Paaaarty!

Saturday afternoon. I sat on a sofa with a beer watching the baseball game for three hours, while six 22 year old girls buzzed around me in various states of dress and undress as they prepared themselves for the evening's 'sexy' party. Is this the American Dream? Well... no, as I was in Canada (Whistler to be precise) but it was certainly enjoyable. Here's the girls after they had completed the prolonged process of sexin themselves up.
If I remember correctly, they are (left-right) Jamie, Angie, Lindsey, Sheridan, Joss, Sophie and Mel. I ended up in this situation thanks to JP, a guy I met for the first time last Saturday, who packed me off to Whistler to stay with his little sister (Sophie) promising me a good time, but warning me that "it really goes off and will be totally crazy". He wasn't wrong, let me tell you about it.

The party was for Angie's birthday, but the girls had very sensibly decided to outsource the party hosting to a gang of their male friends who had a suitably large party house. I was informed that around 20 people would be attending, all from within a close circle of friends. Sounded like it would be fairly restrained dressing up and drinking fun. Hmmm. I can only liken the event that unfolded to the wild frat house parties that are depicted in American films. To quote the local lingo it was "totally nuts" and "went off". The house (which was big) was absolutely packed with Whistler folk in search of debauchery, and they certainly found it. I put away a 12 pack of beers and left the party a model of sobriety in relative terms. There were beer bong races (downing cans through a funnel and tubing contraption) strange drinking games, lewd acts involving whipped cream, force-feeding of vodka jelly, a guy smashing beer bottles over his head and much fondling, hugging and falling over. Every time I went to the toilet I found myself grinning and chuckling at the almighty din that was arising from the drunken lunacy taking place downstairs.

As I mentioned, the theme for the party was 'sexy'. I believe this theme was one of the main factors in the high degree of madness that ensued as the costumes were very good. You've seen the girls, whose interpretation of 'sexy' was fairly straight-forward. Lots of cleavage, underwear and feathery accessories. The boys on the other hand, were a little more unusual. I was greeted at the door by a man wearing a retro velour tracksuit, headband, dodgy shades and an enormous erection (courtesy of a small balloon). Sexy? Another guy was wearing a kind of 80s striped party suit that was several sizes too small for him, and was inexplicably adorned with bat wings stitched to the arms of the jacket. That was just plain bizarre. The prize winner was definitely a gent who turned up wearing a gigolo-cowboy outfit, that was innocuous from the front, but from the rear revealed a pair of 'ass-less chaps' and a thong. As if bearing his cheeks to the world for the duration of the party wasn't enough he took the opportunity during a power cut blackout to jump on a table and dispense with his ass-less chaps. In a moment of extreme misfortune I managed to capture this display by taking a random photo in the pitch darkness, thus revealing what had gone unnoticed to the bemused party-goers. In amongst these costumes, I had arrived in civvy gear, having been blissfully unaware of the party theme. Alas, I was deemed to be un-sexy (much to my chagrin) and forced to don a rather loud green shirt that was only held together with one button, thus revealing my manly hairy chest. Instant sexiness of course.

It was quite a night. The "Great Party" message that had been scrawled onto the kitchen wall in permanent marker was very apt. The only dampener on the evening was the inability of my wondrously sexy English accent (apparently) to do the business. I woke up the next morning in a completely random bed, alone. Searching through my surprisingly complete mental archive of the evening's events, my conclusion is that the girls were too pissed to appreciate my wit, charm and Englishness, and that my repeated looks of utter bewilderment at what was going on around me were deemed to be unattractive. Weren't really my type anyway. Next time Gadget, next time.

By the by, Whistler was very nice. As nice as a ski resort can be off-season, when its cold and raining. Lots of leaves and lots of cloud. I'll have to go back when the snow's down.

Party on dudes.