Last night, my roommate and I packed about 80 people into our three-bedroom apartment for a party. To prepare, we scrubbed and vacuumed like madwomen and walked up to Safeway to buy bags of tortilla chips and Utz potato chips and dip and carrots and M&Ms and toilet paper. We also got about four cases of beer. People started arriving at 8 p.m., including my brother and sister-in-law. There were a large number of D.C. journalists — both business and Hill reporters — in one room. And, like any host at a party, I felt like I didn’t get to talk to any one person for more than a few minutes.
The highlights were:
- J., a guy my roommate used to date, came up the stairs, extended his arm to me and said, “Hi, I’m J.” I looked at him quizzically. “J., it’s Erin!” I said. I had met him three times — in fact, he met my parents when they were in town in September and we watched the Packers game. “Oh,” he said, flustered. “I didn’t recognize you, you look really nice.”
- S., B. and I danced in the kitchen and pretended to be Charlie’s Angels. We have pictures. Only B. knows how to pretend to hold a gun.
- One of K.’s friends couldn’t find his Brooks Brothers coat with an iPod in it that I had put in the spare bedroom with all of the other coats. He was stressed about it. K’s boyfriend went to the roof to look for it. We don’t know why either. I guess the theory is you have to check all spaces. I found it lying on the futon in the spare room this morning — the last coat left.
- We ran out of beer at about 12:30. We decided this morning that this was a good thing because without a beer stash, people start to leave. We, of course, have about 15 bottles of wine left over. That will do.
- S. said to N. at the end of the night, “Can I give you a compliment?” N. half stumbled over to a couch in mock worry to sit down and folded his hands on his knees, preparing for bad news. She told him she was really impressed with how he handled the party (and meeting all of my friends) because he was getting people beers, taking up coats, socializing comfortably — and he came alone (i.e. without a crutch).
- At the end of the night, my roommate found a S’mores Wizard — “As seen on TV” — on our side table. Yeah. We have no idea what it is either, or who brought it. It’s the mysterious gift, and, as N. said, “Made very poorly in China.”
- My roommates’ friends saw the two dozen or so bananas in the freezer that I keep in there to (someday?) make banana bread, and teased her for a long time. She said: “As my brother and sister-in-law said, ‘It’s more socially acceptable to have a severed head in the freezer.'”