Barbecue. 07/25/03
Last Saturday we had a barbecue at our house. Steve and I invited all our good friends, figuring that about 6 people might actually show up. I thought we'd kick back at the patio table on our front lawn, grill a bit of meat, sip a couple of pitchers of margaritas... but as he later remarked: "We decided to have a mellow afternoon barbecue. But at 1:00 in the morning there were all these crazy drunk people running around our house."
We had 17 of us there, and I have always wanted to throw a good-sized lively party at our place. We tried to have a cocktail party for New Year's Eve 2 years ago, but the few people who showed up just sort of sat around and all but two left before midnight. I wanted to have a big birthday bash in 2000, but that one turned out to be a small relaxed gathering of friends hanging out during the day, then at night we all took off for a bigger party at someone else's house. Some of our parties in the past have turned out to be pretty good, but this Saturday's was by far the best.
The weather was perfect. I got to show off the roses, and the profusion of greenery I spend a part of each weekend watering and gardening. Everyone was in a good mood. I played techno and 80's music songlists from our computer, and the sound spread throughout the house and outside to the lawn area, adding to the upbeat atmosphere.
We made shish kabobs of marinated shrimp, pork & beef with fresh vegetables. Some people brought steaks and sausage to grill. There were other tasty things to munch on such as veggies & ranch dip, some chocolate, cheezit crackers, butter squash, corn on the cob.
But as the day progressed and pitcher after pitcher of margaritas was consumed, it became less of a barbecue and more of a booze fest. In addition to our tequila-slurpee indulgence, there was hard lemonade and cider, champagne, pina coladas, daquiris, koolaid-vodka-grenadine-Midori drinks, whiskey shots, and Bottles of Ass (Boone's Farm).
I spent a good part of the day wandering about with a drink in one hand, and the digital camera in the other. After taking a few shots I would upload the photos onto our computer. Everyone who walked into the house could see pictures of the party, taken just a few minutes ago, displayed on the monitor in our front room. I would run out and snap more pictures, eat a shrimp kabob, pour another margarita, listen to all the conversations. Then back to the computer to upload more images and put more music on.
My photo-memories for the day start out with a picture of Gabe starting up his blender to create the first pitcher of margaritas. Then, a few frames of a small circle of friends relaxing at the patio table in the sunshine. Next, the guys standing around the barbecue and playing with tongs and lighter fluid. Then a few pictures of the grill with glorious MEAT upon it. As the gathering grows, I try to get at least one shot of everyone there. I give the camera to my Love and he takes some of me. The coolest one is a candid shot of me standing in front of the crowd of people on my lawn, holding a margarita glass & licking my lips.
When the sun goes down, we set out the tiki torches. Some of the partiers walk down to the liquor store (conveniently located 2 blocks from our house) and acquire even more tequila and mixers. Steve sets up a movie on our TV in the living room, and half of the crowd sits down to watch Shanghai Noon and Shanghai Knights. I was too bouncy to sit still and walked between the kitchen (mixing drinks), the lawn (listening in on the various conversations and munching bits of food left around), and the living room (stopping to see what's on the screen and giving my Love a quick kiss).
At some point, maybe around midnight, the infamous tradition of the Circle of Ass took place once more... A group of brave souls, already quite inebriated, shares a couple bottles (or three, or four) of Fuzzy Navel and Strawberry Daiquiri. Passing them both around the circle at once, we glug it down, sometimes double-fisted, and howl, and toast, and sing. The song goes like this:
"Here's to brother Gustav, brother Gustav, brother Gustav.
Here's to brother Gustav, who's WITH us to-night!
So drink, motherfucker; drink, motherfucker;
drink, motherfucker; drink, motherfucker....
Here's to brother Gustav, who's WITH us to-night!!
We sing it with everyone else's names too, but Gustav's (Aaron's) is always one of them, even when he isn't there, which is way too often. But Saturday, he and most all of our favorite people were there to drink together... and, er, puke together. Yes, my Love and three of the old school Circle of Ass devotees, hurling in unison at the side of our house. (I gave the camera to another friend to get pictures of that one, not being woozly enough to watch or participate myself.)
I think the whiskey shots came before that, though my memory grows a bit fuzzy at this point... Steve has a collection of souvenir shot glasses from vacation spots he's visited, and they were used to throw back what was left of our scotch whiskey liqueur, and a few shots of Gentleman Jack. (Scary substances both -- another part of the evening's festivities in which I did not partake but merely observed in both horror and awe.)
Well, the very last picture uploaded from that night is a close-up of "He Who Wields the Mighty Blender", eyes half open, slack-jawed and stewy, appearing to have felt the impact of perhaps one too many margaritas... the end of a great party. Some sobered up to go home, some crashed at our place, and I and my Love swayed wearily into our own room in our own lovely house and collapsed in our own wonderful bed. Ahhh, yes.
You know, I think I could really get into this party-hosting thing...
