...responding to a few texts with "The guys are in Idaho and I have vodka..." only to get three consecutive replies saying, "Almost there," "If you're sure. I'm on my way," and "That means I'd have to use your shower and you said I never could."
(Back story: I've been in my underwear ALL day, researching appellate law, getting infuriated, exhausted, and thirsty. So this is not my prize-winning day for productivity nor excitement. Still, I was rather surprised when an impromptu drunken sleepover on a Tuesday, which began as a simmer in the mental cauldron, rapidly came to a boil, and now I have to spiff up my cave--I just realized it is night and it's cold and I don't have any lights on--so that it will seem hospitable and amazing for absolutely no reason. But for sure pants. Probably. I have a tendency to blast my music, forcing people to walk in because I don't hear them knocking, so we'll see who wins the race...)
The moral of the story: Drinks at my house, duh. No we can't listen to your music, and yes you can use the shower.
And cleaning. See?