You know when you're giving a party, and it's, like, five minutes past when you told people to show up, and no one is there, and you (meaning I) immediately assume that no one is coming because everyone hates you and they only pretend to be your friends and they all laugh about you behind your back in Ms. Pryzbylinski's English class? Pretty stupid, right? I mean, you wouldn't let your entire self-worth rest on who did or didn't show up to a shindig, right? Right?
Paging Dr. Therapist.... Desperate patient on line one....
Parties are really kind of a joke with me and Wendy -- she makes me have at least one a month, because that's the only time she's sure I clean. Pathetic, yes, but there you go. And they're fun -- I just tend to send out invites to everyone I know on god's green earth, and whoever shows, shows. Usually, it all works out. I have a wacky theme (yes, I throw wacky theme parties -- more on Jersild Day later), people show up, there is much to eat and drink, we hang out, it's all good. And then sometimes....
So I made a couple of pitchers of Sangria (yum), bought a bunch of cheese and chips and dips and such, cleaned the apartment, and waited for people to show. And waited. And waited. At about 8:30, I called Wendy and said "I'm lonely, come upstairs." She did. She ate some of the massive amounts of food I bought (It's this weird Jersild thing, I think -- we're very food-oriented. God forbid anyone should leave our home hungry.) We drink, we chat, I joke that everyone hates me and no one's going to show up, I keep checking the window... I'm half joking, but damn, it's been a hour, surely someone will show up at some point. Andy and Mary said they'd come, although I'm half afraid they're still circling the block waiting for a parking space to open up directly in front of my house so they can just dash for the door. Tripp said he was coming, and bringing friends. There's a bunch of other people who sounded like they were going to come.... I'm not going to worry about it. This is me not worrying about it. Yup. Still not worrying. Just drifiting over to the window, for no apparently reason. Isn't it amazing how little stressing about this I'm doing? Boy, am I calm and collected about this. Yeah, just joking that no one is going to show up. Heh heh. Heh. He...aw crap. I've got like 60 pounds of cheese, and I am NOT eating it all myself. Someone better show.
Sure, Wendy's here, but she lives here -- she couldn't escape if she tried. So we're sitting, we're talking, we're eating, I sorta give up and realize that, no, no one is coming, and yes, everyone hates me. But in a good way. Really. Whimper.
About 9:30 or 10 or so, when I was throughoughly demoralized, I hear the bell ring. Huzzah! It's Mary and Andy, quivering with fear and asking if there are always so many people out on the street at night, and are those guys always playing poker there? (Answers: It's really hot, and most folks in this neighborhood don't have air con. Therefore, it's cooler to stay outside. And those guys aren't playing poker, they're playing dominos, and they're really very sweet. For god's sake, they're grandparents, not gangbangers.) But joy, someone showed. (Rich, I was instructed to tell you that Mary and Andy did show up. Let it be so noted.) So we hang out for a little while, talking and considering whether we should play the Buffy game, and the bell rings again, and it's Tripp. Huzzah again. But wasn't he supposed to bring folks? Ah, alas, they begged off. Fine. Dawnmarie and Joy and Kevin don't really love me. I'll get over it. Sniffle.
So we hang, and we try to play the Buffy game, but I've had a bit too much Sangria (of the five of us there, only three drink, and Andy's a serious lightweight who's sticking to hard lemonade), and it's really, really complicated. Perhaps it's something we should tackle sober. We give up. We gossip about friends of ours, play celebrities (for the record, Mary and I kicked Andy and Wendy's ass, and that's even taking into account that Andy was playing a little fast and loose with the rules. Bastard.), eat more. Newton calls, pissed (in the British sense). It's 6 a.m. there, and he's just getting home. He terrorizes Mary for a little while, then chats with me, obviously expecting some sort of wild behavior to be going on. Sigh. Alas. It was not to be.
So that's about it. Mary and Andy and Tripp and Wendy showed, we hung out, they left. Everyone else I know has obviously abandonned me (because, you know, it's all a direct reflection on me -- nobody could have anything else going on in their lives or anything. I mean, really. The idea.) I have enough Sangria to float a boat -- I'm thinking I'm going to start making the cats drink it. I have a very clean apartment. I have no friends. I have obviously regressed to 13 years old.
