Party. Sweaters.
7:30 The hostess offers to make me a drink. She names off four possibilities, I don’t know what any of them are. BE COOL, JONI. “I’ll have what you’re having.” Phew. Close one.
This may be surprising to learn, but there are parties that occur, with some regularity even, that do not involve Chuck E. Cheese and/or inflatable play structures.
In the last 20 years, I’ve given birth to five children. By my quick calculations (it’s statistics, don’t ask) that’s 60 children's birthdays +/- 1 to account for my late night calculations (it’s midnight, OK?). Add in the adult birthdays attended by children (all of them), and we’re easily exceeding 100.
Not one of those 100+ birthdays had 1. Booze 2. A DJ 3. Boob grabbing/ass slapping 4. Designated Drivers.
I’m not antisocial. Mostly. I’m just really busy. Also I guess I don’t have a lot of friends. Only like four.
Well, this just took a turn into sad town.
Anyway. My friend Kristen (FIVE. I have FIVE friends.) invited us (that is my husband and myself) to her 4th Annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. I’ve never been to any Ugly Christmas Sweater Party, and certainly not one that occurs annually.
I said, “YES.”
Who would turn that down? No one.
The following is a chronology of that night. What happens when you take a 41-year-old mother of five and you place her in never-before-explored territory. It’s told by me, as best as I can recall after the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol. Some details have been changed (forgotten, whatever. Bygones).
12:25pm day of party: Snack inquiry. I text the hostess and ask, "What I should bring?" What DO you bring to parties? A dozen juice boxes? Costco-size twin-pack of goldfish crackers? Napkins? GRANOLA BARS? BABY WIPES? I panic. We decide on guac. My husband makes four pounds. I also bring a bottle of fancy vodka, for good measure.
6:05: Makeup. I have not applied it in a number of years. I regularly buy expensive eyeshadow and then leave it in the drawer. My 20-year-old child has absconded with most (all) of the quality stuff. I have one broken eyeliner pencil, a tube of mascara that is probably less than two years old, and Chapstick. Cat-eye is good for a party, I think. Three makeup remover wipes later I realize cat-eye is only good for a party if you know how to do cat-eye. End result: kitten eye + clumpy mascara.
6:50: Early is on time. On time is late. Late is unacceptable. So if the party starts at 7, I should there are 6:45. My daughter tells me not to be “that person.” We settle on 7. We lollygag and get there at 7:20. Because, fashionably late. Amirite?
I actually don’t know. I feel like probably not.
7:20: Approaching the door, dread. It is real. WHAT IF I DON’T KNOW ANYONE? What if I look stupid? What if I panic and break into "Head Shoulders Knees And Toes"? What if four pounds of guacamole isn’t enough?
7:27: I immediately scope the refreshment table. Someone has brought brownie bites. They are frosted. I am feeling comforted by this. There are various foods and a large bowl of what looks like punch with strawberries. I suspect this may contain alcohol. Note to self: Drink that.
7:30 The hostess offers to make me a drink. She names off four possibilities, I don’t know what any of them are. BE COOL, JONI. “I’ll have what you’re having.” Phew. Close one.
7:32: Turns out “what she’s having” is something with vodka. A lot of. I don’t really taste the vodka so when another party goer offers me an apparently alcoholic root beer, spiked with more vodka (vanilla though), I take it. I don’t know this person. It would be rude to say no, I figure.
7:47: Fifteen minutes later the initial big vodka drink has collided with the root beer vanilla vodka drink, and I’m feeling like I need to take my shirt off. Hostess notices my empty hands, fills them with another Drink I Do Not Know The Name Of.
7:49: I am now definitely drunk.
7: 51: Does anyone notice?
7: 52: Probably.
7: 53: My shirt is still on. I think.
7:57: Chatting with friend. Our sons used to play together when they were five. She is also a Mother. She appears to be more experienced with Parties. I am Uneasy.
8:10: Discover people from high school in attendance. Is that Paula? She looks exactly the same. Her hair is even the same. Oh God. I’m old. I wonder what she is doing for a living. Maybe she doesn’t have kids. Yep. That’s why she doesn’t look old. Kids. I didn’t even know she LIVED here. Oh Jesus, we’re Facebook friends. She’s definitely going to see me and I’m definitely going to have to explain how I had NO IDEA that she lives here because I am a shitty Facebook friend.
9:17: More Drinks I Do Not Know The Name Of. Plus tequila. Two kinds.
9:50 (approximate, have lost sense of time): Someone starts talking about fake boobs and then I’m grabbing some fake boobs and someone is grabbing my non-fake boobs. In the name of science. (Note: fake boobs feel pretty good.)
10:00: I take my shoes off. Because I figure the shirt would be inappropriate. I cannot find the bathroom, despite the fact that the hostess walked me right to it an hour earlier.
10:10: I find the bathroom. Someone is in it.
10:22: Vanilla Ice comes on. I sing "Ice Ice Baby." Loudly. I dance. It is probably embarrassing. I do not recall.
An hour elapses. I do not remember what was happening.
11:30: An old high school friend is there. (PS It's Paula. She's a teacher. She looks even younger up close.) We talk about my mother. Friend says she didn’t even know my mom was an addict because I looked so normal. I cry. Obviously.
11:31: While talking to Old High School Friend I find myself absentmindedly petting the hostess' head. She does not object.
11:41: I say (I think): “I like women. We should have our own party.” Other party goer says (I think): “If you’re looking to get laid, Melissa (name changed to protect the druken) is a sure thing.”
11:42: Melissa is hot. I am drunk. And bisexual.
11:46: We are supposed to be done at 11. We are not. I call my daughter’s boyfriend (late) to come to pick us up because we cannot walk straight. Any shred of respect he may have had for us, now gone. If I was a teenager I would definitely be grounded.
12:10 AM: I fall into my bed.
7:40 AM: That was a bad idea.
7:45: Four Advil.
8:20: Hair of dog (Orange juice. Vodka. Practically breakfast.)
9:00: Decide maybe next party should be at Chuck E. Cheese.
