Having never hosted a party before, i was somehow blissfully unaware of some of the cardinal rules. Sure, they seem obvious, but when said party is really just a handful of friends kicking back with some mixed drinks nothing seems life or death.
For those of you not in the know, cardinal rule numero uno is that the host should not attempt to drink the drunkest party-goer under the table, especially when being “under the table” involves locking oneself in a bathroom for multiple hours while shouting out pleasantries like “How’s the cake?” and “Could someone please check Matt’s pulse.” Apparently, it’s bad behaviour for a host to lie crumpled half-naked on cool tile floor while his roommates and party guests make sure that everything gets put back where it belongs and that everyone gets home okay. Who knew?
For those of you keeping score at home, i now owe a big favour to all of my guests and roommates. Big. Like… do any of you have a line on this world peace thing?
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[…] I’ve never thrown a party before; the small gathering i arranged last month paled in comparison to this one. This, though, was a party … furniture rearranging, obsessive vacuuming, nearly eighty assorted jello shots, fifty dollars just in soda and chips, and two refrigerators full of assorted beer-like substances. I have yet to figure out how many people were here… twenty just from assorted a cappella groups, another ten certified friends of the house, and lots of random non-house friends. A large group of people, to be sure. And, funny things, too. For one, our extra room got turned into a concert hall when i brought all but two of my guitars out to play, and sudden i was being treated to a whole spectrum of songs — from a multiple-MC version of “That Thing” to what amounted to a full-band treatment of “The Only Gay Eskimo.” Recitals of Weezer songs upstairs. Me parading around nearly naked with a pair of underwear on my head. […]
[…] Of the first we dare not speak (not anymore, anyway). At the second, someone told me she loved me, and someone passed out in my stall shower (different someones; obviously a success). And, at the third I holed up in my room, jamming loudly with a rotating slate of collaborators, oblivious to the rest of the party (my ideal evening). […]