Hurricanes and beads got the most of some revelers at this weekend's parties 

Solo Slumper

With Friday being Valentine’s Day, we had a smorgasbord of bitterness bashes to choose from, but we ended up at the New Orleans-themed F-Cupid Party at Mellow Mushroom. Walking in, guests were beaded and encouraged to try the Hurricanes to get everyone in a Fat Tuesday mood. Strings of skeleton lights and pops of purple and green decorated the bar, but we didn’t quite get was the spider webs stretched across the wall. They didn’t remind us of NOLA but instead of a half-assed Halloween party. We quickly forgot about the webbed walls and made our way to the bar.

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Scene 2.19.14

By Melissa Tunstall

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At the bar, we did some serious people watching. And with a crowd as diverse as this one, we could have stayed at it all night. Emo-hipster girls in skinny jeans and hoodies danced next to a girl in a long dress. Other ladies opted for showing some skin in tight dresses, and some decided to go with what we like to call the comfy cute uniform — skinny jeans and a nice top. The guys’ fashion was less diverse with most of the dudes in jeans but a few upped their game. The ages of partygoers also seemed a little odd. It ranged from 21 (we’re sure that no one underage crept in although some looked like they were 13) to a couple of 50-year-old guests.

After a while, we decided to make the rounds. DJ Precise was playing some jams and kept the dance floor crowded all night. But the first twerk of the night happened when a girl was waiting for a drink and decided to do a number with the bar as her dance partner. A couple of songs later, our twerker was seen up against a wall and with a real partner.

We missed the memo on the bead competition, but it got intense. The idea was simple: collect the most beads and win a prize pack that included a Mellow gift card and flasks. People ran around the room scheming to try and get the most beads. The race was close with two contenders vying for first, and what looked to be a painful amount of beads draped around their necks. The winner — although we’re not sure how scientific the judging was since the winner was announced just by looking to see who appeared to have the most necklaces — got wily as she offered to trade shots for beads. If only we hadn’t given all ours away, we would have happily accepted her bribe, but her ploy worked since she won.

After they announced the bead winning lass, the party ended abruptly, except for one poor gent who had passed out sitting straight up at a table. He became one of the more popular partygoers with people posing for pics next to him. There were a few goodhearted guests who wanted to make sure he was OK and tried to wake him — or at least make sure he was still breathing and had a pulse. We decided it was time to wander home so we wouldn’t end up in the same state.

Saturday’s sunshine offered the perfect excuse to head to the fifth annual Follywood Oyster Roast at the Pour House. The day was more about music and less about the mollusks. The fest had a definite Americana, alt-country vibe to it. Acts like Mac Leaphart and My Ragged Company, Guilt Ridden Troubadour, the Piedmont Boys took turns on the stage, wearing a plethora of hats. From baseball caps to cowboy hats, our personal fave was the man who played with a top hat on. We don’t typically think formal wear when we think of the Pour House, but this guy made it work — and had us thinking people should wear more top hats.

The day promised 11 hours of music, and it delivered. But after having our fill, we headed home once the party moved indoors around 9:30 p.m.

Our Scene coverage wouldn’t be complete without a trip to SEWE, so on Sunday we got our wildlife on. Opting to skip out on Marion Square, we went straight to Brittlebank Park and the dogs. The retrieving portion of the competition was halfway through, and we have a feeling it was the amateur division. As pet owners threw toys into the tank for their dogs to fetch, most of the pups paused and didn’t want anything to do with it. We don’t blame them. The water looked dirty and cold and scary. A few took flying leaps to reunite with their beloved toys, but the majority had to be coaxed in, or forced down the ramp. Except for the one fur ball who wasn’t having anything to do with it, much to the annoyance of its owner.

We decided that we’d had enough of stage moms and hit up the rest of the booths and attractions, which at Brittlebank included a petting zoo and a pen for dogs to attack fake ducks — and of course no SEWE is complete without an abundance of vendors hawking their goods. Wood tables and oyster shucking stations, cigars and John Deere tractors tried to make sales, but we didn’t see many people buying the big-ticket items. Having made the rounds, we left dog heaven and called it a weekend.

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