So, here's how I feel about throwing parties. Most of you know that I haven't been to a grocery store since 2009. Andrea loves to regale new friends with the story of how one time she asked me "Where do you get, like, chips and snacks?" And my answer was, "the liquor store?"
The last time that I threw a party was in 2003. My boyfriend at the time had a ton of no goodnik friends, but the deal was that if he cleaned up after them, they could be invited. I remember watching one of them sit in my kitchen and he had that look...the look that reality tv stars get when they're forced to eat 25 dragonflies or drink a jar of pickle juice and salsa together. The look of someone about to blow. Here was my dilemma. There was one bathroom in my apartment. I lived on the fifth floor, so there was no hope that he would get outside in the event of a vomit emergency. But, I really had to pee. When I couldn't wait anymore, I finally went into my bathroom. While in there, I heard my boyfriend's sister yell, "Oh my God, Mel, open the door!" I zipped up quickly and opened the door to my boyfriend's friend... throwing up all over my carpet. I vowed never again to throw a party.
Since October, I've been Ross and Rachel-ing it with this guy; let's call him "Bradley Cooper", or as I like to call him "Coop". On a recent ski trip with him and another couple, I brought up New Year's Eve and we decided that we would have a low key game night at my place. (This was all part of my elaborate plan to make sure that he spent New Year's Eve with me and not some other chick, but that's another story for another day). I had mentioned to a couple of other friends that we should get together on New Year's, so I sent an e-mail to those guys to tell them to join us.
As the days went on and as people asked me what I was doing for New Year's, my standard response was "I'm having Coop and some friends over. Come on by." And before I knew it, my low key game night had turned into a mini-party of 16. Apparently, according to my dad, I've been doing this my whole entire life. My mother would say to me, "Pick six girls in your class to come to your birthday party." And I would come home from school the week of my party and say, "is it ok if all the girls in my class come? Because I told them they could."
The morning before New Year's Eve, I did a quick head count in my head of how many people would be coming. I paused when it became more than ten and said to myself, "Now, that can't be right." But it was. I had no alcohol. No food. I didn't even have a place for all of these people to sit. And unlike my birthday parties, my mother wouldn't be there to do all the work!
And so, I made a list and I turned to my old friend, the internet. First, I researched the price of renting chairs and tables at the last minute. After my eyes popped back into my head, I sent a text message to Coop to ask him to bring some of his folding chairs to the party. Then, I started to think about how I was going to carry four bottles of wine, a 12 pack of beer, two bottles of champagne and three bottles of alcohol from the liquor store to my car to my apartment. And I googled "Boston liquor delivery." (Did you know that they do that?) After scheduling the alcohol delivery, I asked my co-worker who seems to host people at her house every weekend for some advice about the food. She gave me the recipes for some quick easy appetizers. And I realized that most of them could be found pre-made at the Market Basket deli counter. So, I ordered some platters. After this, I began to feel a little less stressed. It's not a lot of work to throw a party, if you make other people do stuff.
The one black fly in my Chardonnay was that I had to go Market Basket to pick up the platters. The weathermen had been predicting a three-day snowstorm. Blizzard plus New Year's equals crazy people. So, the store was a madhouse and probably not in the best condition for my "first day back". I've blocked out most of that trip. I know that there were shopping cart jams and crowds of middle-aged men on their cells with their wives. At the deli counter, there was a line to take a number to get in line. And I was stuck in the bread aisle for what seemed like three hours, until I was finally rescued by a savior in a blue smock with a bread cart. When my friends finally arrived at my house, I was sure to tell them, "Thank you. Thank you for being with me on this day. The day that I survived Market Basket."
Food shopping apocalyptic episode aside, the party turned out to be a great time.Yes, I've been living on Ritz Crackers, pepperoni, and taco dip for the past week and a half. But, having everyone at my place and ringing in 2014 together made it worth it. I may even do it again next year! Although next year, I'm calling Peapod.
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