We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
The Weekend of Ward: Did someone say house party?
House party season has officially begun.
Between a Groove Armada set on the steps of City Hall and the line down
the block for Blek Le Rat's show at Shepard Fairey's gallery, you'd
think we'd have enough on our hands for Saturday night.
But the gem in the weekend's crown was this season's first massive, throbbing house party. Some comrades of mine live in a huge, creaky, rent-controlled compound in Angelino Heights for next to nothing. Normally, envy would cause me to despise them, except that they throw really good parties.
The annual double birthday party for ex-Giant Dragger Micah Calabrese and comedy dude about town Doug Jones became packed to the literal rafters with hundreds of miscellaneous fools, signaling the dizzy start of a season of warm weather parties. I mopped the floor with my dress. A mural of obscene drawings on butcher paper grew more complex and offensive as the hours went by. Dozens perched on the steep slope of a rooftop, and someone stole my coat. A fistfight almost erupted as someone threw a wadded up dollar at a skanky girl, and karaoke occurred down the hall. It was a war zone.
When the cops came banging on the door at 4:30 am to discover a
living room-turned-discothèque, all bets were
off. Folks filed out, and we did the only thing we could do: headed for breakfast.
Happy Spring, folks, and if you happen to have made off with a pea coat at a house party, you'd better call me.
High fives,
Miss Alie Ward
Trackback URL: http://blogs-losangeles.metromix.com/vmix_hosted_apps/66/post/2346/trackback/