“No. Just no. Don’t you remember what the landlord said last time? He said we’d be evicted, he’d keep all out money, fuck our credit, and rape our mothers. Maybe not that last part. But you heard him. No. More. Parties. That’s final.”

“Steve, I don’t have a venue. My reputation will be destroyed. I have to throw this party.”

“Okay, fine. But no massive speakers, and limit it to forty people. I just busted my ass all day long moving couches and desks and beds and bookcases. I moved in today. I’m not getting thrown out tomorrow.”

“We need to have speakers. This is a rave. You know that. But I’ll keep it down, I promise. No louder than your Friday night Wilco.”

“My Friday night drunk music blasts from speakers that are one foot tall. Yours are almost as tall as me. There’s no comparison. Not even close. That’s like comparing a minnow to the Loch Ness Monster.”

Everything went straight to hell. Between 10pm and 3am I went to the DJ booth and turned down the volume every ten or fifteen minutes, compulsively, like a horny farmer fucking a barndoor knothole. I made enemies. I deflected scowls. People said things to me:

“You’re being paranoid, Steve.”
“You’re a controlling asshole and you’re gonna ruin this party.”
“Stop stressing so much. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“We can barely hear the music. What’s your fucking problem, anyways?”

I never wanted that goddamn party in my house, that’s my goddamn problem.

A neighbor complained. He jabbed his index finger into my chest while steam hissed from his ears and his eyes rolled up in his head. I calmed him, returned to my teeming abode, and continued my fascist assault on the decibel levels. Yet every time I stopped babysitting the current DJ, he cranked up the knobs. The neighbor complained again. I buttered him up and promised to hold it down better than I had before. I was sweating, angry, and terrified. 100 people were in my home, all of them cheering, hollering, and having fun. They talked over the music, the music played over them, back and forth, over and over, an accelerating oscillation of garbled volume.

The other neighbors got involved. They didn’t complain to me. They called the dreaded landlord. He called his building manager, the aforementioned neighbor who’d been kind enough to warn me twice before.

I’d tried to shut the party down at 3am. I told my party happy roommate “Every minute that passes, even at this same volume level, our shittiness to our neighbors triples in offensiveness. The rest of the world is silent right now. We are the only noise. They CAN hear us, very much so, and they are getting PISSED OFF. The music must be turned off at 3. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“You told me you’d turn it down at 1. You failed. I’ve been going Nazi on the amp every five fucking minutes for what feels like eternity. All your DJs want to cut me open stem to stern and watch my guts steam. You’re fucking this up. You’re putting me and our other two roommates in jeopardy. You’re putting MY livelihood at risk. To add insult to fuckery, to prevent me from protecting my residence, you’re complimenting me for trying to be responsible about the noise just to shut me up. It’s like patting a little kid on the head and telling him to run along and play. It’s condescending. You’re a dumb thoughtless selfish fucking prick.”

Then he got mad at me. I started really shouting, cursing out a nice big hateful display of screaming and spittle for all the drugged out hippies to gasp and gawk at.

At 3:30 the roommate went to argue with the neighbor/building manager. He had the nerve to accuse the neighbor of being unreasonable. They shouted at one another in the foyer. I seized the opportunity.

I turned on all the lights and beelined for the DJ booth. "Sorry man, but I gotta kill your set. Scuse me."

I turned off all the gear.

"EVERYBODY! ATTENTION PLEASE! I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD TIME! SORRY TO END THIS BUT THE PARTY IS OVER. THE LANDLORD HAS CALLED AND WILL HAVE THE POLICE CALLED IN TEN MINUTES IF I DON'T HAVE YOU OUT. SO! GET! THE! FUCK! OUT! NNNNOOOOWWWW!"

That ripped my throat up.

That awful Saturday night was far from ending. My bad day was only beginning to go sour.

I had an absolutely horrible weekend, and I still don't feel human yet. I'll finish exorcisizing it later this week. 3:15 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm