Day 16: Ain’t No Party Like an MML Party
The next day found everyone up bright and early, enjoying the outdoors beneath a beautiful morning sky. Farrah and Claudia were chilling to some tunes by the pool. Pete was checking out the telescope. And Robi was walking around the yard, picking up rocks.
He ended up netting about $100 from finding these fallen space rocks (I still have no idea how or when they fell), and I’m sure he would’ve searched all day long were it not for an unexpected interruption. Without a knock on the door or a phone call or anything, a second paparazzi showed up, walking around to the back patio like he owned the place, taking pictures of Pete and his telescope. I could already see the headlines – “Long-haired Ginger of Local Band, Bridgeport’s Newest Voyeur”. Fortunately, Robi hates intruding photographers as much as he loves the voices in his head, and in no time, he was all up in that dude’s business.
Only a fool would remain after such a verbal onslaught. This paparazzi was not so foolish, and quickly evacuated the premises, Robi continuing to shout after him as he drove away. Who needs a guard dog when you have the fel-touched mind of Robi Duboise.
After a late breakfast, it was time for everyone to learn some new tunes. After their second gig, I sent them all to the store to pick up some instrumental skill books. Being the bookworm of the group, Claudia was of course the first one to finish.
It was about that time when everyone received an invitation to a fellow B-Lister’s pool party. Somehow, quite unexpectedly, and even more suddenly, Masochistic Murder Llama had become known throughout the celebrity circles of Bridgeport (the fact that such circles were minor and unimpressive didn’t matter to us.) Not even stopping to question what kind of party it would be at 8:30 pm on a Tuesday, everyone piled into the biggest car and drove approximately 500 feet to the party. The mood was beyond excited. In fact, as soon as everyone was out of the car, they sprinted around the corner of the property fence, chatted with each other for a minute, and then changed into their swimming attire, presumably complimenting each other, and reassuring one another that Farrah’s mystery sludge hadn’t added any excess weight and/or love handles. It was as this point that the host of the party came out and announced how hungry she was.
Of course, the gang was there to party, not submit to some other Two-star schmo’s inconvenient demands. Much to my applause, MML downright refused to feed that woman her own food, and went forth, determined to live the good life. Unfortunately, there were only four other people at this party, and the pool was large enough to fit about three Sims (or one very large Sim.) And, despite the invitation indicating that it was a pool party, we were the only ones wearing our swimming gear. Undaunted, everyone did their best to mingle, met with snobbery and cold shoulders at every turn (much as one could expect from a handful of life time low-grade celebs.) Robi, leader as he always is, took such behavior in stride, quickly finding the pool and eschewing the normal behaviors.
After a couple of hours of listening to some nobody play the guitar (Farrah certainly wasn’t going to play on her night out) the gang started to feel the pangs of party hunger. Raiding the host’s fridge, they made themselves a various assortment of ice cream, cereal, and grilled cheese sandwiches (none of which were shared with the presumably still-hungry host, because fuck her. She should’ve made some hors d’oeuvres, or hell, even some Totino’s Pizza Rolls or something.) By that time, the “party” was winding down, and we were soon the only guests left. Luckily, the hostess finally realized just how terrible her party was, and called it a night. MML responded by chilling in her front yard for another hour.
But, perhaps the most wonderous moment of the night came when Pete and Claudia passed each other’s friendzone barriers, and stepped up to bat, first base clearly in sight.
After this, with everyone feeling pretty tired and just about partied out, it was time to return home and rest up. Their next gig was less than 12 hours away, and I had the feeling that they would need to put on the best show of their short careers in order to advance out of the dive bar circuit.