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I hate parties. Okay, hate is a strong word, but unless I’m adequately intoxicated, I thoroughly dislike large gatherings of people I vaguely know. As such, I’ve never thrown one. Ever. One time during my semester abroad, my flat threw what could be considered a “party,” but like no one showed up and I don’t remember much, except making sure my other anti-social flatmate wasn’t going to die in the night. So, obviously, hosting is not my forte. Until this past weekend, that is. It was my housemate’s birthday and she’s oddly popular, so we thought it would be a great idea to throw what could have been a rager based on the number of people we invited. (It wasn’t.) With over half of the 90 invited people saying they were coming, we assumed our house would be full and thus bought snacks and alcohol to match. Here is an account of the less-than-ideal night.

 

4:00 p.m.: Birthday girl and I hit up Arlington Wine and Liquor. We ponder over buying rum and decide that handles of tequila and vodka should be enough. I buy my own vodka ‘cause I don’t like to share…or drink cheap vodka.

 

5:00 p.m.: We go to Stop & Shop for snacks, mixers, cups and beer. So much beer. Neither of us drink beer. This is a lot harder than it should be. I shed a tear or two over the money spent.

 

6:00 p.m.: I’m exhausted already. Parties are too much work. Can I nap now?

 

6:15 p.m.: Birthday girl breaks her Yom Kippur fast (because barely eating the day before your birthday party is a great idea, right?) and we begin decorating with fairy lights and streamers, which is a lot more difficult than it should be.

 

7:00 p.m.: I consider napping through the party but just eat fried chicken instead.

 

7:30-9:00 p.m.: We clean, move furniture around and tape the fridge shut.

 

10:00 p.m.: The house looks ready, the drinks are out, we are all dressed in our party attire and there is no one here! Hooray!

 

10:09 p.m.: The first guest shows up— a freshman. It takes guts to come to a senior party early. We make slightly awkward small talk as I get drunker and my heels start to hurt.

 

10:34 p.m.: People arrive! Yay! Take your shoes off, they’re muddy! Also please drink our alcohol—there’s too much of it and I don’t want to be drinking alone.

 

10:47 p.m.: As people arrive, I panic and drink more. Some are playing video games. No birthday is complete without drunk Mario Kart!

 

11:00 p.m.: Why is it only 11? Where is everyone? Please drink this beer, we don’t want it.

 

11:15 p.m.: I get tricked into doing a tequila shot, which is possibly one of the grossest things I’ve ever done. I’ll stick with my vodka lemonade, thank you very much.

 

12:30 a.m.: My bedtime is midnight…

 

12:35 a.m.: I go to the bathroom for literally one minute and the party suddenly multiplies. Where did you come from? Who are you? I can’t see your face! Oh wait, you’re one of my neighbors. Okay, it’s fine, I guess.

 

1:00 a.m.: The people I actually like start leaving, carrying out plastic bags full of beer. Note to future self: Don’t bother buying this much beer for a party.

 

2:00 a.m.: Please leave my house.

 

2:30 a.m.: Thank God, the house is empty. I drink more and take off my bra.

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