The Planning of a Party
There’s this feeling in my stomach that starts well before the actual party. Days in advance, even. The lists are forming — bolded, underlined, befonted — and I’m getting afraid.
I’ve thrown many dinner/drinking fetes that I’d like to think were successful. But this one’s going to be a biggie. It’s my 25th birthday party, to be held on the 22nd. And I think the reason I’m so nervous about this party in particular has a lot to do with the actual birthday.
I have written about my weird associations with my upcoming quarter-century mark, and instead of further mulling, I think I’ve transferred all this anxiety about my life’s performance to this party.
How many times have I rethought the menu? I’ve redecorated the apartment several times in my head, imagining spackled walls, heatgunned and varnished woodwork, a really fucking shiny pot rack. But I’m settling for one Necco-wafer-pink wall, one French’s-mustard-yellow wall, pages from a book in really cheap frames, hanging candles, a suspicious lack of chairs.
But it will be great, this party. People will wear tiaras and fezes at this party. There will be noise and laughter and stories formed at this party. I will remember this party.
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My fez is on order (flying in from Turkey, via Belgium), but if it doesn’t arrive in time I’ve got a tiara back-up.
The party will go smoothly and beautifully, just you wait.
Indeed.
I shall fly to France tonight to procure the finest Alize there is.
Thanks for the reassurance, guys. Bring on the Alize; bring on the whores.
Um, and coke. Someone bring coke.
I’ll be passing through Bogata on Thursday; I’ll get some of Columbia’s finest then.
damn, i was gonna bring the coke.
i made my tiara last night, it’s all tiara -like and shiny. additions, in the form of glitter will come later.
damn, this is going to be wild party
can’t wait! tiara shopping is set for sat afternoon, and i’ll be a big bawl of silver-sparkly goodness.