Trouble Boils Over

Scott drive away, grumbling in an audibly inarticulate manner. Mike turned to face me in the back seat. He continued to fight a laugh. “Need some help there?”

A number of responses occurred to me. I selected “Yes please.” He reached for my headpiece but I shook him off. “I'll do that. Free my hands man.” As the car bumped along in the dark, he sought to find the tape edge. This task proved impossible in the meager time alloted him. Focused on our task as we were, it seemed like mere moments before we were double parked in front of the house where the party was located.

Outside, in the improved light, Mike was able to start removing the tape from my right hand. “The jocks had been generous with the duct tape and removing it took some time. Scott stomped back and forth. Angela ran up to us. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern on display.

“I feel stupid,” I responded.

“I'm looking for new information,” she enthused. “You looked unconscious when they carried you out.”

“There's a reason for that,” I explained. “I was.”

“But you're okay?” she checked again.

“I think so, yeah. Physically anyway.”

Once that was communicated, Angela started laughing. During a brief moment when she managed to refrain from guffawing, she stated “I'm so glad; then I can enjoy this.”

“You do look ridiculous,” Mike again stated.

I could understand the concept. “I feel ridiculous.”

Scott's grumbling and pacing suddenly ceased with an explosion of vulgarities. In some language he expressed his dislike for this situation, what he thought of the marital state of the jocks' mothers when the jocks had been born, as well as where the jocks would find his foot in their anatomy. Scott was generally a mellow fellow but when he got mad, he tended to go full force. While he was not angry with me, I still shuddered from the force of his words.

Angela's laughter stopped. Her mirth was replaced be concern. Calmly she declared “I didn't call you in for trouble Scott. I knew you'd find Patrick before things get worse.” She didn't feel she had his full attention and sharply shouted his name to snap him into facing her. “I'll go back in and get his stuff. We don't need any trouble Scott.” Her eyes narrowed. “Got it?” He just grumbled. “Got it?” Scott managed to make some sort of gesture that looked affirmative. “Good.”

“You know where my clothes are?” I asked.

She smiled. “Not yet but I will.” Angela quickly posed seductively. In a higher pitch, simple sounding voice, she said “You guys 'r' so funny. What did 'u' do to that guy? Oh wow.” Just as quickly, she snapped back out of this mode and winked at us. “Five minutes, tops.” Confidently, she strode to the house.

Mike just stared at her. “She is so hot.”

“She would chew you up and spit you out,” I informed.

“What a way to go!”

Finally my hands were free from their furry prisons. I thanked Mike for the restoration of my dexterity as I had missed it so. The only other item that made sense to remove at this point was the headdress and I worked on that.

Have you ever had to remove an adhesive bandage from a part of your body where hair commonly grows? Peeling off the bandage is always bad enough but add in the reaction of that hair and it can be like torture. Remove it slowly? Remove it quickly? There's no painless option.

Duct tape is not really designed to be applied to the human body. Had it just been attached to my person, it might not have been that bad an experience. They had wrapped it around my head three times, grinding it in. I'm surprised it didn't affect my ability to speak more than it had. The first layer to be removed was bad but it was mostly attached to other tape rather than me. Once I got closer to the bottom layer, it became a greater problem. With a great deal of momentum, I quickly pealed it off. The yelp of pain that followed was instinctive. Through watery eyes, I looked down at the tape, seeing bits of my beard upon it.

This was the last straw for Scott. After a generic expression of anger, he turned and stomped for the house. Mike and I were unable to stop him.

This would be bad.

Is Not in the Village

When I came to, I was cold and wet. It was dark. Panic briefly overwhelmed me as I didn't know where I was. I was also alone.

Once my panic began to fade, I decided being alone wasn't the worst thing in the world. During the period I was in the Land of Nod, I had been divested of the majority of my clothing, it being replaced by some brief furry garments. While much of my person was on display, my private areas remained so. I had some sort of furry coverings on my hands and feet, designed to look like paws. There was also a head covering that I would later learn resembled a cat. Another thing I was unaware of at the time was the legend across the back of my bottom covering that read 'Kitty Frou Frou'. In an effort to help these loose fitting garments stay on, they had been applied to me with duct tape, including a piece that acted as a chin strap for the cat head. Until I received assistance, I was trapped in this costume.

Even in the dark, its difficult to walk confidently when dressed as stupidly as I. Carefully, I walked around the dark park, there were too many trees for this place to have been anything else, and tried to orientate myself.

