I'm finally beginning to re-adjust to life at my parent's house again. For those who don't know, a couple of months back our realty company sent us a letter. Basically, they're remodeling Shady Glenn apartments over the summer, and they offered us about $400 a piece to move out early. This arrangement worked to everybody's advantage due to the fact that Richard will be moving to Wyoming for the summer, and we were having trouble finding a replacement tenant. So, we gladly accepted the offer, and said we'd be out by Monday, May 15th.

Armed with the knowledge that we'd be getting our security deposit back no matter what, we scheduled a big party for Thursday, May 11th. Initially, I told people that we'd be able to smash the walls and stuff, but upon further soul-searching, I decided that wasn't such a good idea.

Thursday

On the night of the party, however, Trent apparently didn't get the memo. He put two small holes in the wall. One with his elbow, and the other with those ridiculous goth boots. We need to get a petition going for Trent to start dressing normally again. Anyway, I digress.



The retaliation for said holes was quick and fierce. Richard dropkicked Trent into the sofa.



The rumble was on, and it pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening.



Soon after that bout cooled down, with Richard the victor, another reared its head. Matt v. Trent. The one everybody had been waiting for.



...and I do mean everybody.



It started off the same way it ended...



...with Matt laying there like a limp fish.

That one was kind of a downer, but the next one got everyone right back where they needed to be.



Max started off by spearing Trent into the ground.



Look at the calm, collected composure on Max's face even in the middle of spearing someone. That's why Max is a winner.



With the sleeper hold applied as tightly as could be, Trent had to tap out.









Meanwhile, outside the house, at the top of the stairs, there was a much more festive atmosphere than the carnage taking place inside. A lengthy game of beer pong, and a shotgunning contest consumed the attention of everyone else at the party.







Rollie and I even managed to convince our once and future Hungry Howie's manager, Sherome, to come to the party.



Sherome made a big splash at the party, and even got pictures of his own. This picture was being taken with two cameras at once. My camera was in my right hand, and Sherome's was in my left hand. I guess Emily and Sherome dubbed his camera the more important one.

I was overjoyed that Sherome came, but an even bigger surprise awaited me.



Ol' Harry came! And he shaved!



Everybody was happy to see Wick. Chandler greeted him with an extended handshake. Wick was only in town a couple of days. He's since gone back to Tulane to begin summer classes. Oh, Wick. You bookworm, you!



Before the party started, I strategically placed some Eagles records near the hard pavement outside.





Conor got the idea pretty quickly, and before long, it was "a record breaking weekend".

Then, the whole thing advanced to its next natural step:





Fire.







Lots of fire.



Adam even did a jaunty medieval dance with the flaming album cover.





Despite the light-hearted pyromaniacal antics, as the evening progressed the mood grew sinister. What had started out as just wrestling for funsies, was about to boil over into a real brawl. Cory was trying to encourage Matt to sucker-punch Trent; the idea being that Matt would make the initial hit, and then Cory would take over from there. When that didn't work, Cory just did it himself. Cory pushed Trent over a chair and backwards into a metal pole.



Right then, Jack moved in front of Trent and stood down Cory. "Hey, man. I don't wanna start anything with you. 'Cause, you know, you're bigger than me," Cory said.



So, basically, Cory got punked down by Jack and Trent, but nothing really happened. The mood outside just went from party mood to Awkward Tension Fest 2006.





The only thing to release that kind of tension is a Miles shaming.











Even after all of our build-up, not to mention his obvious advantage, Miles still wouldn't man-up to wrestle Conor. So, we had to help them. Acting as masters of puppets, Jack grabbed Conor's arms, and I grabbed Miles' arms, and we made them fight.

We moved the brawl into the living room where it turned knock-down and drag-out.





Miles won by pinfall, and everyone jumped onto him in a dogpile to celebrate.

During the action, Sherome apparently had a little too much fun and became desperately ill. Rollie and I took it upon ourselves to be good employees, and to drive him home.

By the time we got back from Sherome's house and Jimmy John's, the party was pretty much over.

Friday:

I spent about three hours of the day trying to sleep on my floor. It didn't work out so well, so I just stayed up, and moved stuff out of the apartment. I had to work that night, and I wanted to die.

Saturday:

Spent my first night back at home on my parent's awful futon they bought to go into what was once my room. It's like sleeping on a rock, the only difference is that sometimes you can find those big ergonomically correct boulders when you're hiking, and they're actually pretty comfortable. This thing can in no way, be construed as being comfortable. The trick is to stay up until your body just gives out, then you'll be able to sleep on it, but you'll be awake at 11 AM sharp. No matter what time I go to bed, I've woken up at 11 AM every day since I've been here; it's awful.

Saturday I moved some more stuff out of the apartment before Trent came over. We ended up going to Cracker Barrel, and Angel's Antiques.

It was at Angel's Antiques that I bought this sumbitch:



A 14" dagger with a stallion's head on the handle. At a price of just $24 dollars, I couldn't say "no".



When we got back to the apartment, Matthew, Trent, and I covered the porch couch with ketchup and took it to the dumpster. While we were unloading it, some hippie rode by on a bicycle and stared googly-eyed at the couch. When he asked, "What happened?" I told him, "You didn't see anything. Keep on moving."

While I was sitting around waiting to go to work, I got a pleasant surprise:



Charlie is back from his travels on The Dark Continent.



He brought me a badass monkey skull.

After chatting with Chongo for a few minutes, it was time to go to work.

Sunday: The last day dawned, and Richard, Matt, and I finished the move-out with only the exception of some kitchen appliances, and a bag of charcoal. Richard asked me if I wanted the bag, or if we should just throw it out. I suggested that we cook on it. A few hours later, Richard had bought some steak and fries, and I bought two racks of pork spare-ribs. Coincidentally, the pork also cost $24 dollars, and I couldn't say "no".



"Honey, I Sauced the Ribs!"



We called up a few of the regulars to join in the feast.



My mother even contributed a big bottle of Merlot to the cause.



We ended up with a mountain of meat which left nothing to be desired, save a chair or something. We all sat and ate on a big empty carpet watching professional hockey.

I'd like to tell you that's how the whole thing ended, with contented silence, but I'd only be lying to you.



The division of Miles v. Everyone flared up as usual, and, this time, armed with a penchant for limitless destruction, we found ourselves engaged in a battle like none other.



It started with hot dogs, and moved on from there to Tilex, Formula 409, and cans of baked beans. By the time it was all over, people were covered in meat and chemicals, most notably Miles who took a blast of my 409 spray right to the face. It was a big disaster like it should've been, and a fitting tribute to a fine dwelling.



Shady Glenn: Apartment 245 A
August 14, 2005 - May 15, 2006