Signs it's time to leave ...

Went to a fun house party last night, hosted by a neighbour two houses down the road from me (Jared and Stephanie).

They have bought a house in a new 'hood, and are moving out of this rental house here in Aro Valley – so this was a "house cooling" party, a last hurrah before they totally pack up and shift in a couple of weeks.

Like any good party, heavy drinking and merriment ensued ... in fact, it was well under way when I arrived about 9 pm.

As a wily veteran of many such events over the decades, I like to take note of the drinks of choice vis-a-vis the age of the folks doing the consuming. (More specifically, how much and at what rate of speed the cute single girls are consuming ...)

People in their 20s generally drink beer and sweeter hard liquor mixes – here in New Zealand, that's usually Jim Beam or JD watered down with coke for the lads, and the sheilas seem to like gin and vodka mixed with "lemonade" (Sprite to anyone in other parts of the world).

More mature types go for wine, or hard liquor drinks that aren't sweet, or quality micro-brewed beer.

Last night there was a bigger age spectrum representing. I was likely the oldest at 52. There were a few 40-somethings, and a heavy percentage of 30-ish types. Some early to late 20-somethings were there too.

There seemed to be far more people of all ages drinking hard liquor – many bourbon, gin, vodka and rum bottles populated the kitchen "bench" ("counter" for us North Americans), and a decent blended scotch lurked there too.

I brought wine (an excellent NZ pinot noir, White Cliff) and mostly stuck to that until I ran out – then it was onto the half-bottle of Lake Chalice Sav Blanc that sat abandoned on the bench (also excellent).

The conversation was clearly alcohol-fueled, and the volume of said chatter rose steadily as the drinks were pounded down. (Some cute girls were really railing down the gin at alarming speed ...)

Pretty much standard fair for any gathering.

Now we come to the "I should have realised it was time to go when ...." The tell-tale signs that creep into partygoers' behavior indicating new and untapped levels of self-humiliation are about to ensue ...

There are obvious ones like "fell down, heaved my guts, passed out".

There is dancing on surfaces usually not meant for dancing upon. There is the wearing of silly hats, or things on your head that aren't usually hats.

But before that happens, there are some funny transitions from "sober" to "gunned up and getting absolutely sloshed".

Some of the girls were trying on the hostesses' cheezier 'fun' outfits (faux-leopard-skin prints of tops and skirts and such). A fur coat was passed around, and every guy who tried it on affected a "Pimp Pose" ... Jared had several costume changes of his jacket of choice, from a demure and classy dark wool number, to a bright green, fuzzy, outrageous and cheezy thing that resembled a bath robe ...

Fake accents were deployed to tell jokes, loud and rambling story-telling ensued, raucous laughter punctuated stories that weren't all THAT funny ... the rate of speed of drink consumption escalated exponentially (more gin, girls? Mwa-hahaha!)

Then came one of the first signs of the Drunken Apocalypse. "Guitar Hero" was unveiled on the TV/sound system, plastic guitars were dispensed and eagerly grabbed up by folks in the room ... as were microphones. This was to be a version of karaoke and fake guitar playing that would not sound good.

For me, I knew it was time to go after I seized the mic and heard myself asking for the Journey song "Don't Stop Believing". (A point of high comedy in the mover "The Losers", which I'd just watched) ....

But did I leave before embarking on obviously doomed and failed scheme?

Of course not.

The song started, another guy with a voice as deep as mine joined in on the mic, and we attempted some sort of wretched, tormented, abysmal "college try" to match Steve Perry's high-octane falsetto vocal (while others whacked away on the plastic guitars).

To say it was heinous and atrocious would have been an insult to heinous and atrocious things the world over. It was far worse.

Even the guitar players (all guys) attempted to sing along. What resulted was akin to 1,000 bagpipes being played by asthmatic and deranged demons being roasted on the eternal flames of hell.

Indeed, it was time to leave. Perhaps on a midnight train, to anywhere ...

Thanks for a great party guys! Looking forward to the house-warming at the new crib!