Party Never
There comes a time when you don’t want to live in a house that has parties anymore.
I’m there, right now.
The guy that lives next to us had his roommate ditch out on him - he’s now out $500 some odd dollars. Bummer for him, right?
He thought it would be a great idea to have a kegger/house show with a couple of bands this weekend to help raise some money to pay rent.
The thing is, who’s stoked on this? Not-fuckin-me, that’s who.
I work weekends. At nine in the morning. I get up at seven-fucking-thirty. If I go out, at least I can come home to a relatively quiet place to lie my head down in.
I know I live in a house full of people who have the weekends off, and I’ve learned to adjust to living with having some people drinking and talking over my head on the nights I need to get sleep. But…not exactly stoked on having a kegger with some shit bands playing in a house that has no insulation between it’s walls and I’m certainly not stoked on the messy-ass yard that we’re going to be dealing with the next day. We probably have one last summer in this lovely back yard! We’ve been working on the garden! I don’t want some twenty-something drunk ass punk puking on my peas, thanks.
Fucking guy!
