On August 1, 2000, I moved into 15 Rannoch Road, London with three other guys from work: Snookums, Alex, and Nick. Once we were settled we only had one thing on our minds… PARTY! It took us about two months to finally have the damn thing, and you have the results here before you. We deliberated over an appropriate “theme” for months, and ultimately we settled on a compromise: “Fancy Dress, Deviant and Diverse.” We felt that left a lot of room for our friends to improvise. As you can see, they didn’t let us down.

But first, here we are in all our pre-party glory. From left to right, that’s me (as the Prom Queen Gone Bad), Snookums (as the Transvestite Priest), Alex (in pink wig and drag), Nick (in blonde wig and drag), and Nick’s girlfriend Amy (as a Satanic Hoochie-Mama). In front is Amy’s friend, whose name I cannot presently remember. She’s a Satanic Hoochie-Mama too. (Note: I was the only one who didn’t have to rent my costume. *grin*)

Here you can see our kitchen starting to fill up with guests. We’d prepared the living room to be the center of activity (cardboard and tarps over the carpet, furniture removed, etc.) but for some reason everybody preferred to convene in the kitchen. As you can see, some people took the costume business more seriously than others.

My jello shots are truly legendary. Here Ian samples from the smorgasboard of vodka-filled delights. (Cultural sidenote: in England these are called “vodka jellies.”) Hmmm, perhaps the fact that all the food and drink were in the kitchen contributed to our guests’ desire to set up camp there. (Another cultural sidenote: as young Ian is only 19 years of age, he’d be unable to imbibe alcohol in the United States. Which is stupid, because he held his liquor better than a lot of party-goers older than him.)

Here’s a better shot of Alex’s cocktail dress. Isn’t that rick-rack cute? Don’t worry; he’s wearing shorts under that mini-skirt. He’s also got long pink sparkly eyelashes, courtesy of Amy.

The guests, in case you’re wondering, are a mix of people we work with and friends of Alex and Nick. (Rodd and I hadn’t been in the country long enough to have friends outside of work.) For some reason there were a lot of French people there too. I have no idea where they came from. *grin*

This is our backyard, where we tried unsuccessfully to corral the smokers. From left to right, that’s Jerome, Ciaran, a random German girl, and Mark. Mark had one of the best costumes, I thought. He showed up in a knit stocking cap with a clock tied around his neck. Me: “Are you Flava Flav?” Him: “YES!” I think I was the only one who got that. Evidently someone else is wearing his clock at this point in the evening.

The award for best costume of all, though, had to go to Garreth. This red-haired Englishman, usually seen only in crisp double-breasted suits, waltzed into our house in what can only be described as Gimpwear. Yes, that’s a rubber mask, angora crop top sweater, leather short shorts, silk opera gloves, block nylons, and leather boots. Apparently his taxi driver got quite a kick out of driving him to our place.

Here Garreth the Gimp samples one of my vodka jellies while Scott checks out his gloves. I have no idea what Ciaran’s doing with that person in the foreground.

Various guests had told us that they noticed another party going on down our street. At one point in the evening, there was a knock at the door. I answered it to find some well-dressed strangers. They said that they were from the other party and just wanted to say hello. “Our party is louder,” they said, “but your costumes KICK ASS.” I asked if they had seen our Gimp, and their jaws dropped. We trotted him out to great fanfare. It’s nice to be recognized.

My French friend Eric came in one of my favorite costumes. I don’t think he had anything specific in mind when he threw on a T-shirt, wig, and big sunglasses, but I think he looks exactly like Noel Gallagher from Oasis. Don’t you agree? Plus he has this way of looking completely disaffected when he’s being photographed. He cracks me up. And check out that double-fisting! That’s his girlfriend Stefanie in the witch’s hat.

Nick has obviously done something very naughty, because Ciaran felt it necessary to give him a whipping. (They got the whips from the costume shop.) I like how Ciaran doesn’t bother to put down his beer while meting out corporal punishment. The Irish have their priorities straight. *grin*

It’s Amy, Phil, and Nick, also known as “Satan and his Minions.” This is one case where the characteristic “red-eye” my cheapo camera leaves is a benefit to the picture. Nick is also sporting glittery eyelashes, courtesy of the Aimster.

Here you see a slightly more stylish Satan, gettin’ his schwerve on with a couple Hoochie-Mamas. He wasn’t actually around very long… Apparently this particular Lord of the Underworld doesn’t quite have the alcohol tolerance of his Minions. He spent a good portion of the night passed out.

This is a pretty cool picture of me and Sara as taken from between the bannisters of our stairs. Sara prides herself on being the matchmaker behind the Snookums-Kris relationship, for which I owe her many thanks. (Hey, we’re shy.) You can see Noel Gallagher lurking there in the background near our friend Chris.

The guests finally moved to the dancefloor, and here you see my French friend eMan cutting a rug with Amy. He was very proud of that Atari shirt, and I can’t say as I blame him. (For more of eMan, see my Trip to France photos.)

Nick (another one) and Sara take a breather on one of our sofas. That very sofa, I’m sad to report, would later be the site of the evening’s only Boot Incident. (A random French chick passed out and yuked.) Other than that, the guests and house seemed to come through unscathed.

Alex and I decided to take a self-portrait. It didn’t turn out too well. I kind of like it though… It definitely represents our mental state at that point in the evening.

This is seriously one of my favorite photographs that I’ve ever taken in my life. If I were ever to record an album, this would be the cover. And I would have to dedicate it to Noel Gallagher. The fact that he’s so off-center… the expression on his face… It’s just priceless.

Here eMan and Snookums have the dance floor to themselves and they bloody well take advantage of it. I’m happy to report that European partygoers listen to much the same music as American ones, with the notable exception of Dave Matthews music. (They just don’t get him.) Anything from the 80’s is all good though.

That’s it for now. There’s still another roll to come, as soon as Nick finds where he put it. Oh, and we’ve already started planning for the next one. *grin*