After sending out the e-mails, buying the drinks, food, and decorations, cleaning up things, and choosing the right mix of tunes, the New Year's Eve Party for 2001 got underway.
Even though the invitation said that the party started at around 9 pm, everyone did the Swingers thing and showed up fashionable late (except for our Bakersfield Bud Crew and Princess who were here to help with last minutes preparations as well as tapping the keg)! As I passed out the tickets for the raffle and got progessively "happy" the whole night I noticed a few things. And now, the observations:

• Jennifer Kubit and friend Sandra dancing from the start the the end of the party. By doing this, they have been put on the Friends of the House portion of the page.
• Don't eat pineapples before any House Party! They don't clean up very easily from the deck!
• "It's better to burn out than to fade away" - Def Leppard and now, the House.
• For those who beer bonged (Paul Kubit, Stevie, Jeff Hall), we salute you! For those who have yet to but like the taste of beer, you are next!
• When you combine a video camera, kegs, and Bakersfield Boys (or Baco Boys as we like to call them, you are only asking for trouble (or at least some footage to show to mom)!
• To those did the Fire Sambuca shots (Bruin Woods crew), you, I mean, we brought Cedar Lodge down the hill to West Los Angeles.
• Thank you to everyone for helping us with the financial aspect of the party. It made for a great evening and one that I hope everyone will remember!
  
  

'Twas the first night of Chanukah, and all through the House(of Love)
All the partiers were drinking until they were sauced(pronounced Sow-st)!

We had opened our gifts that were wrapped with such care,
I got some douche, not the tiny underwear

Vince was in the kitchen with Eric Myers and Cory.
She broke his beer bottle--it's a long story

When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter
Oh! It was just Eric May emptying his bladder

The music was thumping and shaking the floor.
A party at the House is never a bore!
The walls were decorated with lights very jolly.
But the thing up above us wasn't mistletoe but holly.

As the night went on we drank lots of beer.
Shots were taken with rum that was clear.
But someone was missing, almost unnoticed.
Jenny Maxwell was out rubbing her clitoris.

The party was great for all of you that came.
If it wasn't before, I'd like to mention your name.

There was Emily, and Bonnie, and the sweetest Melissa.
Alison was there and so was Alyssa.
Jay and Jose with their ugly ass shoes.
Cynthia and Laura were drinking our booze.

Keanna had a birhtday we sang her a song.
Paul Kubit was there, wearing a thong.
Stephanie Haygood had brought a great present.
Limo and Stevie ate a whole pheasant.(Actually it was a Cornish Hen)

Jason Lewis was drinking hot apple cider.
Carly was there with Matt Brundage beside her.
I think I'm almost done with listing all the guests.
But who can forget Katie--we call her Fes.

If I've forgotten your name, please forgive this grievous sin.
Send me an e-mail and I'll put you right in.

We've reached the end of this poem but I'd like to cheer
"HAVE A GREAT HOLIDAY AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!"


"RJ’s B-day Bash"
by Eric Myers

When we got to the House of Love, RJ was singing. "La la, la la la la," or something close to "La la, la la la la." Probably something with words now that I think about it, but we had pre-partied from the nine o’clock hour on, so by this time some words simply smurfed out of peoples mouths. Yes, "smurf" can be used as a verb, especially when you’re drunk. We drank at home NOT because we feared the HOL would not have an adequate supply of alcohol, no! We just like to be fucked up, and wanted to be fucked up, and when we got there, fucked up we were. Okay, fucked up I was: someone had to drive and that night it was my "friend" Jen. I once drove to the House of Love, but never, ever again. Instead of "Go Big or Go Home," Rule #1 should be "Don’t drive to the House of Love" because when you can make the "ring of fire" with saliva from your mouth an hour after you’ve stopped drinking you’re not OK to drive home.

We pushed past the mob surrounding RJ (oh yes ladies, he can sing too. Mob him. Love him.) and moved upstairs to the porch where parties normally explode like Ron Jeremy and alcohol flows like the nearby Pacific. That night though, the deck was as barren as a Bakersfield ballroom. Only Vince stood firm, conversing with members of the female species as his sipped a frothy brew. He greeted me with a jovial "Myers!" glanced at the female on each of my arms, gave me an approving nod, and returned to the conversation with his lady-friends. I went to where the brews were (ice chest by the table), added my offering, and took one (or two) for my troubles. The ladies went down stairs and I finally spoke with the man, the myth, the.. alright, just Vince.

