David’s House

I am half owner of this place so my review just goes to the party the took place when I was out of town.
As wild as it was the house was immaculate when I came back. The only thing that needed to be cleaned was the lipstick on the bathroom mirror. I guess the lasagna on the ceiling was painted over because it wasn’t there. I did find a few bras which I am assuming are Jack, Daniel (Jack Daniel HA!)and Errols.
That being said, I had three very happy dogs when I returned and a clean house and a very much appreciated owner thanking Daniel J for being an amazing house sitter.
Cheers!

She asked if I like my salad tossed… I said yes please! Thank you Darla.
More wine? Of course! Hey Ashley! Can you pass that bottle please?
I don’t care what Daniel says about you; you’re alright.
Is that a padded wall? Let’s give that a try! It was a pleasure… Quinny.
Why is there glitter on my face? Can you help me get this off Yolanda?
Daniel.stop licking my feet. Oh, sorry… it’s just the dogs. Carry on. Oh wait; can I have more lasagna please?
Errol, how did you make all of these tiny deserts? Are your roommates the Keebler elves?
Mr. Smidgens! Wake up! What? What time is it? Why is there lipstick on my pants? How did this goat cheese get in my hair?
What a crazy yet satisfying dream. Is that the Vapors singing «Turning Japanese» on the radio. That sounds like a great idea!
Wait a minute! Where did this duct tape come from!!!

If I could give this place 10 stars I would. WOW, what a partaay!!!
Remember those parties from Animal House? Well… this was WAY better. I have no clue how Daniel M. is going to get the lasagna off the ceiling, or how it even got there. All I know is that I woke up this morning to see Errol J., Jack B. & Daniel M. with red lips, painted whore red nails, and duct taped together while Ashley G., Yolanda S. and Quinn C. laughed loudly. There is lipstick everywhere. Hmmm, I must have passed out. OMG, when did I get a tattoo of Popeye?
This was like going down a rabbit hole. Maybe it was the drinks and never ending supply of prosecco. Maybe it was Errol J.‘s «brownies.» Maybe it was the intoxicating smell of garlic. Maybe it was the witty company. All I know, is David’s house, is better than the Hotel California! I thought I checked out last night, but it appears I never left. I guess I am going to have to move in.
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*Note: The last initials were changed to protect the identities of the guests.

«The sheets on the bed are purdy white,
purdy white,
purdy white,
The sheets on the bed are purdy white,
All around the town…»
If you’ve ever wondered where you could see the delightful Ashley S. or the ever lovely Yolanda G. or the fabulously rakish Quinn B. or the painted lips of Jack C. or the witticism of Darla A. while being held captive by the incessant drone of Daniel J. — much like the hypnotic bass notes of a Bach fugue — well, here you go. Call ahead for reservations.