Throwing parties can be a risky hobby. Opening up your home to dozens of people and then letting them all get wasted can have consequences.

There are the obvious things that can go wrong, like the time my laptop got stolen. I called a few friends and next thing I know some guy I have never seen before is at my front door returning it and saying that he saw “some dude walking down the street with it.”

There’s the time some moron tried to steal beer from my house and that night almost ended in a huge brawl.

There’s the time a homeless woman wandered in from off the street and kissed my friend on the cheek, because she thought he was her dead son. That was the first time I ever called the cops (you can read about that one on my old blog at www.life-in-towson.com). I had another bizarre party moment this past weekend that I’d like to share.

Last Thursday night I threw a party at my house, and it was one of those nights where it got bigger than I had originally planned. I’m not against big parties by any means, but the more people there are, the more likely it is that some crazy shenanigans are going to go down. This night was no exception.

Two of my girl friends came running upstairs at about two in the morning, laughing hysterically. Tears streaming down their faces, they told me there was “some old guy downstairs dancing around.” Normally, I’m all for old guys dancing. But if an old guy is going to shake his shit in my house he had better be my granddad or Mister Six from the Six Flags commercials.

I headed downstairs to investigate. Lo and behold, right there in my living room was some 46-year-old creeper guy with one of my beers. He had long, dark hair and a weathered face, almost like Prince Valiant after a few years of crystal meth. Some of my friends were already escorting him towards the door, and he went without a struggle. On his way out he shouted something about being “Larry, from the neighborhood.” There’s only one house on my entire block. Once Larry from the Neighborhood was outside, we shut the door behind him and watched for his next move. He sat there on my front porch for a minute, holding his beer and looking around, before he made his way down the steps. At the bottom of the steps, he paused, shut his eyes, and leaned forward. My friends and I all looked at each other.

“Is he…. is he taking a piss?”

In case there was any doubt, Larry from the Neighborhood swung around to face us and presented his junk proudly. Yes, Larry from the Neighborhood was definitely pissing in the middle of the sidewalk. He finished up and put his garbage away, still facing all of us staring out the window at him. With his bladder empty and his confidence restored, he marched back up to the front door and started staring in through the glass.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of here,” we yelled at him.

He kept his composure, and very calmly proclaimed, “If I should find you unacceptable…”

“What the hell man? Are you insane?”

“If I should find you unacceptable!!” he repeated.

We never did find out what would happen if Larry from the Neighborhood found us unacceptable. I guess he decided we were all right. After jawing back and forth with us for a minute, he took his beer and his bruised ego and left, defeated. Larry from the Neighborhood has since been spotted in and around Towson several times, walking around like nothing happened. How dare he.

I found out later that before I came downstairs he had gotten the beer by threatening to trash my house if his demands weren’t met. Also, apparently, he loves Jesus. Or so he told everyone. I wonder if he’s completely crazy or if just a drunkard. Maybe he’s just a down-on-his-luck guy who needed a cold beer, some good company, and a vulgar public urination session. So if Larry from the Neighborhood shows up at your place some night, it might not hurt to indulge him and listen to his story. If he whips it out, though, make sure you steer him outside.