"What’s up with the Karaoke?" I questioned, sincerely perturbed at the direction the party was headed. I drank while we talked, making up for lost time. Or is it time lost? "It’s too soon. People aren’t drunk enough." He said, sipping away, time and time again.

"You’re right, what is it, 11?" I took another swig, waiting for his answer, absorbed the bright decorations and ample space, usually filled with intoxicated partygoers and other miscreants of society, but tonight filled only with air. (and imagination!)

"Eleven-thirty," he spouted, swallowing. He spotted the reservoir bottle I held in my free hand. I handed it to him before he asked, knowing the exact location where plenty more awaited my succulent slurp.

"Eleven-thirty is too early?" I asked, finishing my Becks.

"Don’t you think?" He looked concerned, as if I held the Party Rule Book. But I didn’t hold any fuckin’ book, just a cold ass beer—there are no rules when you go to a party, especially when it’s one for your birthday.

"I don’t know." I said, not concerned any longer and looking at the pretty, pretty unlit tikki torches. Tonight would not be (another) night of burning the hair of unsuspecting girls as they back into the open flames.

"Do you think?" he shot back, jarring me from my dream state, and leaving me staring at his mock-angered face which was nearly in focus.

"Shut the fuck up." I said in jest, and with a touch of mild sincerity added, "I’ll dominate you. Like Shaq."

At this point we both knew it was time to go down stairs, so that’s what we did. The girls who came with me were already down, and yes, there are both older than me and I still refer to them as girls. And yes, this makes me a little boy, but according to my past lovers, this description is sadly accurate. But I digress. Less House of Truth and more House of Love, where we were down stairs.

RJ was singing and we were drinking. He’s a good singer, and a good drinker and an even better singer when you’re a good drinker. It was his birth-day (observed) and his friends were cheering him on, enjoying the show. I too was enjoying the show, but in the far recesses of the dining room table, knowing only the house members, the dames that rode with E(being me), and the bottom of the bottle.

"Another shot" Vince shouts from the kitchen, and I know I’m in for trouble.

We do a shot for world peace, one for the Bruins, one for Geronimo, and many, many to "Going big or going home." (mainly due to my regression of speech during intoxication, which limits my verbal capacity to whatever I read on websites. The next shot was to The Literary Brothel - Where great minds are coming!)

And more people sang, Vince did duets, RJ took requests, and even I, in my staggering state, said a brief "Hello" to my friends and the world, Lionel Richie style, before saying my last "happy birthday" to RJ. We left the House of Love late, drunk, and content with an evening well spent, as one always should.



"An Observation By The Host" by Vincent A. Villanueva
It literally was a dark and foggy night when the first of the hordes of people began to show up at the door. Hilary Douglas, the official bartender for the evening, fluttered up to the balcony with her Angel Wings and began setting up shop. Next thing you know, the balcony began to fill up with people. Throughout the arrivals I got, "Oh, so YOUR Vince!" which was interesting. They must have known about me through someone. Without hesitancy, I welcomed them to the House (that Love built) and showed them 3 things: where the bathroom was, where to get your drinks, and where the red-party cups were! Then the music started!

With the aid of a few choice drinks and the sounds of "Get Your Freak On", the party began to come alive. And now, the observations.

• M. Painter and Dan O'Neal with the flasks! Awesome! This shows the promise of serious partiers!
• Those who attempted the beer bong (Paul Kubit) should be commended. Those who scoffed at it (Li'l Kubit) should be warned.
• I commend everyone who brought alcohol! It was BYOB and there was plenty to go around an get everyone a little schnickered!
• Eric May came up big! He was immediately removed from the House's Wall of Shame, and hopefully, he won't go back on!
• The person who brought beads to the party! Oh wait, that was me! It provided for some entertaining times. I'm not here to name names, but man, that was fun to watch you earn those beads!
• The quick and easy clean is credited to EVERYONE WHO ATTENDED! We finally got smart and purchased a large outdoor trash can and thankfully, everyone used it! It made clean-up sooooo easy!
• We did have one casualty of war in that someone booted over the balcony. So, they get "pimped" for that. However, they do get praised for making it in between the two apartments below us and just staining the walkway (check it out the next time you come by). We don't hold parties in your toilet, so don't boot on (or off of) our balcony!