Sabado Gigante (this means gigantic saturday in spanish, asshole)

The fateful decision to cancel the trip to the Mountains was made earlier this week, and while some were not pleased with this decision (sorry app kids) the logic proved sound. The resulting events became the stuff of legend, as a weekend of kicking ass resulted. To begin, I have to comment on the update of 40H, and the tribulations of moving mr. Paul Schafer in. Turns out, Paul went with the "plan for the future" school of furniture selection; he possesses every large, heavy article of furnishing that can be imagined, from a 27 inch TV to a Queen bed. Not that I resent this, it adds class to an apartment otherwise totally lacking in "grown up" furinture (A futon and 3 recliners do not count). However, one piece truely made me question his decision, the Bastard Dresser. Yes, that is the title of the heaviest thing in the world, which we happily carried up to the 3rd floor. After a few pieces of wood broke off, and we were all breathing like 40yr old smokers in a marathon, the bastard had arrived in the middle room. Needless to say, I'm not moving that thing out. The other noteworthy occurance involved a piece of Chris's interior decorating, a very tasteful $20 neon lap shaped like a martini that he got at walmart. In the process of moving the TV, the lamp was laid on the futon. Not 2 minutes later, as paul bent over to pick up some forgotten object from the floor, CRACK, goodnight lamp. That's quality walmart construction for you. On thursday, we went to the bars, and as a result I was on the computer till hellatiously late hours, drunkenly producing the shitpost that preceeds this one. What the fuck does "building a house" mean? Friday, I made it to a total of 0 classes, out of 1 possible. I ate at CiCi's though, which brought the day back to even. Then, as a late night decision of action required quick thinking, Dan Findlay came through as he is known to do. With the magic eye, he spotted the 8 piece fried chicken at harris teeter, and this combined with a case of southpaw equaled the preperations for Liz's "Lovers and Friends" party. Sound like a stupid party? Well, if red lights and loudass rap aren't your thing, this would not have been a positive experience for you. However, if you enjoy the "beer goggle" effect that altered lighting has on the opposite sex, then this was the party for you. Not to talk trash about this party, as Liz is my manager and friend, but really, it was no sabado gigante. My perception of this event was especially sharp, as I was the DD for the night, not something I usually do, because DDing is boring as damnit. This party kept me entertained, however, so it must be considered quite an accomplishment. On to Sabado, where the first really planned 40H party occured not involving halloween or grilling out. First of all, we got a keg of busch light, and second, sparta people were involved. These two keys of greatness proved the night could turn out no other way than perfect. Other elements fell into place, as the half consumed "lovers and friends" keg came to the H, along with Andy mcmillan, Patrick Evans, and Scott Mizerak, 3 of sparta's finest holding down the Raleigh portion of the equation. Patience never being one of our virtues, the keg was already flowing at around 9, to go with the Maryland Duke game. As the terps gave duke their first regular season sweep in years, the party began to grow, and the original members level of inebreation increased. With the victory, a collective surge turned the party into a real situation, and drinking ensued. I'll be honest, I can't give total details, because total details did not successfully become encoded in my memory. One defining moment stands out; Chris Butts in the dance-off. A dance off? yes, a damn dance-off, like some perverted scene from Zoolander, set to terrible rap and involving my roommate, who seemed to be channeling Napolean Dynomite and the Special Olympics at the same time. Perhaps the most fucked up thing I have seen at a party lately. Someone stole a sign from our bathroom wall, which angered me, because I had stolen that same sign a month or two earlier from the bathroom wall in Linda's. How's that for Irony? I danced as well, but not in the dance-off, which you will know is odd for me. It probably resulted from the new haircut I have, setting #4 on the ConAir clippers. For another odd occurance, Patrick ended up spending the night with a girl he knew, who happened to live in stratford hills. As he told it to me "I walked down there, but I was so drunk she had to undress me and put me in bed. When I woke up, no one was there, so I just fuckin left" That's how we do it around here, folks. At one moment I remeber looking over, and discovering that a girl was eating our Funions and drinking my Orange Juice on the couch. Not that I was pissed, but damn, who steals someone's Funions? The handle to the sliding glass door finally succumbed to the pressure of use, and is completely broken off. Unfortunately, my original goal of getting so many people into the apartment that the floor would cave in was not reached, but any party that has 3 kegs over the course of the night and is shut down by the cops, vocing a noise complaint from one of our asshole neighbors, is worthy of the title Sabado Gigante. Since the tale of the weekend has reached epic proportions in itsself, I will conclude with another spanish lession I recieved: Me gustan chicas gordas y feas. If you fit the bill, come on by, left-handed is a plus.