined her shortly thereafter. These nudists would have been much less offensive had they been content to keep to themselves, but they were disgustingly social. Nathan, who is all too familiar with my penchant for exaggeration but not with Kelly and her crowd, was entirely unprepared for what he encountered. The next day he described witnessing his first all-girl-three-way kiss with the awe of an altar boy peeking behind the curtains to the nun’s lavatory. I reminded him that he’s heard all these stories before, but apparently stories from me aren’t worth quite their weight in gold. Both Jen and Nathan had a great time, though.

All night during the party Kelly’s friends from Port Angeles, whom I’d never met, kept coming up to me and saying, “You’re that really amazing guy.” Apparently Kelly’s been spreading stories of me to all corners of the peninsula, and those stories don’t bear an ounce of truth. “Kelly, you’ve got to stop telling people that you think I’m amazing,” I told her when I cornered her.

“Why? You are amazing,” she said innocently, laughing.

“See, right there. That’s the kind of thing you need to stop doing.”

“OK, but why?” she asked, wounded.

“Listen, maybe you think I’m amazing, and that may well be the case. But if you tell that to complete strangers that could someday meet me, there’s just no way I can live up to their expectations. It’s like if you go around all day saying you have a really funny joke to tell, but then by the time you actually tell it it’s not as funny as you led people to believe. I don’t mean that the joke wasn’t funny; just that you built it up too much. I don’t want to be the mediocre joke that people might have laughed at had their expectations not been unfairly tampered with prior to the telling.” I paused for breath. “Understand?”

“Okay,” she said. I knew that not a word had sunk in, and that even if they had I couldn’t possibly make her stop telling stories about me. But at least she agreed.

Also, that night Kirby sleepwalked out of my apartment in the middle of night. He woke up several blocks away, standing in his boxer shorts and bare feet in the rain, without any idea where he was and lacking his glasses, without which he’s blind. Somehow he stumbled back to my place and through the sliding door.

I slept till two in the afternoon the next day, which is still screwing up my Circadian rhythm even as I write this. I couldn’t fall asleep till after 3 last night, and this morning I woke to a splitting headache to reward my lack of foresight. Hopefully it lifts soon, as I’m knee-deep in English responsibilities. Remember when I stood laughing and praising the perks of the English major? Yeah, I take all that back. I’m going to look into getting cybernetic replacements for my eyes to speed the massive amounts of reading I still have to do tonight, but I’m not sure how far along that technology has advanced. Failing that, I plan to hire a Dominican house boy or two to read the many short stories, novels, and obscure intellectual articles and summarize them for my easy digestion.

Posted in Musings.

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