I didn't know how long I'd been out. I could sense the lake so I was in one of the many parks near the Lake but which one? Was I in the one off Lake Drive, not all that far from the party? Had they had the time and cruelty to drop me in Cudahy, all the way in a suburb on the other side of town? Until I saw something familiar, I had no way to tell.

As I walked, I pondered my current situation and what had led to it. Who could I blame for this? Myself? I hadn't wanted to come to the party so perhaps I instinctively knew this would happen and I was trying to avoid it? Honestly, no. I was lazy. I also suspected there would be jerks at the party, so partial credit I guess.

It wasn't Heather's fault, at least probably not. I didn't believe she was in on this. It just wasn't her style. Now I could see them explaining this to her as some sort of playful 'hazing' event to invite me to their group. I could see her believing that. I would disagree. This was beyond playful. Hiding your shoes is playful. Filling your shoes with pudding would not be playful. This was closer to pudding shoes than hidden shoes. Removing the duct tape from my beard was not going to be fun.

It wouldn't be the As fault. Abigail was not much of a schemer. While she may have had her issues, she was very sweet and not good with secrets. Had she been planning this, she would have said something. Angela would do something along these lines and would have assisted with it if it would assist Heather. Yet, she would not have let me be by myself. She would have been nearby, toying with me as a cat toys with a mouse. She would have made her presence known, in order to enjoy herself.

As I cleared the park, entering the neighborhood nearby, it occurred to me that I had no plan. Instinctively I'd been returning to the party but that made no sense. They would just further humiliate me there. Yet what else could I do? They had my pants, my brand new  khakis!, with my wallet and keys and everything. I had to go back, but I couldn't go back. I was stuck.

“There he is!”

I jumped in surprise and fear, panic rising as the car quickly pulled up near me. My panic faded as a door popped open and the interior light came on. It was Scott and Mike. “Get in dude,” Mike encouraged, grinning madly. This made sense. I dove into the car.

Fails to Take a Stand

Hindsight is a magical thing. Through the lens of hindsight we can see all the points where we failed and what we should have done differently to have had success. The 'if I had only' game is only useful if its used as a learning experience, not if its as a wistful look at how good life could have been. Sometimes looking at the situation via hindsight doesn't change things. You honestly look at the situation and the information you had at the time only to realize that, as dumb as that move might have turned out, it made sense at the time.

That's what happened on this situation. I had no good reason to not join this group in conversation. Had I not joined the conversation, I would have looked like a bad guy. They looked normal enough. Bob liked my beard. I joined them.

I remained the outsider. They all knew each other and boisterously mocked each other in the good-natured way that men do. After a few minutes of listening to them, trying to follow the discussion, and figure out who was who, it was noticed that I lacked a beverage. This was considered a problem and a beer was pushed upon me.

I did my best to refuse the beer. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to say I was some innocent that was concerned about the legal age and how I had yet to reach it. I had consumed alcohol before this time and would yet again before I turned 21. That was not the reason although they thought it was. I was driving. I had others with me and their expectations to meet. Mostly, I wasn't in the mood to drink with them. They weren't my friends. I wasn't sure I even liked them. I didn't even want to be there. I was not keen on the idea of making booze buddies.

But they pushed and pushed me. Eventually I accepted a beer with the intent of holding it or nursing it, just to shut them up. They continued to be obnoxious about it so, further succumbing to peer pressure, I slugged down some of the contents of the plastic cup.

It didn't taste right. I knew what beer should taste like and this wasn't it. My concerns about the taste faded as I quickly and uncomfortably became lightheaded.

Then I passed out.

Party Time. Not Excellent.

As I was not looking forward to attending this party, time flew to the day. If I had been looking forward to it, time would have dragged and dragged. Such is life. It felt like I agreed to attend, snapped my fingers, and then I was driving us to the party.

'Us', as it turned out, was myself, Heather, and the As. As neither of the As had a boyfriend at the time, I became their driver. It's not that the As were wallflowers or unpleasant looking as both were attractive. Abigail was just a little on the crazy side, a little too clingy and needy for most guys to put up with for long periods of time. Angela was, well, Angela. She was the only Goth type girl I knew that had dark hair and bleached blond streaks into it instead of the other way around. As individualistic as she was, it confused me that she was keen to go to this probably idiotic party. Her answer to me was two-fold: she enjoyed gatherings to watch people make asses of themselves and to make sure I behaved for Heather. So even with three very attractive young women in my car, I was still downhearted. I just knew this wouldn't go well.

