The Party Bus Survival Guide: Nighttime Addendum

While the references are rare, her powers are enumerated through brief, forceful examples throughout Greek mythology. Nyx, goddess of the primordial night, spawned some of the greatest mythological representations: death, sleep, the fates, and ironically enough, day, just to name a few. She represents a figure of such magnitude that Zeus himself did not dare anger her, as witnessed in Homer’s Iliad, when Nyx’ son, Hypnos (sleep), runs for her protection after angering the god of all gods. I swear none of that is plagiarized, I just write the goodest, sometimes. Naturally, since this knowledge required an exhaustive researching of Wikipedia, I have reserved this parallel of omnipotence to be drawn between the Greek goddess of the night and a Night Party Bus.  See, I’m back writing gooder thanks to my edumacation. As you’ve all undoubtedly read the Party Bus Survival Guide, allow this blog to act as the night bus’ addendum on those aforementioned daytime laws.  Yes, that means there are entirely new genus’ of riders, potential bus pitfalls, and of course, iTunde postulates. Without further ado…

I'm so excited for this blog, I had to get Rosie Jones involved. Never forgotten.

GUEST LIST: New Species

a. Eagerus Imbiberae

For whatever reason, the cloak of darkness facilitates a speed and intensity amongst some drinkers that is unmatched.  The warming sun of a day bus may compel its drinkers to relax with a beer over the first 15-minute span before raging their spandex off. However, the night bus has people ripping shots, slapping the bag and ‘gunning beers as soon as the wheels part from the curb. Even though Michael Buffer may not be on your bus, his drinking equivalent is there to let you know you better get ready to rumble. While the overall state of the night bus is improved for everybody due to the selfless acts of the Eagerus Imbiberae who ride within, their individual night is often cut short around hour two due to blackout. Arguments can be made and won that “Eagerus Imbiberae” is the noblest of titles attained on the night’s ride.

b. Coherentis Solidaritae

We all remember the Dormis Comatosis from the first bus blog. That lone person who simply goes so hard nothing can keep them conscious. Well, at the night bus’ conclusion, the entire constitution of the bus is bass-ackwards. Now, just about everyone that actually makes it back onto the bus at the end of the night is strewned about, using shoulders as pillows, resembling Jigglypuff in a Super Smash Bros. Gamecube session in the Den. If you didn’t get that Pokemon reference, don’t worry, you probably just suck. Anyway, you may be wondering where the Coherentis Solidaritae factors into this equation. This rider is the lone person fist pumping in the front of the bus on the ride home, when they finally realize nobody else is cognizant. Doing a slow turn back, the crushing realization dawns on them like that Twilight Zone story about the guy who wants to be alone in a library for all eternity, then shatters his reading glasses: they didn’t get drunk enough. Scrambling to awake their closest friend to see if they have any rage left in them, the Coherentis Solidaritae is one of the most unenviable bus species. Take this as your warning.

c. Lordus Danceus

Whether pop n’locking to the musical stylings of the Biebs, bouncing to a mashup by Guetta or giving a tutorial to everyone yearning to Dougie, this rider sits no song out and is often the first to occupy the pole at the bus’ nucleus. Along the way, they somehow manage to constantly gyrate in some semblance of rhythm during each sip (slap or shotgun) of alcohol they take. En route to the bus’ stop at a bar/club they make the bold proclamation that the dance floor within that establishment is about to be held ransom, yet, ultimately murdered in ruthless fashion, regardless of payment… so somebody better call the cops now. Gender carries no relevance here, as the Lordus Danceus primarily acts as the first dancing icebreaker for all non-affiliated bus riders.

Kate Upton, SI Swimsuit Model- redefines hotness and the Dougie, at once.

DRESS CODE

 While I hate to completely remove the notion that the Neonus Feminae is not an extinct species on the Night Bus, it is certainly on the endangered list. Only in the rarest of instances is someone capable of both dressing slutty enough to get onto a dance floor AND being in neon. While always leaving the door ajar for that sort of greatness, it is often a threshold that goes uncrossed. More regularly, the night bus consists of two relatively specific templates for how one is dressed. They are obviously gender specific and go a lot like this…

FEMALE:

Kim just killing the middle 1/3.The guy on the right just killing my retinas.

1- Some variance of dress that presents the optical illusion of it literally being painted onto the skin due to tightness. (It can either be a one piece that requires all bodily effort to be squeezed into, similar to the casing of a sausage, or one of those high-waisted skirts that consistently blur the lines of sex/secretary on Mad Men.

2- Legal length of this dress is not to exceed more than 2 3/4 ‘’ past the curvature of the butt cheek measured from the waist, or less than 1/3 of the subjects body. Yes, the dress should not be covering more than the middle third of the wearer.