Anyone want some sangria and cheese?
Paging Dr. Therapist.... Desperate patient on line one....
Parties are really kind of a joke with me and Wendy -- she makes me have at least one a month, because that's the only time she's sure I clean. Pathetic, yes, but there you go. And they're fun -- I just tend to send out invites to everyone I know on god's green earth, and whoever shows, shows. Usually, it all works out. I have a wacky theme (yes, I throw wacky theme parties -- more on Jersild Day later), people show up, there is much to eat and drink, we hang out, it's all good. And then sometimes....
So I made a couple of pitchers of Sangria (yum), bought a bunch of cheese and chips and dips and such, cleaned the apartment, and waited for people to show. And waited. And waited. At about 8:30, I called Wendy and said "I'm lonely, come upstairs." She did. She ate some of the massive amounts of food I bought (It's this weird Jersild thing, I think -- we're very food-oriented. God forbid anyone should leave our home hungry.) We drink, we chat, I joke that everyone hates me and no one's going to show up, I keep checking the window... I'm half joking, but damn, it's been a hour, surely someone will show up at some point. Andy and Mary said they'd come, although I'm half afraid they're still circling the block waiting for a parking space to open up directly in front of my house so they can just dash for the door. Tripp said he was coming, and bringing friends. There's a bunch of other people who sounded like they were going to come.... I'm not going to worry about it. This is me not worrying about it. Yup. Still not worrying. Just drifiting over to the window, for no apparently reason. Isn't it amazing how little stressing about this I'm doing? Boy, am I calm and collected about this. Yeah, just joking that no one is going to show up. Heh heh. Heh. He...aw crap. I've got like 60 pounds of cheese, and I am NOT eating it all myself. Someone better show.
Sure, Wendy's here, but she lives here -- she couldn't escape if she tried. So we're sitting, we're talking, we're eating, I sorta give up and realize that, no, no one is coming, and yes, everyone hates me. But in a good way. Really. Whimper.
About 9:30 or 10 or so, when I was throughoughly demoralized, I hear the bell ring. Huzzah! It's Mary and Andy, quivering with fear and asking if there are always so many people out on the street at night, and are those guys always playing poker there? (Answers: It's really hot, and most folks in this neighborhood don't have air con. Therefore, it's cooler to stay outside. And those guys aren't playing poker, they're playing dominos, and they're really very sweet. For god's sake, they're grandparents, not gangbangers.) But joy, someone showed. (Rich, I was instructed to tell you that Mary and Andy did show up. Let it be so noted.) So we hang out for a little while, talking and considering whether we should play the Buffy game, and the bell rings again, and it's Tripp. Huzzah again. But wasn't he supposed to bring folks? Ah, alas, they begged off. Fine. Dawnmarie and Joy and Kevin don't really love me. I'll get over it. Sniffle.
So we hang, and we try to play the Buffy game, but I've had a bit too much Sangria (of the five of us there, only three drink, and Andy's a serious lightweight who's sticking to hard lemonade), and it's really, really complicated. Perhaps it's something we should tackle sober. We give up. We gossip about friends of ours, play celebrities (for the record, Mary and I kicked Andy and Wendy's ass, and that's even taking into account that Andy was playing a little fast and loose with the rules. Bastard.), eat more. Newton calls, pissed (in the British sense). It's 6 a.m. there, and he's just getting home. He terrorizes Mary for a little while, then chats with me, obviously expecting some sort of wild behavior to be going on. Sigh. Alas. It was not to be.
So that's about it. Mary and Andy and Tripp and Wendy showed, we hung out, they left. Everyone else I know has obviously abandonned me (because, you know, it's all a direct reflection on me -- nobody could have anything else going on in their lives or anything. I mean, really. The idea.) I have enough Sangria to float a boat -- I'm thinking I'm going to start making the cats drink it. I have a very clean apartment. I have no friends. I have obviously regressed to 13 years old.
Anyone want some sangria and cheese?
posted by SAJ at
1:24 AM
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