I've been working almost non-stop for the past few weeks. Well, "non-stop" meaning I've got the constant nagging of work that needs to be done, so I can't really enjoy loafing around on a chilly sunday afternoon as much as I'd like. One of the more tiresome side-effects of working so many jobs is that I constantly have to tell people about my many jobs. So even when I'm not working, I'm talking about work, or at least thinking of work. For example, right now I'm writing about work, and thinking about work, because I could be doing the work instead of writing about work. Ugh.So this weekend, I took enough time away from work in order for Miss Charming Melodee and me to throw an overdue housewarming party, which also served as a somewhat tri-birthday party. I did manage to get some work done during all the party prep though, and usually during parts of the prep that I didn't want to participate in. Miss CM got a head start, and when I got home from work on Friday, the apartment smelled of baked goods. Brownies and cookies. She's almost never home before me, since she works upstate, so this was doubly nice, to see her when I got home and to have the place smelling like chocolate. She was only able to be at home baking cookies because the night before she'd gone out with co-workers, and ending up tossing some cookies. So a day of rest seemed in order. In retrospect, the throwing up feeling was probably why she didn't eat much when we met at a sushi place on Carmine st. for lunch. Hangover+raw fish doesn't sound like a winning combo.
Later in the evening Geoff came over for dinner, bearing a dozen clams. He eats a lot of clams. I mean, a lot. I don't think I know anyone who eats more clams than him. Following dinner - risotto with brocoli and sausage, in addition to said clams- we continued the seafood theme by watched Finding Nemo, which Miss CM had borrowed from a co-worker. It was generally amusing. Then I slogged back to the rumpus room and watched and tested a lot of videos for work. Ugh.
On Saturday, my faith in humanity took another hit as Miss CM and I shopped at the Pathmark down the street at the Atlantic Avenue Center. The self-service checkout stations at Pathmark really crystalize one of my core beliefs. That is, when you're counting on the competency of other people, you're fucked. It's really fucking astounding how tough it is for some people to navigate their way through the steps of: 1)scan; 2) pay; 3) bag; and 4) clear the fuck out at take all your little monster children with you. I've long since abandoned any hope that the "15 items or less" sign will be anything less than decorative, colorful drawings to most of the people there. But the least they could do is hurry. the. fuck. up. I was more than ready to ditch or few items and get reamed at the local deli for the same items, but Miss CM desperately needed red food coloring for her red-velvet cake. Because her first batch was short a bottle, which resulted in "pink velvet cake." She was making cupcakes, and topping them with a cream cheese frosting, and I had little room for argument. Still I was in a shitty mood. And then I went home and went to work.Miss CM and did some rearranging of furniture and lights in prep for the party, and I must say the place looked pretty snazzy. When my friends showed up, the 'advance team,' I was a bit surprised and embarrassed with their effusive praise of the place and MCM's preparations. Matt was particularly impressed with his frozen Mudslide drink, which he refered to, as he sat back in his chaiir, as "the taste of hospitality."
Miss CM's friends and friends of her friends made up about 80% of the guests, and there were a lot of people I didn't know and didn't meet. But little Miss CM put out a lavish spread of food, and the whole thing went off without a hitch. I was a bit surprised as to sheer scope of the whole affair, in terms of number and assortment of people present. Especially given that it was just me and MCM as the primary inviters of people. Then again, several of her friends brought more people with them than I had even invited. Anyway, the next morning/afternoon, I couldn't really recall how I spent the roughly six hours of the party. I know I talked to a lot of people and played the guitar and drums a lot, but when i put everything together, it just doesn't add up. I remember moments every hour or so, but it's still mostly lost. I remember playing foosball. I remember commenting on In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, then remember noticing that the song was still playing at some later point. I remember Jed leaving, my ex-neighbor Rachel showing up, and seeing former NYU classmate Katey, who I had not seen in more than a year. And I remember talking about the brie. Early in the evening, Jen and I had a conversation about the cheap Georgi vodka I'd bought, and how we could't taste it in our drinks. We kept adding more, but we still couldn't taste it. We tried smelling it, and though it clearly wasn't water or anything else, we still didn't fully believe it was vodka. So we just kept adding more until we could taste it. I don't remember getting many drinks after that, though I must have.
On the whole, a very satisfying party. In the past, I'd heard every party thrown in that apartment while it was inhabited by MCM's group of friends was terrible. So I'm glad this one bucked the trend. A good mix of people, and save for some annoying girl who no one seemed to know, fun was had by all. Or most. I'm a bit shocked that the neighbors didn't complain or even leave a nasty note. There's one woman in the building who had left a few notes, and who seems like a humorless harpie. And with the loud music and dancing and percussion instrument pounding in the living room and drums and guitar in the rumpus room, I was sure I'd see her unpleasant visage at some point. But nothing. And very little damage done to the apartment. There was some red wine or chambourd or something spille on my keyboard, but that was more annoying than destructive. The mishap i suffered was during the party prep, when I, while reaching into the cupboard for a jar of capers, accidentally punched the shelf, and tore up my knuckles into a little bloody mess. I often get injuries on body parts that one would generally associate with injuires stemming from fisticuffs, but it's usually something non-violent, stupid, and somehow food-related.
Mail to G-Rock