3- Regulation fc*k me heels. No further explanation necessary.

MALE:

1- Dark Jeans.

2- Button-down Ralph Lauren shirt.

3- Sperry’s.

Natural observations for each gender:

MALE:

Look, I don’t run a fashion blog like my good friend Logan @ http://onemanswagger.blogspot.com/ … So I’ll let him do a better job describing it. I basically detailed what I wear out, every night I go out, bus or not.

FEMALE:

a. Just as God intended, the females will look far more beautiful then the males.

b. The females undergarments will almost certainly be on display for all to see at one point. It’s the simple formula: skirt+alcohol(bus + sitting/standing)= panty.

iTunde Playlist Updates 1.1 (as always, quotes from Tunde set the tone)

Ammendment 1: “There is literally no time to mess around, so you gotta get hits in early, because people just DIE on the night bus!” Couldn’t have said it better myself, Tunde. For this reason, Khia’s “My Neck My Back” is the easy choice as the commencement song. After that, waste no time getting to the most popular songs within your group because by hour three, people will forget their own phone number.

Amendment 2: “Really? like really…it’s a night bus, there’s no room for relaxing songs. That playlist better be damn TOUGH!” In case you weren’t sure from the Khia song, Tunde isn’t messing around here. We are talking hit after hit, no matter how hardcore, or sexually explicit. Some songs that might fall under this umbrella include: Rick Ross “MC Hammer,” Madcon “Freaky Like Me,” Fabolous “You Be Killin ‘Em,” and YC’s “Racks.”

Googled: Huge Rack. Got: Heidi Montag. Who knew Heigh would ever make it into the Revolver?!

DESERTION

This is perhaps the most pressing issue one must be prepared for when taking part in a night bus. While desertion is a term generally reserved for war, myriad reasons ensure the people who get on the bus to start the night simply will not be riding home on it. Dropping from the ranks worse than a Confederate soldier at the Battle of Antietam, the dangerous elements of a night bus exact their toll quickly and without warning. Let’s first take care of the obvious reasons for straying from the group: darkness, food, sickness, maming, emergency room, strip club, public urination arrest, cannibalism and hallucinations of Ewoks dubbing you their king and carrying you away. Now, let’s touch on the more rare, animalistic survival tactic that often comes into play when excessive drinking and overwhelming human interaction mix.

It's time to go if things look like this.

We all know the scene. You’re unclear of how you got there, but as sure as the day is long, you’re standing in the middle of a dance floor, disoriented, foggy and haphazardly clothed. Without knowledge of the forensic analysis of rape for a few more days, you experience that queasy instinctual reaction: fight or flight. Since there’s nobody to fight because no one is paying attention to your stumbling ass, your brain shuts down all external receptors and enters into tunnel vision. You need to get out. Now. In one of the rarest of drinking miracles, nature has released the basic survival tactics that prevented early mankind from falling enslaved to Sauron’s army of Orcs in the fight for middle earth (if you subscribe to the Tolkien view of man’s evolution).

You alert nobody of your departure as you fumble, crash and spill into anyone who gets in your path. At this very moment, no other stimuli could prevent your ultimate goal: bed. Except for food: the first necessary means of survival. So you stop at 7/11 and stick a shrink-wrapped sub that is officially past expiration since it’s after midnight, down your pants/into your purse. Armed with sustenance, you begin the journey home. Whether it requires a three-mile walk in heels, haggling with an Uzbekistani cab driver over a fixed fare of three wadded up homeless bills, or bumming a ride off a stranger in the middle of a busy intersection, you will get home safely. Just not on the bus.

Okay, so not EVERYONE makes it home.

MORNING AFTER

Unfortunately, the fun from the night before doesn’t end there. As the Sahara-like dryness of your mouth finally forces you to wake up at an otherwise ungodly hour, your first reaction is like the start of a Rick Ross verse when you literally verbalize the thought: “OUAHwha!!!… WHERE AM… OHTHANKGOD” as you realize this is real life.  Walking into the living room, friends immediately blow up your spot talking about the stuff you were unconsciously doing the night before. In this instance, I like to use the “shot at the doctor” coping method. When you need to get bloodwork done, you know it’s coming, you know there’s a sharp prick, and you know in the end things are going to be fine. After the bus, deep down there’s some discomfort as you sit there and take the shot (or retelling of your actions) , but there is also the everlasting memory of a night you’ll never forget you forgot and got told about.  If you’re lucky, you’ll even get the following text sent to you: “I woke up… in only a thong… and a plate with mustard on my desk which leads me to believe I ate a hot dog.” Yup, it’s like that.

There's the mustard!

 Stay tuned…