The party was being held in one of those big houses near the lake. The driveway was jam packed with cars, as was the block. After finally finding a place to park, I grumbled that we might as well have walked from the dorms considering where we parked. This got me a Look from all three ladies. I grumbled to myself, took Heather's arm, and started walking.

In the darkness, the house glowed with light and throbbed with music. There seemed no way that this party wouldn't be visited by the cops but I kept this realization to myself rather than be seen as further grumping.

There were people everywhere. People hanging around outside, leaning on cars or sitting in the grass, talking, drinking, smoking. The same was the case indoors, just more so and in a confined area. Snaking our way through the crowd, I became very impressively unhappy. Crowds make me nervous. When you gather enough people together, their collective intelligence drops and with some of the people here, they didn't have much to lose.

The kitchen was filled with hooting individuals entertaining themselves with a beer bong, a funnel attached to a hose used to deliver beer in a rapid manner. Angela flashed us her cute but wicked grin and joined them. I knew her well enough to understand her plan. She wouldn't be drinking but she would bat her eyes and play dumb and cheer on the big lugs that were drinking. In this way she'd get her entertainment value out of watching stupid people. We moved onward, attempting to complete Heather's goal of finding her friend, our host.

We soon lost Abigail as well. Passing through the den, a friend of hers called out and nodded towards the young men on the couch with her. One of them smiled at Abby and that was all she needed. Fair enough. Good for her. Heather and I continued onward.

On the patio behind the house we finally located Carol and her bulky football playing boyfriend Bob. Heather made contact with Carol and they oohed and aahed over each other as females will do when they meet. I just stood back and let it happen. I'd seen it all before. It was only fair to let her enjoy the company of her friends like I did mine. I drifted off mentally until I heard my name as part of an introduction. Politely I shook hands with Carol and then with Bob once he was dragged from his conversation. As he was deep in conversation with his pals, I expected our contact to be brief; we'd nod to each other, shake hands, and return to what we had been doing before this started. That wasn't what happened.

We shook hands, Bob went to turn back to his friends but returned to me. Smiling, he complimented me on my beard. Few people had expressed such an opinion and I warmed to him immediately. I was brought into Bob's conversation, much to the delight of Heather. I was making friends. We were mixing.

Of course, this was a horrible choice.

Going to a Party?

For us, the weekend was little different from the rest of the week. I'd hang out with Heather for awhile, we'd have some fun, she'd express some annoyance with my current deadbeat attitude, she'd get tired, I'd go home and play video games with the guys until we passed out. Bliss. Being fashionably unpopular, we weren't bothered by invitations to parties or events or anything.

Heather was not quite at such a low social level as I. While not by any means a member of the elite, she would speak to people and make friends and basically all the things I couldn't be bothered with doing at that point. She would get invited to parties. I never wanted to go. Occasionally I'd make some excuse to get out of it. More often than not, I'd do that 'no complaints but dragging my feet' sort of thing that men like to do when they are trying to avoid both a fight and doing something they don't want to do. I'd end up not having clean enough clothes or I'd 'lose track of time' doing my schoolwork and she'd end up going with one of her girlfriends. When I did go, I'd be quiet because I had no one I wanted to talk to. For awhile she stopped inviting me. She didn't argue with me, didn't speak her mind about it so, being the dimwit I was, I thought everything was fine.

I have no clue why she bothered to put up with me at this point. I must have been a horrible boyfriend. My guess is that she saw this as a phase I was going through that I would snap out of sooner or later.

This situation came to a head when Heather got invited to Carol Allen's party in November of that year. Carol was in the social elite of the school and, therefore, mostly unknown to me. She was this pretty but vapid blond gal that had a boyfriend on the big football team in Madison and the party was for him for some game he'd done well in or something. I like football but college football leaves me cold. I hadn't seen the game or cared about it. I was even less interested in going when I heard that I was expected to dress 'nice'. Not 'up', not 'fancy', just 'nice'. Business casual. This went against all my slacker principals. I declined. Heather just looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and left.

Ten minutes later, the 'As' attacked me verbally. It could have been worse. They'd thrown things at me before. The 'As' were the young ladies that lived next door to Heather in the dorm: Abigail and Angela. They explained in language simple enough for me to understand that I was working my way out of my boyfriend position with this attitude and that going to this party was Important. Once they got the guilty look on my face, they knew they had me. So that I couldn't change my mind or forget, I was marched to Heather's room in order to declare my intent to go. Once I reassured her that this would happen, she was very happy indeed. Her smile was bright and genuine. She hugged me without pausing to consider my smell. She began talking excitedly about what we'd need to do to prepare.

