Hi there -- while there's always room for more answers, definitely check out this delightfully named section of our FAQ: Party like it's 1491, for information on the Aztecs and other Native tribes getting down.

While I'm sure everyone would want to throw a party that would go down in the history books, the bias in our sources means the sort of raucous house party you might be thinking of is not particularly well documented, if at all. Another factor would be the cultural emphasis on sobriety and severity among the Aztecs. Public intoxication, for instance, is infamous in being (potentially) punishable by death for anyone who was not a senior citizen. As a result, the accounts we have of revelry tend to be focused on elites and in a context portraying the events as more solemn and dignified, with rarely a breechclout worn on the head. Duran, for instance, directly references the taking of psychedelic mushrooms in the context of dancing by nobles during the coronation of Tizoc, but this is seen as a more ritualistic than bacchanalian act:

When they went out, the nobility came to offer garlands of flowers delicately arranged and handsomely decorated pipes of tobacco, to both men, and to the kings of the two provinces. All the lords and principal men of the provinces rose and, in order to make the festival more solemn, ate wild mushrooms that are said to make a man lose his senses. In that way the men went out to dance. (Duran trans. Heyden 1994, p.307)

Among all the solemn dances, however, there are some flashes of less than sober behavior. As noted before, only the elderly were permitted to drink pulque, the fermented maguey sap that was the most prevalent form of alcohol in the Mexican highlands. While this imbibing typically went without much notice during accounts of festivals -- the sources simply noting that the old men and sometimes the old women were drinking -- there is at least one reference in Sahagún to old men who upon getting really drunk "cried out at people or boasted of his manly deeds” (trans. Anderson & Dibble 1981, Bk 2, p. 110).

More widespread boozing is also accounted in Sahagún’s accounting of the monthly festivals and ceremonies, such as with Izcalli, the last month of the solar calendar. After all the amaranth green tamale eating, spending time in the sweatbaths, piercing the ears of children, gift giving, and (of course) a sacrifice, then:

there began the giving, the giving of pulque to the people. Everyone took his pulque there; it was taken with one in earthen jars. There was giving there to each other; there was continual giving to one another; there was continual returning, there was continual reciprocating.

All this pulque drinking led to:

a reddening of faces, as if there were a din, as if there were a panting, as if there glazing of the eyes, going in disorder, quarreling, going from one side to the other, disturbances, trampling, elbowing. There was taking of one another by the hand, there was continual taking of one; there was continual persisting, there was continual pride. There was going with arm about the neck as there was entering of their several homes on the part of one. (ibid, p. 171)

A group of loud, boisterous people stumbling around, arm in arm, drunk off their asses sounds like scene which would not be too far removed from the end of a football match, a night out barhopping, or certain college campuses. Convenient for the drunkards of Izcalli, the next five days were the Nemontemi, the days “outside” the calendar when no work was to be done and everyone was expected to stay inside and not do anything (except nurse their hangover).

The morning after is perhaps better accounted for during Tecuilhuitontli, which also had an exception for the prohibitions on drinking. For when,

the day had ended, when they had celebrated the feast day, when it was night, then there was lying about. And some who were indeed intoxicated perhaps affronted others, perhaps belabored others, perhaps cried out at others. But afterwards they each fell exhausted, they each slept, they slept as they fell. And anyone who had quitted the pulque, who had quitted it because he was sated -- it was called sleep-producing pulque -- afterwards, next day, he drank it, he finished it. (ibid, p. 95)

So there we have the classic cure for a hangover: start drinking again in the morning. Like with the hair of the dog as a cure, we can also see some perhaps universal signs of drunkenness in the in the loud, and sometimes transgressive actions the drinkers. Particularly with Aztec society, where proclaiming, even boasting of your brave and manly deeds was part of life for men (and we are pretty much just talking about men in these passages), this is not unexpected.

These episodes of mass drunkenness were exceptions to the rule, however, of Aztec festivals primarily being literally sober, even if they did often involve ecstatic crowds of dancing, singing, and even mock battles. Perhaps that is why the morning after Tecuilhuitontli emphasized forgiveness and returning to normalcy so strongly, saying:

And any who had mishandled another, who had perhaps brawled with him, or had cried out at him, later, when day broke, when he had recovered his senses, supplicated the injured one with this same pulque in order to appease him. And the one to whom the injury had been done, who had been shouted at, who had been shamed, then was appeased with the pulque, the offense was pardoned. Such did not remember against the one who had been drunk their disputes, their injuries, etc. (ibid, p. 95)

Again though, the mainstream of Aztec society emphasized soberness, self-control, and a certain severity that was maintained not just through social opprobrium, but also very severe punishments for public drunkenness, gambling, and other venal behaviors.