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Keg Party

Last Saturday, we found ourselves at -- of all places -- a kegger. The party was thrown by one of Jeremy's co-workers who also happens to be a Minnesota RollerGirl. It was her 24th birthday, so like any self-respecting 24-year-old, she threw a big ass kegger. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I was at a kegger. I'll leave it to you, dear reader, to decide whether that means that a) it's been so long since I've been to a kegger that I can't recall it because I'm old or b) I was so wasted at the last kegger I attended that I have no memory of the event. Moving on...

What I'm getting at here is that the two of us -- in our thirties and all newly parental and shit -- didn't really blend at this party. It's not that we're that old, or conservative by any means (come on, I had hot pink hair like four years ago, yo!), but we were fresh from a dinner date at Olive Garden and I was reeking of soup, salad and breadsticks in my cropped pants and blazer. You couldn't even see my tattoo, for cripes' sake, not to mention my tattoo would be too tiny to register on the radars of the half-sleeved twentysomethings at this party. Did I mention we also didn't know anyone except the birthday girl?

We spent an uncomfortable few minutes standing in the backyard feeling like dorks. I could feel the eyeballs of the young coolsters burning holes in us. They could smell the breadsticks. They weren't impressed by my clever "Everyone Loves an Irish Girl" tee shirt. It was time to take matters into my own hands and reconnect with my inner party girl. It was time to mingle.

I think most people assume that mingling at a party is easy for me, because I'm an obnoxious loudmouth who can dominate a room with sheer volume and force of will. I would like to argue that this is not true. First, I'm really at my best when I'm in my element -- so, to truly rule a party I have to be very comfortable (e.g. if the party is at my house, or thrown by close friends, I can entertain a room until the booze runs out or the cops show up). But, if I'm in unfamiliar territory (e.g. a kegger in Robbinsdale where I don't know anyone), I get just as uncomfortable as anyone else. I have the same urge to flee. Mingling takes effort -- real effort. And if you're not willing to do the work, you'll soon end up standing in a circle of people you don't know sweating through an uncomfortable silence and trying to figure out how to leave without anyone noticing.

Since I didn't want to waste a free night of babysitting, I decided it was time to dust off my party moves. It's been a while since I flexed my mingling muscles, and I was worried I might be rusty. Things were further complicated by the fact that I wasn't drinking (still nursing, don't want to booze up the baby!). Say what you will about the evils of The Sauce, but it is nature's perfect social lubricant and I am no exception. Trust me, down a couple of cocktails and I turn into a comedic genius.

So, with the challenge ahead of me, I taught Jeremy the #1 rule of mingling at a kegger: stand by the beer. The deal is, everyone eventually gets or refills their beer. Often, they'll do this several times. If you are the person standing by the beer, you will inevitably meet nearly everyone at the party. And if not everyone, certainly the alcoholics, and aren't those the people we really want to hang with at a party, anyway?

My strategy paid off and within a few minutes we had met a handful of very entertaining -- and heavily pierced -- gentlemen. We ended up talking to them the whole night and their half-drunk conversation kept me highly entertained. As expected, we overheard a few conversational gems, which I took note of on the back of a receipt. Please enjoy responsibly:

Keg Quotes
"If I was on MySpace, I'd probably be a hot chick, too."
- Man in his 30s

***

Guy #1: "Red Bull & Jag?"
Guy #2: "Hell, yeah."

This turned out to be two guys that didn't know each other. The question "Red Bull & Jag?" referred to the can of Red Bull and flask of Jagermeister that Guy 1 had in his hand and was offering to Guy 2 as a sort of hetero kegger pickup line. These, of course, are the two guys I ended up talking to all night. A couple of side-splitters, I tell you.

***

"I don't have any tattoos now, but I'm lookin' to it. I'm gettin' there -- but...I don't want to be that guy."
- Guy in ironic Trucker hat (who apparently doesn't realize that he is already THAT GUY)

***

And that's that. I don't think we did so bad for an old married couple. But I sure was happy to see my baby at the end of the night, and I didn't miss not having a hangover the next day while my husband fried me up some Sunday-morning eggs. Good Lord, I think I might be growing up.

Posted May 9, 2006 11:37 PM | On This Day: 2005 2003 2002

 

8 Comments

well. its nice to know you go to SOME people's birthday parties.

Growing up? I highly doubt it. There is very little chance that you would be able to keep a straight face if I mentioned pants-crapping. Am I right?

too bad it wasn't a "WAP" or "Garbage Can" Party, you could have brought a bottle of Breast milk and poured that into the mixture

So . . . why did Jeremy need to be "taught" the rules of the kegger? Where did he go to college, BYU?

And, also, I am on MySpace. And I'm a total hot chick. I'm "Cassie" - age 17. I have no idea why I'm even on MySpace. Or why I'm so frickin' hot. But that's just the way it goes.

Next time, bring a box of wine. That's what cinched our friendship. That and our matching gentle laughs.

Um, yeah, kinda what mopsa said, it's nice that you get to SOME people's birthday parties in ROBBINSDALE.

Hahah, oh, man, this hit SO painfully close to home. Here Adam and I are, a couple of 20 somethings with a punk rock record label, Adam with tons of tattoos, and neither of us really drink, and (no joke) we eat at Olive Garden at least once a week. We get so much grief from our friends we've only met online or worked with long distance when they finally meet us and it turns out we're the fuddy duddy old couple we are, and when we do go to parties, we're total odd ducks. Everyone's like, "Lemme buy you a beer!" and our response is always, "How about a refreshing Arizona Green Tea? An Arnold Palmer, perhaps? Partaaaaaay!"

However, touring bands tend to appreciate our clean house, plethora of towels and sleeping surfaces, the food we have in the fridge, and a night off from their punk rawkin lifestyle, so I guess we're just filling a niche. :)

Mopsa & Betsy -- it's all about SCHEDULING CONFLICTS! It don't mean I don't love ya!

Jenna -- I love me a good Arnie Palmer. It's the best N/A beverage around.