You gotta fight, for your right, to party.

Maybe it's time I cooled down my 'open house' policy.

Since I've been in this place of mine, I've always been happy to have people around. Sometimes this has been just one other person, sometimes it's been more.

Last night's Plan B was an odd affair. Ten of us met up at a pub not far from here and we stayed until just before midnight. Then it suddenly dawned on a couple of people that coming back to mine wasn't such a good idea because I didn't have any drink in the house. What followed was a fiasco of trying to buy bottles of vodka from behind the bar, which didn't materialise and then people racking their brains to think of a shop which would still be serving alcohol.
Not far from where we were is a couple of supermarkets of the 24 hour variety. I tried to tell them that even though they were 24 hours, they would have to close on a Saturday night, due to Sunday trading hours. It seems they all knew better and subsequently phoned said supermarkets, only to be greeted with a recorded message stating that on Saturdays, they close at 10pm.

Some of them looked decidedly pissed off that not only could they not continue getting pissed after the pub closed, but "Shock Horror", I had no alcohol in my house and therefore as far as they were concerned....and I quote, "Well, there's no point coming back then, if you have nothing to drink!"

I can't understand what the big deal was?
They know me, well...sort of. They know I'm not a 'drinker' by nature, so it should come as no big surprise to them that I don't keep a 24 pack of beers cooled in the fridge, 2 bottles of fine wine, a huge bottle of vodka, a bottle or two of Aftershock and various mixers in the house.

It kinda grieved me that half of them had by now, decided their evening was over and left when their taxis arrived. But then again, it was their choice.
A few minutes later, I was unsettled once again. This time by a ridiculous conversation over Paintguy's puppy.
He assumed we would be calling back at his place on the way back to mine, to pick up his puppy and bring her back here. Where he got that idea, I can't even begin to understand! He knows I'm not a big fan of dogs anyway, but that aside, his cute little puppy (and yes, she is cute) is nowhere near house-trained yet. Add to that fact, that she is a typical playful puppy that likes nothing more than to scratch corners of the carpets up and chew anything that's left lying about and surely my reasons for saying "no" were founded.
It appears not, because what followed was a stupid conversation about why I wouldn't let him bring his dog back here. I stood my ground, but for those 20 minutes, I was made to feel like a complete wanker because a.p.p.a.r.e.n.t.l.y....I was being unreasonable and if I wouldn't let Paintguy bring her back, he wouldn't be staying and would be going home.
He went home.

As usual, I was the designated driver by choice. It appears that in those circumstances, it's perfectly acceptable that I'm not bothered about having a drink and suddenly I became a bit of a savior because I could drive them over to Krusty's house, since she'd declared she had a full bottle of vodka and some shorts that she could bring.

The rest of the evening was ok, but nothing special. A glass got broken, Leon had the piss taken out of him, Homer got abused and photographed a few times but the pool table didn't surface.

This morning, the state of the kitchen told many a tale. As my coffee maker bubbled and made those peculiar "ppprrrrrkkkkkkkkk" noises, I stood there wondering what to clean up first as I heard footsteps on the second floor as people began to surface.
One by one, they disappeared through the front door and I was left to finish washing up 3 million glasses, put Homer back in his happy place and run the vacuum around like somebody possessed.

So maybe it's time for me to cool off on the "Yeah, everybody come back to mine" malarky.