The Par-Tay!

Mary Ellen and I head back to the house, and of course now my schedule is totally off, so right away, I yank ME’s luggage out of her hand and whisk her over to the counter to get to work. “Slice those limes!” I bark – though when I notice that she’s staring at said limes with a glazed look in her eyes due to lack of sleep and jet lag, I command her to take a nap instead. But now I’m down a helper. What to do??

Luckily, salvation comes just then in the form of…..Supermom! Yes, my mom, one of the esteemed guests at the Par-tay, has come early to help out. Whew! Of course I immediately assign her to the most heinous, miserable task known to man, namely attempting to peel hard-boiled eggs that have been made from too-fresh eggs. Meaning that in spite of my patented egg-boiling method (put eggs in pan of water, bring to boil, turn off stove, cover eggs, let sit for 15 minutes. They’re always perfect.) – it’s absolutely true that fresh eggs will NOT peel well. Or at all. I had tried to peel one and gave up. I will be doing penance years for this one, for foisting this on my mom. Thanks mom.

In the meantime, I set to the critical task, that of smoking the fish. My secret method consists of taking a b^&*(@(*^&0897)*#$@)$^*&^@)*&&($#$)*(!$)*(&.....oops, sorry, keyboard got stuck there for a moment. Anyway, once the fish is done to perfection (and it’s so perfect that we debate telling guests that it turned out horrible so that we can have it all to ourselves – my dad would be proud), I need to leave to pick up the barbecue and that damn cake. Again. I head out, bellowing instructions to my mom and Kathleen, friend and SuperTenant to the Stars:

Me: Tote that bale! Dig that hole! PEEL THOSE EGGS!

I head back to Dinkel’s, and luckily the cake is ready this time. Before they hand it over, the older woman comes over for an inspection:

Woman: Wait! Let me see that cake first.

She gazes at it solemnly, this way and that, while we all wait, silently. Finally……the nod of approval!

Woman, sagely: Yes. That’s absolutely perfect.

And indeed it is, well worth the wait.



I then battle traffic to pick up the brisket from Smoque BBQ – I’m always worried I won’t have enough food at my parties, so it seemed good to supplement with some barbecue – and head home. Where I find that my guests will NOT be eating any spinach dip, because Kona has stolen and eaten an entire loaf of Hawaiian bread. Not just a corner of it, such that I could salvage it and still serve it to my guests. Nope, the whole damn thing. Clearly he should be used in marketing and ads for the Hawaiian bread people.

* * * * * *

My guests start arriving around 3:30, and luckily it’s stopped pouring so I send some people outside, while I stop to chat with other people in the dining room. Suddenly, without warning, we have our first dire situation at the party:

Tessie, with a wail of anguish: MY BLANKIE!!!!

Time stands still. The room goes silent. I look down, and there’s The Kone, calmly holding onto Tess’s precious blankie – and I know from babysitting her that this blankie is like the holy grail to this child.

Tess, again: Blankie! Blankie!

Everyone is frozen in a tableau of fear, as to what might happen if Kona decides to start shaking the blankie in order to break its neck, as he tends to do with things. I know better, that he’s just playing his “I have something you want so I’ll stand here until you give me a treat for it” game. So I grab a hunk of cheese from the table, and Kona of course drops the blankie immediately, which Tessie clutches to her bosom, such as it is for a 2-year old. Whew, disaster averted.

* * * * * * * *

One constant throughout the day is that my friends are all telling me how cool all my other friends are, those they haven’t met before but have been happily chatting away with. We have a number of different contingents here: hockey, triathlon, gardening, Accenture, Kiev, Dobe rescue. And they’re all enjoying each other’s company. Even though the first words to me out of Alise’s (from IDR) mouth were about Kona – “He’s fat!”

Me: He just looks that way – he ate an entire loaf of Hawaiian bread today – the whole thing! – so that’s why he’s a bit barrel-shaped. Plus people are taking pictures of him, and you know how they say the camera adds ten pounds.

I grin, charmingly. Alise still looks a bit skeptical. Damn. *I* thought that sounded good….

* * * * * * * *


In the end, it was a glorious party and celebration. Some other highlights:

• Dr. Fine receiving many compliments on his excellent work, and rightfully so.

• Jennifer G. getting the most accolades for the impressive boobage display, apparently thanks to a stellar push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret.

• And Jennifer and Bo were also the proud winners of the Grand Door Prize, the Jingle Jugs! Which were actually won first by Stacy, who oddly guessed the exact number of medical bills/notices I’ve received in the last year and a half (762), but opted for the Fuck Awareness, Find a Cure bumper sticker instead. So off they went with Jennifer and Bo – who pointed out something that I hadn’t even noticed. Which is that before the Jugs start with their little song and dance routine, there is apparently a “breast cancer awareness message” first that one gets to listen to. I kid you not. Hey, and who said those Jingle Jugs people weren’t responsible??

• Happily, I did NOT have to man the grill, as Alton very generously offered to take care of grilling duties. Men who love to grill are the best.

• In spite of my fear of there not being enough food, there was enough left over to feed a small Himalayan country, in spite of the 70 or so people who showed up. And I think it’s safe to say the smoked fish was the hit of the par-tay.

Now, it’s a toss-up as to which gift I received was the best. Not that people needed to bring anything, but it was very sweet of them to do so. The VS gift cards were awesome, and will be used well, and the Knockers sweatshirt, well, I can’t say enough good things about that. The ironic pink stuff, also brilliant, and the Tassled Tomatoes? Basically the hit of the par-tay.

But there was one gift that we were speculating about all evening, as to what it could be, and I should have opened it that night but then my shriek of delight would have woken up or startled everyone in the neighborhood. Because this was simply the Best. Gift. Ever. But take a look for yourself. Behold:



Yes, my very own pink bat, engraved with my name on it. Sniffle. Many many thanks to Ron and Shirley, you guys are the best!! And thanks to all who came, and to those who wished they could make it but were there with us in spirit and hoisted mojitos. Many hoisted mojitos. It really didn’t surprise me that all my friends thought my other friends were so awesome and cool and fun – I already knew how lucky I was to have such amazing people in my life…..