Even though the As gave me a thumbs-up and a 'good boy' grin, my heart was sinking. At this point it occurred to me that I'd have to buy some khaki pants and that seemed like too much of an adult thing to do. I was sad.

Our Tale of Woe Begins

Cast your mind back, to a long past time. There's a different President. No one had heard of the band Maxi Starr so it was also a better time. We all thought that the Verdant 'Venger was dead. And a man for that matter. I am in college.

I have hair to my collar. My sideburns are super bushy and are connected by a thin beard. I am super skinny, just a shade above skeletal. I have a dozen t-shirts, which I cycle through in order, wearing them until either I can't stand them anymore or, more often, my girlfriend gets sick of them and washes them for me. I am a sophomore. I am lazy. I am an idiot.

Freshman year both wore me out and made me 'smart'. I felt I'd figured out how to schedule my classes so that I could get my work done and still have plenty of free time. This free time left me comfortable and lead me to figure out what I could get away with skipping. In this I had the help of my good friends Scott and Mike. I watched movies, played video games, drank tons of soda, and spent time with Heather. Schoolwork was secondary. I was having a great time mortgaging my future. All was well.

Except for Eric.

You might remember Eric. Excitable fellow. Grand plans for himself. Freshman year we were buddied. He was crazy but I've never minded some crazy in and of itself. Goodness knows I'm not exactly normal by most people's definition. Sophomore year he freaked out on us. His initial argument was that our more casual attitude towards our schoolwork did not fit in with his plans for the future. This soon twisted and mutated into a quest to show my girlfriend that I was no longer worthy of her and that she should leave me behind for a more suitable companion, namely, himself. He embarked on a campaign to humiliate me, somehow figuring she'd be impressed with how clever he was instead of viewing him as some childish idiot, which she did. Considering I was already impressively idiotic at this point and she was still with me, I don't know what he thought would be enough to accomplish his goal.

Still, he tried. Boy did he try.

Storytime

After departing Natalie's company, I collected myself a beer and went to join Scott and Sarah Jean at the grill. I was rebuffed. “Go and mingle,” Scott declared.

“I would like to have an opportunity to defend myself,” I responded.

Scott gestured mightily. “Go!” I complied. Scott is a big fella. Sarah Jean giggled at me as I walked away. Whatever.

The backyard had pockets of conversation. The seating had been arranged in an attempt to keep everyone together but the group was too big for that to work. The group had splintered into a half-dozen or so smaller groups chit-chatting away. When I saw the man in the lawn-chair sheltering in the shade of a large tree, I approached him. Grinning, I noted “I thought you were allergic to the sun.”

Mike looked up from the plate balanced in his lap, squinting at me. “There's a reason I'm under the tree ya know.”

Our conversation started with this good natured silliness. We quickly ran through a few standard comments, the 'been awhile', the 'good to see you', the 'answer your email occasionally' sorts of things. Once these were complete, Mike observed “I see you're still with the redhead. Excellent choice my friend. Admittedly she's at a distance right now but she looks hotter than I remember.”

“I don't know how you remember her but she is hotter than that.”

“And yet she hangs out with a slug like you,” he teased.

“Yeah, I don't get it either,” I joked in response. “How goes the writing?”

He gave me a Look. “We start filming next week. Dude, read your email.”

“Really?” He nodded. “I'm sorry, I dunno how I missed that. Been busy.”

“I'm sure you have been,” he responded. “I would be. If you gotta skip some of my notes in order to be busy with her then I understand totally. I'll write more for you to skip! I'm not like that!”

I found his rant entertaining until Sarah Jean began bounding our way. At that point, it suddenly became less entertaining. For some reason, I was afraid she'd hear him, which was silly. If she wanted to, she could pick it out of my mind. In theory she could pick it out of Mike's mind but I don't think she'd go there again unless she absolutely had to do so. Her energetic pace combined with her sassy expression combined with her low cut shirt was too much for Mike to keep silent. “I mean, come on!”

Apart from turning her smug smile to Mike for a moment, she ignored him, keeping her focus on me. She stared at me long enough to make the situation a bit uncomfortable. Before I could prompt her, she stated “I know about Kitty Frou-Frou.” Her grin that much more smug, she bounded back to the chortling Scott.

“No no no!: I protested. “Not cool!” Mike died laughing. “Jerk.”

I suppose now you want to know the story too. Jerks.