A Girl...

House Party

Results from my social experiment are back from the labs. Conclusion: If you throw two housewarming parties in less than a year, four times as many people will come to the second one! Eureka! (Do you think it had anything to do with mention of the treehouse, hot tub, and live music versus the invitation that said, "We have no heat. Wear mittens"?)

Even though the last of our guests left at around midnight, we had a full house for seven full hours, so you kids out there please humor me and chalk up the relatively early end-time to our advanced ages and/or the possible pumpkin/carriage complications of our distinguished guests. Whereas Simon's sister called at the end of the party, from England, and wished us a Happy Housewarming, HeatherB texted us at almost the same time and called us old because we were partied out before she was, three time zones away. Whose opinion are we to respect--the one who wakes up at dawn on a Sunday morning or the one who goes to bed at dawn on a Saturday night? The lady with the infant or the Infant herself? Tough one...

Those surprise calls and texts--and special delivery gifts and cards and emails--were one of my favorite parts of the party. Everyone was so generous and so complimentary and so happy to share in our happiness, and so many people went out of their ways to let us know we were loved, that I wanted to personally hand-feed each of them from the Chocolate Cake of Epic Proportions that Simon brought home from Costco. Streaming through our front door, wandering through our garden, slow-dancing next to the hot tub as Simon's band played on the patio were guests I hadn't seen in months, guests I hadn't seen in years, guests I had only met once before, guests I'd never heard of before last night, as well as the old gang, the people we can always call up at the last minute to bring bags of forgotten ice and extra vodka.

Simon's mom flew up for the weekend to help us out, and for all the shopping and food prep and dishwashing and meet-and-greeting she did, she was our true secret weapon for this: she made me/us feel like a success. "This was the best party ever," she said, over and over again, and so I passed her another slice of cake, and another and another, bless her.

I wouldn't say it was the best party ever, and it was certainly a far cry from the BEST PARTY EVAR, but at least now I know where Simon gets his superfluous complimentariness from, and I have to assume that hers is as sincere as his is. Plus, even I have to admit that it was a pretty damn fine party. There were twinkly lights in the trees, there were babies, there were dogs, the pond worked(!), and while the band played in formation around the tire swing, our neighbors to the left boogied down on their back porch while the neighbor to the right hunched over his railing in the faux-grumbly posture of a man who is enjoying the hell out of himself but doesn't want anyone to know it.

While he wasn't bringing country music to Thugtown, USA, Simon was grilling teriyaki chicken and garlic-artichoke sausages and veggie kabobs. I, meanwhile, was whirling like a girl-shaped weathervane in the center of it all, hardly connecting with my co-host save for a few well-placed cheek squeezes bestowed in passing. At the end of the night, I had to confess I'd missed him that evening, and upon settling into bed, still buzzed on the last of the pink champagne, we each told our separate story of the party, as if we'd been at two different events. He was cooking and setting up music equipment, and I was giving tours, talking a mile a minute, hugging everything in sight.

I'm proud of myself. I managed to be my most gracious and pulled-together (not saying much, but still), save for the time where I pointed an accusatory finger around the semicircle of guests nearest me, lightly chastising the non-RSVPers who had come unannounced. It wasn't that I wished they'd not shown up (because I was oh-so-happy that they had) but that I just don't get the logic behind not RSVPing when Evite makes it so easy. Mostly, though, I was just venting frustration over the handful of people who said they were coming a week before, said they were coming a day before, said they were coming the day of, had their S.O.s say they were coming the day of, volunteered to bring food, and then didn't show up or call or email or anything. What's with that? It's not that I think I deserve undying devotion from those to whom I deign to extend an invitation--it's that I love my friends and I'm a worrier and I don't like the buzzkill of wondering if a half dozen of them have fallen into wells on the way here because why else would they not make it when they swore they would, when they called ten minutes ago to say they were on their way?

That paragraph was supposed to be about how proud I was of myself for being such a competent and mature partythrower. Oh well. If anything, I guess it proves that, even if the hostess is a nutcake, given enough food and drink and music and stellar company (and homemade peppermint tea and free neckties!), a party can generate its own momentum and propel itself toward a satisfied end, even if it's an end many hours shy of breaking any records.

Stay tuned for photos and, pending the recovery of Simon's video-capable camera, a house tour just for you, since I wish you could have been there and since the house will probably never be this organized again. Go out and buy some chocolate cake now and I'll meet you back here tomorrow.