Our house party last night was a smashing success. By which I mean, nothing was smashed.
Postmortem today was conducted in round table format by myself and my housemates, in the backyard, which contains:
In short, the backyard looks like a hippie cafe.
So the three of us rehashed the party. Or rather, my girl roomate and I did, because my guy roomate was celebrating his 24th birthday last night, and is not in the best shape. He’s not as bad as we expected him to be – none of us are – but he was still pretty quiet and pale. And we had to tell him that he passed out in a chair last night and we woke him to send him to bed so he didn’t wake up with a godawful crick in the neck.
The party went well. I only had to have a large drunk escorted off the premises towards the end. My adopted cousin – my 6’4″ adopted cousin, I should add – had been waiting for that moment all night. Said drunk was lurching around drinking the remnants of whatever he could find for alcohol, and I had to run him off before he got belligerent.
We estimated turnout at two thirds of expected – about sixty to seventy people rather than the HUNDRED AND NINE that we saw on the eVite. We have about 250 people on the party list between the three of us, which translated to 109 yes’s, 30 maybes – and about sixty-five real people. It was still enough to fill the house and backyard. I had a fantastic time – so fantastic that four hours flew by without me noticing. These parties, for me, are sort of a recap episode of My Life In Los Angeles, because I know people from so many different places and through so many connections now, it’s hard to keep up with people beyond the half-dozen or so close friends I see on a regular basis.
My girl roomate and I had coordinated our wardrobes, so we started in Easter colored slipdresses, and changed into miniskirts and long sleeved shirts while everyone else was at the club watching the Pressfire. We also had bunny ears on. Glittery blue bunny ears. Our guy roomate pointed out that, with us dressed like that, he just needed a smoking jacket. But despite that – I am still on Day Sixty-Something of the Chastity Streak (nothing beyond than platonic hugs) that I didn’t even really notice was a streak until last week. The guys at the party were all friends, or weren’t my type, or were drunk, or disappeared, to my chagrin. There was one really cute guy who recognized me from an L7 event – but he went to see the band and never came back to the party. Now, granted, I didn’t want to be clearing a random guy out of my room at 8AM on a Saturday with a hangover, but dammit, I could have worn jeans and my new NIN thermal and been warm at least. And then there also wouldn’t be photos of me, Jillian, in bunny ears.