�Hey! Weed is mooning your neighbor! He�s dancing too!�.

I�ve mentioned before here how I�m going to Aruba, right? Maybe once or twice. I�m kind of excited about it. Anyway, we are having Hub�s sister Lily watch the kids. ALL of them, even though technically the boys, at 16 and 14 (Beavis will be 14 by then) are old enough to be left alone. The following entry is exactly why they will never be left in the house alone when we go away for any period of time, ever. They will not be given any opportunity to repeat my actions.

It all started when I was 17, in early 1988, and my dad went down to Texas to visit my older brother for a week. Ned, my younger brother, and I were hanging around with some of the same people at this point, including super mooch Doobie, the lyric man. The three of us cooked up the idea for the party. We were kind of used to it anyway, as my dad worked second shift and our house was the after school house to hang out at.

My friend Scott, who wrote in my yearbook about getting baked together ten years after graduation, sat next to me in one of our classes. Scott and I hit it off right away. Not sexually but just as friends (even though we did end up hooking up like a year later, just before I hooked up with my ex Sean, we tried dating but it didn�t work out and kinda ruined the friendship which sucked ass majorly because we got along so well as friends).

Scott had a ton of friends. All people I knew, too. So, Saturday night was party night, and we invited everyone over.

Probably what saved the house from being destroyed was the fact that there was very little alcohol at the house. Only because we were more interested in smoking weed than drinking beer that night.

When Scott and his buddies came in, this dude Roger started making a big deal. �Where�s the kitchen? Where can we smoke out?�. Roger had an ounce of weed, and five of them were going to sit down and have a smoke out. See who can smoke the most weed. Everyone was invited to take a hit whenever, but if you wanted to be part of the smoke out, you had to follow the rules: Sit and smoke until you can�t anymore. No getting up, no socializing. Smoke.

Being the hostess of the party, I opted out. I couldn�t follow those rules.

The contestants were Roger, a little guy named Brent, Scott�s younger sister Holly (who was Roger�s gf and was about 5�1� and weighed MAYBE 80 lbs), and two other guys. Doobie might have partaken, but I don�t remember. Ned gave it a shot too, but didn�t last.

So, there were the smokers, and then there were the trippers. Because a few guys came over on acid. They stayed in the living room. One was this guy Mike, who we always called by his last name, which was a cool one because it ended in �weed�, but I can�t use the whole name, I just can�t, so I�ll just call him Weed. Weed was a crazy guy. Crazy and sexy, I might add. But, yeah, crazy.

So, I was in the kitchen, smoking with the Smoke Out people and chit chatting, and someone comes into the kitchen from the living room and says, �Hey! Weed is mooning your neighbor! He�s dancing too!�.

The house I grew up in was in an old residential area. The houses were pretty close, and my neighbor�s, the �Smith�s�, kitchen window was separated by our living room window by about 15 feet of driveway. Clear view.

And I walked into the living room and there�s Weed, pants down and shaking his ass for Mrs. Smith, who was in her late 50�s at the time and whom I had known since I was born. I was like, �DUDE! What the hell are you doing?�

He said, and he did have a total Jeff Spicoli voice, �Dude, she was looking in here. I thought I�d give her something to look at�.

I couldn�t do anything but laugh. I couldn�t be mad. He was kind of right. She was very nosy and what better way to cure that than to show her some ass, right?

Then the tripping guys thought it�d be fun to turn off all the lights in the living room and sit in the dark and make circles and shit with their lit cigarettes. Three guys got together and even made a smiley face with them. They even did a show to the music. It was quite amusing, even if you weren�t tripping.

Then one of those bastard kitchen people opened the door between the kitchen and the living room and ruined it.

Oh my god, did I even mention The Melting Chair? I must digress briefly. Back in the mid-70�s, my parents had bought this living room set, that my dad had until 1999, I might add. The chairs and couch had these big wooden frames. Anyway, The Melting Chair�s springy framey thingie had fallen onto the floor, so the cushion for the chair was on the floor, but the wooden frame was still intact. So, you�d sit in this chair and your ass was on the cushion on the floor, but the arms of the chair were still up where they were supposed to be, and your legs had to go over the frame, too. It�s hard to explain without pictures. Suffice it to say, someone (Doobie, I think) nicknamed it The Melting Chair, and it was very popular. It was really comfortable.

People fought over who would sit there. One time, one guy even offered me a hundred bucks for it. I refused. No way was I giving that chair up. (It was gone three years later, when I was living in NY. My dad wanted to get rid of it, and I asked him to please keep it for me, put it in my room or in the cellar, just please don�t throw it out. But, the frame was too big to get upstairs or downstairs, so he got rid of it).

Anyway, back to the party. People started dropping out of the Smoke Out at this point. Roger, the ringleader, was an early drop out, and he was absolutely green. Like, sick green. He sat in the living room and was very quiet for a bit.

The winner of the Smoke Out was Holly, the teeny tiny little thing. She sat there, green also, half out of her mind, saying, �Wow�man� I can�t believe I smoked them all out�wow��.

When Roger finally got up, he started pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again. Then he started holding his chest. Then he started, �Guys, guys, I have to go to the hospital�.

And we were all like, �Dude, shut the fuck up. You ain�t going to the hospital. Sit down, have a snack�.

But he wouldn�t stop. He started freaking out. He was having a heart attack or something, he thought, and he was losing it. He really wanted to go to the hospital. I tried to explain to him that it would be pretty stupid to walk into the hospital and tell them what? That you smoked too much weed?

Of course, he wasn�t listening to reason. So we suggested fresh air. Roger went outside, took a nice deep breath, and then puked on the lawn. And then he felt a little better.

Good enough to leave, anyway.

With almost everyone gone except a few of us, Scott and I had a munchies attack. I went into the fridge and found some leftover burritos. My dad was the Old El Paso king back then and could make a mean burrito with that stuff. The two of us hit those burritos like two starving dogs and made them disappear within seconds. Then we sat and laughed our asses off about it.

The next day, Doobie, Ned and I did a thorough housecleaning. So thorough, in fact, that we turned up a bunch of weed. So my dad got to come home to a nice, clean, fresh-smelling house, and two stoned teenagers. He must have been so proud.

And Mrs. Smith confronted Ned. I avoided her like crazy, but Ned wasn�t afraid. She said something along the lines of, �Nice friends you got there� and Ned said, �Maybe you shouldn�t be looking in people�s windows�. Punk ass 15 year old little shit.

I saw Roger in the paper a few years ago when he got married. He was doing something like military or police work or something that you wouldn�t expect an old pothead to do. I don�t know what happened to Scott at all. He had a kid about a year and a half after I had Beavis and that�s all I know. We all know what happened to Ned, he�s currently residing in one of the best resorts the state of NH has to offer, at the expense of the taxpayers. And Doobie, well, he�s Doobie. I saw him a few years ago at the grocery store and he said, �Hey, your brother�s famous, huh? I see him in the paper all the time�. It was funny. The only difference between Ned and Doobie is that Doobs knows how to play the system, and doesn�t get arrested all the time.

And we all know what happened to me. The saddest, most pathetic story of all. Hee hee.

We had more parties after, especially when my dad got a girlfriend and started spending entire weekends with her, but Smoke Out Night was the one I remember the best.

Anyway, probably a lame retelling. Sorry. Not my most interesting shit. I�ll be interesting again tomorrow, okay? I�ll try anyway.

Sayonara!

Listening to: The Bee Gees! "Tragedy". Good tune.

Currently reading: Yah right.

Thinking about: Kids need baths, living room needs a douching, and is the coffee done YET?