13th
“These aren’t those kind of girls”
My crazy neighbor is walking up and down the street, talking to himself about lawn care. You’ll have to forgive me, I can’t seem to remember his name. He’s in his early 20’s, and he lives with his dad. In the following words, I will recall my favorite story of this poor young man, who’s name I’ve so rudely forgotten. We’ll call him ‘Perkins’ for the sake of this story. Which is true, by the way.
Scene: My birthday, 2007. My loving roommates have prepared the house for the occasion. A projector is beaming images from “T.Rex, born to boogie” which Chris had given me earlier in the day. The backyard is covered with lamps and candles. It looks like a park in paris.
about 50 or 60 people are over. Dancing by the fire to “jeepster”. Mike has brought a keg and a bunch of grey goose vodka. I believe I’m drinking wine. Everyone is hugging. It’s really turning into one of those beautiful nights, of which we used to have so many.
Kevin brings his wife, and a bottle of scotch, and talks about compression and tape colibration for hours. Andy listens patiently, as usual. Even throws in an observation or two of his own, when the air clears. When he can get free of the conversation, he handles me a six pack of amstel with a bow on it.
After a couple hours, ‘Perkins’ comes wondering through the backyard holding a joint.
“Heard ya’ll are in a rock band. I brought a joint. Ya’ll get laid alot?” Perkins asks in a Fountain Square slur.
“Nope”. We reply.
“Lot’s a fine honeys here. Gotta beer?”
He is handed a beer.
Local politics are odd in fountain square. You don’t want to toss people out left and right, because that person may decide to fuck up your house later. So a couple people sit with him on the back porch while he smokes a joint and drinks a beer.
I go inside and begin a conversation with Dodge about some record or something, and after a few minutes, I notice that Perkins has made his way into the house and is eyeballing a few of the women. I try to ignore him and go back to my conversation. More minutes pass. Erika comes up to me.
“Who is this guy? He’s starting to touch girls and just generally creep people out.”
Jesus.
Case and I walk over to him and tell him we need to talk to him.
“What’s up boiii? Great party. See that girl (points)? You think she’s up for it?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. You can’t say inappropriate things to the ladies. These aren’t those kind of girls. This isn’t that kind of party.”
“Come on man, this girl likes me. There’s enough girls here for everyone!’
“Listen Perkins, these girls are feminists. They’ll fuck you up. You can’t act this way, or you’ll have to leave.”
“I thought you guys were in a rock band!”
“We watch wildlife documentaries all day and read about Roman history.”
“Damn.”
Ten minutes later, Perkins dad comes overs. He screams at Perkins for drinking a beer and for taking his weed. Perkins sulks off after his father and isn’t seen for a whole two days.
I’m glad Perkins doesn’t come around anymore.
