Drink!

My apologies for these posts being few and far between. I am in the midst of moving and another interesting life development that I will share with you all in a few weeks. I hope to be back on track shortly after this weekend.

I moved into my new apartment last weekend. There are two 20-something year old girls fresh out of college that live above us. Us being my wife and I. While we were busy carrying over boxes and furniture we noticed that they were carrying a keg and other various party sundries. During a break we were enjoying on our new porch we noticed a large wood square-like thing being carried up the stairs.

"Is that a dancefloor?" my wife asked.
"Absolutely," responded her sister, "I know it from my long history of dancing around the world."*
"F," my wife yells into the house, "there having a party upstairs. {pause} With a dance floor!"

I was not so much concerned with the dancing as I am the keg. It probably should be noted that I am not upset about it. I walk out onto the porch as the neighbor girl is coming down the stairs. Apparently, she had heard my wife.

"Uh, were, like, having a party tonight. If we are, like, too loud or something, like, just let us know and, uh, we will like be quieter or something."
My wife often cannot contain her curiosity, "Was that a dance floor?"
"Uh, no. That is, uh, like a beer pong table."

At this point my ears perked up like a dog that has seen something move fast out of a window. Although I have not been involved in competitive drinking in many a blue moon I am interested in this "beer pong" thing. The neighbor notices either my stunning good looks or the sweaty fat, bald man who is slightly drooling at the thought of a beer after a day of moving.

"You can all, like, come over or something if, uh, like, you would like."
"What time?" I find in situations like these it is best to get the information before the wife can put a nix on this beer thing.

I am told the time and quickly get on the horn with Bruno. It is important to inform your single friends of a young woman beer party. It's good karma.

That night we arrive at the party fashionably late(10ish). Apparently, this is no longer done by the kids. The party invitees were there promptly at 8:00PM. I see the beer pong table in all it's glory. It is a table slightly larger than a ping pong table. It has no net or lines on it and is held up by legs that were perhaps broken off somebody's parent dining room table. There are ten cups on each side of the table. Six quarter filled beers in a triangle shape. Two glasses of water on each side and the two beers that are being casually drunk by the athletes.

The rules are basically that you throw the ping pong ball into the opposing teams cups in the air (if it bounces you can swat it away) and if it goes in they drink it. If the ball touches anything gross (floor, wall, garbage, Bruno) the ball is dipped into the water glass for cleaning. Teams are two competitors each. If you need further information check here at the National Beer Pong League web site.

Bruno and I team up to lose to a team consisting of two lesbians that apparently really liked each other. It was good fun. Between BP games I was recruited by my new best friend Fred to be on his "Flip Cup" team. This sport is, uh, stupid. It involves slamming your beer and flipping your cup and then the next person on the team goes. If you get done first, you win.

AFter a few games of Flip Cup I am fully in my Frank the Tank mode. I have become the old guy at the party. After my suggestion of streaking is shot down I begin regaling the kids of a drinking game we used to play in college. The name of the game was Drink! The rules were simple. You walk around the party and every now and again you would point at someone and yell "Drink!" They would and the party would continue.

The children looked at me with blank stares. My BFF Fred shook his head in disappointment.

"Well, it ain't any dumber than Flip Cup," I exclaimed, feelings slightly hurt. I walked out to the porch, filled my red plastic cup with beer and went downstairs to enjoy it while playing the "Mr. Ed" game by myself. Every time that damn horse spoke I drank.

* OK, I made the last part up.