Anyone who truly knows me also knows I wish that 99 percent of people with a vas deferens would get it severed. I had mine severed after the birth of my beloved child, because (1) I’m financially unstable, (2) I love my child too much to offer any attention to a secondary larva, and (3) sperm is poison. Point being: It was with great joy that I attended a friend’s post-vasectomy celebration.
I should mention that the friend in question is a bit of a local icon for their rollerblading prowess. They’re also younger, cuter, and funnier than me. So I was extra relieved they picked the snip, and extra amused to learn they had recently wiped out in a confrontation with a parked car. Today they were pantsless on their couch, wrapped in a blanket, blaring tunes from the aughties. For the sake of modesty, they threw on a Pokémon hoodie and a pair of pink sunglasses.
Though thousands have flocked to Portland over the last few years, the cast of characters in my life is still remarkably small. So it was no surprise that I knew all the other attendees—a virtual who’s who of Portland’s Black and brown creatives and activists. Food contributions included chicken, spaghetti, garlic bread, and a variety of chips and donuts. Those of you who read my St. Patrick’s party review may recall I have a knack for mixing partial bottles of liquor. Today’s blend featured two varieties of Jack Daniel’s left over from a party at a different friend’s house, who insisted we stop by a convenience store on our way to the vasectomy party to supplement our sad donation.
The convenience store didn’t yield much better. Disappointment was to be expected since the store marketed itself as a “food mart,” which is a ghetto euphemism for “all we sell is cheap beer, candy, and cigarettes.” This particularly classy food mart had detailed parking instructions posted on the door, barred windows, and the following occupancy restrictions: a maximum of four children, no large dogs, and small dogs must be carried at all times.
Back at the party, the pantsless patient challenged my kid to a round of Peggle 2, a video game in which the two-player battle mode is called a “Peg Party.” (I look forward to someday reviewing a peg party, but for that, my child will most certainly not be in attendance.) The combination of Kirk Franklin and video game music beautifully showcased the room’s masterfully wired surround sound. Music seemed to wash over us from every direction with only two speakers in sight.
It was around this party point that another guest offered me a gig and patiently waited for contact information as I looked around the room for speakers. They finally asked aloud for my email address or a business card.
Why do people still use email? Why don’t I have a business card? I don’t have all the answers, but I know this party scored 10 points out of 10.
Want me to review your party? Send your invite to firstname.lastname@example.org